Refuge Farms (www.refugefarms.org)

Vincent A. Valley
VALLEY Vincent A. Valley, passed away on Saturday, July 12, 2008. He was born on February 24, 1956. He was a native and resident of Metairie, LA. He is survived by his mother, Mary Lee Valley and friend, Aurelie Roussel. He was preceded in death by his father, Vincent R. Valley. Memorial Service will be at a later date. Falgout Funeral Home in charge of arrangements.
Published in The Times-Picayune on 7/15/2008


Writing this blog has been in the forefront of my mind this entire past week. Some of you know me well enough to know I will undoubtedly share thoughts and feelings about the passing of Vincent in today’s blog. However, some time ago he and I had “that conversation” and he was clear then, too, about his desires. I will add though that by the close of the conversation he understood the reason and the need to openly share – for those of us left here dealing with the event of his passing. How do you close without talking? And sharing? Yes, Vincent was shy and private. But Vincent also understood human nature and human needs.

And so I ask you – How can we not talk of Vincent? He was a Human Being. We talk of horses that cross and dogs that cross, so why would we not talk of a Human Being that has crossed? And Vincent was a caring person whose contribution to Refuge Farms is the very website from which you are reading this blog! How can we not talk of his impact and share times with him? It seems disrespectful to not talk and openly share our memories and thoughts of the man. How can we not? It is out of respect for the man and his ways and his contribution to The Missions that I begin to tell you of my interactions with Vincent.

Yes, Vincent was a very private person. I would dare say introverted. Getting that first blog out of him was like pulling teeth! But when it was completed, his conversation told me that he truly was pleased with his efforts and surprised by the well-wishes and comments that came his way. Once over the original “hump” of putting himself out there for the world to see, Vincent graced us with blogs quite frequently. His last blog was peppered with clip art and really was a work of art. In all honesty, he found himself “getting in to it”, as he said. And no, writing a blog really wasn’t as bad as he thought it was going to be...!

We had talked in the cold of this past winter that he would do another blog this spring explaining his departure from the role of Webmaster of Refuge Farms to pursue other interests and to give himself more time for personal cares. That blog never came about, however. His health declined and his message of caring and best wishes was never published for all to read. I am sorry that I didn’t push him a bit harder for that closing blog. Pushed just a little more…

One of my most favorite memories of times with V, as I came to call him, was the day he called after being “lost in Katrina”. Oh, the joy of hearing his voice! We were in the barns and I picked up the telephone when it rang. He was alive and spent the next seventeen days in his second story apartment with no services, no hot or cold or running water at all, looting and gang violence surrounding him, no prescriptions, and no oxygen treatments. Twice – not once, but twice! – the National Guard banged on his door. And when he opened his own door, he was looking at the end of a rifle. Can you even imagine existing like that?

During one telephone conversation after Katrina we were discussing the heat and how the air was stagnant and heavy and hot and so hard for him to breathe. I asked if he was able to open the windows at night to let the ‘cool’ 88-degree air in his apartment. His response knocked me off my feet: “I would, Sandy, but the smell would be worse than the heat.” It was at that very moment that I began my best efforts to convince him to move up here. We would come and pack him up and bring him up here. He would have a support system that would be here for him but not smother him. He was pleased and expressed his pleasure, but always tactfully declined. Metairie was his home. And Vincent was a loner. V was a true and complete loner.

There were many times when Vincent would be angry with me or upset with something I had done or failed to do. I learned to give it some time and then reconnect somehow – usually on a Sunday afternoon – and talk it through when we both could listen and truly hear each other. We seldom changed our own respective minds, but at least we had heard each other.

There were times when Vincent and I would be laughing so hard we would hang up to save long distance minutes. Then one of us – supposedly under control by now – would call the other and the laughing would resume. One more hang-up with one more attempt a bit later. What would start this? Something goofy like the comical way he would ask a horse question. Or his telling me of the time it snowed on his truck. That one he actually sent me a picture to prove!

In the beginning, Vincent committed one year of support and that’s it, he said. No more, he said. One year turned to two which turned to three and he was still creating a masterpiece of a website. He came to love The ‘Other’ Herd and truly and honestly found friends in them. I do believe that some of the most rewarding personal relationships in Vincent’s entire life came to him by way of Refuge Farms. For that, I am grateful. Refuge Farms was able to give him something meaningful back for his enormous gift of talent.

And amongst the disagreements, the laughter, the anger, and the talks there were tears. I can remember the call like it was yesterday. I had emailed him the loss of Jerry, the Roan Horse when the telephone rang. Having never ever even smelled a horse. Having never ever even touched a horse. Having never ever even felt the breath of a horse on his face. And having never ever even wrapped his arms around the neck of this particular monster horse, Vincent called and cried at the loss of Jerry. He cried for the loss of an animal that he had come to love through reading his story and hearing the stories and gazing at the pictures of him. Such comfort given over a telephone line I will never forget.

On another busy summer day, I appealed to the Management Team of THE FARM to help me with the abundance – overload, actually – of horses “up against the wall” of time. Horses about to be shipped because the current owner was at the end of their ropes. Vincent stepped up to the task and through emails and telephone calls, he worked one of the horses through the long and time consuming process of re-homing. A brief telephone call that evening and he said, “I did it. I managed to save that horses life.”

My words were inadequate, I am sure. Vincent had experienced for himself the frustration and the fear and the anxiety of re-homing an unwanted horse. But in the end, he could sleep easy that night because he had managed to find a match. And in doing so, he had saved a life. Remarkable for a man who had never ever even touched a horse…

So I ask you, how can we remain silent and not talk of Vincent? How can we not show our gratitude for him as a Human Being and as the Webmaster Extraordinaire? How can we just sit quietly as if nothing has changed? I cannot. The man was too soft-hearted and too talented and yes, too opinionated, to just let his passing come and go in silence. I consider this my Legacy.com posting with my personal note to V:

Vincent – I know it has made you uncomfortable for me to talk about you. But I believe you will see the intention and get over your uneasiness. I must tell the world of your journey and a few of the stories of working with you and getting to know you. To hide your crossing is to hide you. And I, for one, cannot do that.

For myself, personally, you listened to me through some of the toughest crossings in the history of THE FARM. You listened to me and listened well. You allowed me the open page that I needed to “get it off my chest” and then move on. You challenged me and made me make better decisions because of those challenges.

But, Vincent, I must be honest with you and tell you that your crossing is reason for me to rejoice. Yes, rejoice! You are finally freed from the body that so long ago turned septic and caused you such pain and agony and to struggle with the daily activities of life. You are finally freed from the stress of meds and treatments and needing supports and fluids and fears. And waiting for the failures that you knew were just in front of you. You are finally independent and freed, Vincent! And it is for that, I rejoice!

So, as we each deal with the crossing of Vincent, I ask you to consider how to honor him in your own way. Refuge Farms will plant bushes under the “www.refugefarms.org” road sign out on Highway 29. The obituary mentions a memorial service is being planned. The black flag is flying. The black flag that Vincent researched and found for me on the Internet. But what I ask of you is that you simply pause for a moment and remember V. Remember him in your own way.

We’ll see you at the gate, V.
Sandy and The Herd

I’m writing this on the road – by the time it’s posted, I’ll soon be back in Wisconsin, stumbling around with jet lag. I agreed to share some thoughts months ago, before this trip, and without any idea what I would say to my Farm Family, The 'Other' Herd, a group so varied, and some so widely read and travelled themselves, that it’s outrageous to presume to have anything worthwhile to say. But here goes – rather than ‘what I did on my summer vacation,’ I’ll try to share some personal observations and feelings, for what they’re worth, off the tourist trail.

First, some background – I signed up a couple years ago (when I had just one, healthy horse, a couple cats and llamas, and one dog) to teach in Wisconsin in Scotland, a program in which a consortium of University of Wisconsin campuses lease a 300 year old palace in Dalkeith, a small town down the road from the Scottish capitol, Edinburgh, to offer a study abroad experience to college students from the Upper Midwest.

Our landlord is the 10th Duke of Buccleuch, owner of four major estates and one of the largest landholders in the United Kingdom. A member of Parliament’s House of Lords and president of the Scottish Trust, a preservation group, he’s CEO of Buccleuch Properties, a diversified portfolio of investments with 1,000 employees that among other things manufactures horse treats.

Some of us caught a glimpse of him as he toured the grounds on his annual inspection, staked out as we were, hoping to look inconspicuous with our cameras hidden, and wondering if he would arrive with an entourage, wearing kilt, accompanied by bagpipers, or trumpets, and driven by a chauffeur in a limo. But, no – he drove his own, small car and wore street clothes.

The summer session is six, 4-day weeks, broken up with a week off in the middle to afford more time to travel. I taught Intro to Mass Communication, a journalism course that counts as an elective and emphasizes critical thinking about messages that we get from the media, and their impact. I get to fault the stuff I teach others to do the rest of the year, things like advertising and public relations. As they say in the UK, and maybe at home too, since overused phrases with nonsense syntax circle the globe at the speed of electrons, ‘Brilliant!’

My life got ‘way more complex, as readers of this site’s bulletin board know, last summer when I took on responsibility not just for Star and Windsor, two Refuge Farms horses, but also Bobbie, a horse formerly owned by neighbors forced from their rural place in the financial crisis, and two dogs that were to be a short-term foster that turned permanent.

So my first story is about the incredible support that impressed me so much on my first day in the driveway of THE FARM, back in May 2005, and that continues to impress me, about THE FARM Family. Volunteers Gail B. and Paula L., who had wonderfully cared for my smaller family of critters over two, month-long winter vacations in the past, once again stepped in to care for the newly-expanded critter clan. And many others, as though they don’t have enough else to do, offered to mow my yard, visit my critters, drive me to the airport shuttle bus (after I insisted I wasn’t going to be driven to the airport itself), and just be there as needed.

As readers of the bulletin board also know, this trip saw the loss of my equine partner, Blaze, which Gail and others (whom I haven’t sorted out yet to thank more personally) pulled together to deal with in my absence. My shy cats, after nearly nine years of only showing themselves to me, are coming out of hiding to demand affection from their caretakers, proof that none of us is irreplaceable. While some might find that unsettling, I think it’s great.

My second story is therefore about letting go – not just of attachments to a horse I greeted daily for nearly 20 years, the loss of whom will probably hit me more when I first view the emptier pasture, but of connections to life as I’ve known it. I turned off the wireless service to my home (along with the frig, water heater, etc.) for the 10 weeks I’d be gone, having no idea that I wouldn’t still be able to access Web mail – to me those are two different services, and it was a shock to find I wasn’t able to see my email remotely. With only a few email addresses ‘in my head’ and some of those blocked by the recipients’ spam filters as unfamiliar when sent from my office email account, a peek at the bulletin board has been my only contact with the life I left behind.

It’s also very freeing – not having to delete the 400 spam emails a day I typically get, just to see if there’s one or two in the batch that I want to read. A whole lot happened that I will some day sort out, if I need to – I get snatches of the news from people I meet, or on the telly, about a storm that washed away a lake that I didn’t know existed in Wisconsin, about gaffes of political candidates, heat waves and cold fronts, economic woes and world crises, but I can’t do anything about any of it, so I don’t worry about it. I have relished this extended chance to be adrift in a fluid world of swirling images rather than anchored by the predictable and mundane.

My third story is about how this trip has served as a constant reminder that each moment is unique, and there is no one way to categorize the world. Although I knew Europeans were into animal rights and the environment, I was surprised at the extent – television ads took valuable time to say that farmed salmon met voluntary goals about animal care; a common bumper sticker says ‘A dog is for life.’ Hostels put out organic milk to pour over breakfast cereal. And tour agencies tout that they are carbon neutral, planting trees and buying renewable power to offset the environmental impact of the trips they offer.

On the flight over, the basic meal choice was ‘meat or vegetarian,’ as opposed to the standard ‘beef or chicken.’ I had only experienced that choice in India, a decade ago; I typically order a vegetarian meal when flying and the passengers crane their necks to look at me like I’m some diseased creature to be avoided, when it arrives. How nice to be part of the norm!

There’s the highly touted free health care, now in its 60th year in Great Britain – but one hears it isn’t the perfect solution one might assume from viewing Michael Moore’s movie, Sicko. There are stories about removing the lottery system around health care so it doesn’t matter where you live, you can get prescriptions. Wow, there’s an idea . . . you mean it mattered before? A TV drama about doctors has the hero attacking the system as once great but now declining so doctors are more about paperwork than health care – something often said about HMOs in the U.S.

Yet the highly touted BBC news offers up air time to extol the virtues of the health care system in something that resembles a free advertisement more than a balanced assessment – along with over-the-top coverage of the releases of the Indiana Jones movie and Sex in the City. So it’s not just the U.S. media that has gone soft in its watchdog role. Complex topics are given brief coverage, while sad but simple stories – a Brit who murdered his family – are analyzed and replayed exhaustively, and documentaries are advertised with lurid but misleading descriptors (‘Queen Victoria’s many men’ turn out to be advisors) reminiscent of U.S. tabloids.

While baser language and nudity are readily shown on TV, there are rules against advertising during children’s shows to protect them from being preyed upon by marketers. There’s an interminable assortment of soap operas and game shows in prime time and a relentless stream of reality shows – celebrity chefs (including one whose language on TV is so – well, salty – that the show is called The F Word), talent contests, people competing for the best dinner party, people trying to flip investment property. The Apprentice – same name – actually began here, I’m told – the version with Donald Trump was a knock-off on the original in which billionaire Sir Allen Sugar is the hard-talking boss who fires a pleading, back-stabbing, sycophant screw-up every week. And there are old shows directly from the U.S. – Desperate Housewives, Will and Grace and Frasier are among those I’ve seen.

And there’s graffiti in larger cities – something that I guess goes with urban settings, but which I’d forgotten about since moving four years ago from Los Angeles. There’s restless hordes of youths, loud and cheeky, to use a local term, though as with youth elsewhere, often a lot nicer when encountered one on one than as a herd.

With the cradle to grave (as they like to call it) Socialist system, there comes greater government involvement – we all had to undergo two hours of training and pass a test on safe food preparation since the students work in teams setting up the continental breakfast each morning, and assisting the chef who makes our lunches, and we all make our own suppers in the large institutional kitchen. Toasters in hostels have stickers showing the date they passed the safety test.

I used to think giving the right of way to pedestrians went with caring societies, but here natives as well as tourists flee the onslaught of vehicles that come hurtling off the ever-present roundabouts at all angles into people scrambling to cross the street.

In the land of gun control, there are predictably different views on things but often the same result. People don’t hunt, they cull. The man in charge of caring for the 1,000 acre estate around our palace (a marvelously sophisticated and witty former anaesthesiologist) sells the right to cull deer to hunters from other countries such as the U.S. who are accompanied by a ‘ranger’ who indicates which members of the herds to kill – the smaller, older and weaker specimens, rather than the trophy animals.

While carrying knives (even a Swiss Army knife) is illegal, there was such a spate of knife deaths this year (19 in 6 months in London) as a result of pub fights among youths that the news is full of crying parents pleading for an end to the violence. One of the Harry Potter actors was killed in such a fight, defending his younger brother. I guess they’ll give up their knives when someone pulls their cold, dead fingers from the handle.

There are closed circuit TVs everywhere, used to monitor traffic flow, crime, etc. City buses purport to have eight such cameras each, and while you ride, the images rotate, just to prove the point, on a screen at the front. A study indicated that in spite of the cost, there hasn’t been a decrease in crime.

There are signs on the buses saying ‘Our staff deserve not to be hassled.’ Grammatically it should be ‘deserves’ but here at the heart of the English language, these signs are just one of many examples where the grammar is incorrect.

I never saw examples of anyone hassling the bus driver, or anyone else, and found the ‘natives’ wonderfully kind. Perhaps helped by long hours of daylight (we’re on the same latitude as Moscow and Hudson Bay, with enough light to read outside after 10 p.m.), it felt very safe to be in the city late at night.

But as wonderful as mass transit is, I’ve realized how hard it is to use on a day-to-day basis. I often dream of a world where the interests of the public and environment, instead of the auto makers and oil industry, win out – trains running alongside I-94, mini buses running down Hwy. 29 – so elderly people can get to doctors and business people can get to work and families can shop, without driving. I could park at the Red Barn and hop a mini bus to The Farm, or to work.

However, reality meets that dreamy picture with a clatter, as I daily see elderly people thrown about on the bus as they try to navigate to their seats while the vehicle lurches through traffic. Families with shopping bags, small children and strollers struggle to manage all of this in the crush. The other day three women with strollers (called ‘buggies’) and toddlers tried to manage around a woman in a wheel chair and a man with two dogs, all on a crowded bus – it was like one of those children’s puzzles where you jiggle the little, numbered squares around in a small, handheld plastic frame until the numbers are in some proper order.

One woman, travelling alone, was unable to hold her infant while collapsing the buggy, and without options she struggled while the woman in the wheel chair glared at her and we all waited; another woman alone with the same predicament twice handed off her child to strangers to hold while she folded or set up the stroller. The young men chosen for the task were cheerful both times about it, but it brought back memories of why I left Los Angeles – the constant feeling of needing a sky hook to cling to until enough space on the ground opened up that I had a place to exist for a few minutes at least without being in someone’s way. What looks good from afar is sometimes not so great when you live it.

On our 10-day mid-session trip, a faculty colleague and I visited Ireland, Wales, and parts of England, where tour guides and self-paced tours unfolded centuries of history. So much took place here in Biblical times – Stonehenge is the third go-round of early peoples to create whatever that’s meant to be, on the same site – prior versions include ‘wood henge’ – like the Three Little Pigs, they finally learned to build something that lasted – dating back 3,000 years. In Bath, we saw extravagant examples of Roman construction 2,000 years old. Little House on the Prairie cabins of our own young country had become more prominent in my thoughts as examples of earlier times than the advanced cultures of Egypt, Greece, Rome and many places in Asia, which this trip served to refresh.

Another feature of this trip was the ‘people who hate the British’ tour – exposure to the extent to which the ‘United Kingdom’ – so named when James VI of Scotland also became James I of England, uniting the two nations, in the early 1700s – is still paying the price of bad public relations from its colonial past. This is the King James for whom the Bible translation was named, and while the ‘united’ name fit at first, there has been chafing of late in the kingdom as many in Scotland want to pull away and be on their own. Scotland has its own Parliament, as part of the ‘devolution’ of 1999 in which it was given self-government, but oil reserves in the North Sea and enough sheep to last a long time leave some Scots thinking they can go it alone.

Among the more recent issues cited was a peacefulness on the part of Scots (having gotten over that Braveheart thing, apparently) that makes them not want to be part of the militarism of Britain (think the war in Iraq). All of the UK has lost just over 100 service people in Afghanistan in seven years there, but they are very public with the losses, with the flag-draped coffins prominently portrayed on the news, compared to the U.S., where there’s a blackout on that type of visual.

The Republic of Ireland is separate from the UK, using the Euro as currency instead of the pound sterling, and there’s a whole head of steam on the Emerald Isle about past injustices at the hands of the Brits such as the handing off of Irish land to Protestants (which created Northern Ireland, part of the UK), suffocation of Catholicism and the forced building of senseless stone fences leading to nowhere that was extracted in exchange for rations of gruel during the potato famine of the mid-1850s when 40 percent of the Irish starved, or immigrated – which is how my ancestors got to the U.S.

Today, while hardly any one speaks the Irish language, it is placed above English on signs throughout the country, at huge cost, just to be separate, and the Irish have cultivated different sports – hurling and rugby – in which to excel, while ‘football’ (called soccer in the U.S.) is the dominant sport in Britain and much of the rest of Europe.

In Ireland I was on a bus tour predominantly peopled by college-age students from the U.S. and Australia, all of whom seemed content to sleep, plug into their Ipods, flip through trashy celebrity magazines, text their friends, and in general ignore the tour guide and the scenery that for 6 hours (broken up by visits to sites) rolled by outside. I wasn’t personally offended, as I suspect the guide was, but was despairing for the future of our world when young are so unimpressed with anything more than five years old and not on a screen – it was real life vs. YouTube.

Then I got back ‘home’ to the palace, where our students were unpacking from their trips to Italy, France and Spain, where they toured the Louvre and the Sistine Chapel, and read for pleasure books like Jane Eyre while sunning by the pool. So every time I find something about ‘students today’ or ‘the British’ or whomever, there’s another example waiting to knock me over.

Now I’m finishing up my time in Scotland and heading to mainland Europe for three more weeks of travel. This has been an incredible opportunity, a wonderful gift. Yet I know it can’t go on – winter here is miserable, to use the local expression, and in the full semester, the house, which holds 200, fills up a lot more, creating a density of human contact that my reclusive self would find deadening. So I need to be grateful for what has been, to accept that it is ending, and move on.

The time ahead will be fascinating as well, but more rigorous as I’ll be on the move, and dealing with languages I don’t know (instead of just accents that are hard to decipher). My interest will be more quickly sated, as my fascination with big, old buildings and statues has already waned. More often now I raise my camera, shrug and think, ‘I’ve got a photo that looks like this already.’

My past travels have been preoccupied by exotic peoples, their cultures and crafts – Asian, Latin American. Madagascar, Sri Lanka, Myanmar. It was much cheaper (the U.S. currency is now trashed by both the pound and euro) and also more fraught with difficulty because of extreme cultural differences, and gut-wrenching poverty that made theft by locals from comparatively rich tourists common, and had me constantly on edge watching for con artists and pick pockets. On this trip, it’s much easier to relax in a higher standard of living and common culture, but there’s less to be awed by, when nearly everyone looks and lives like us. Like with the visit by the duke, when we shrugged and said, ‘Why waste a photo on a guy who looks like everyone else?’

Meanwhile Wisconsin’s as vague in my thoughts today as the places I have yet to see. I watched a service dog on the train back from a weekend in London anxiously gazing at his owner, and I thought how much I wanted to hug and pet him, yet when I tried to picture the dogs that share my life, even Lula, my canine partner of nearly nine years, I couldn’t pull up an image. Soon, that too will change; until then, caio!

One of the most consistent traits listed on my professional career performance reviews was the trait of “organizational skills”. And just what did that mean? It meant I could make lists. Lists of things to do in priority order. To the corporate manager, that meant I could take a pile of issues and put them in to a first-to-last order. And then it was simply a matter of the execution of those tasks.

Black and white to my mind. Logical. Just put the first step first and then list the rest. Just make a list, Sandy. For we Type “A” personalities, lists are a natural trait. A natural habit. Kind of like breathing. For those of you who are not Type “A”, we seem odd and strangely pushy to you. We don’t mean to be – we just see things so logically and naturally. It’s that darn list thing!

Fast forward twenty years and I’m still making lists. Oh, those lists! I have a list of things needing to be done for the Memory Beds. A list of things to be done in the Old Barn. A list of things to be done in the New Barn. A list of things to be done in the pastures and for the fence lines. Then there’s the list of miscellaneous outdoor things to be done.

Now, let’s move indoors! There is a list of things to be done in the garage and a seperate list for the workshop. A list of things to be done in the basement. A list for the attic and, of course, a list for the living spaces of the house. By room, no less! If you are brave enough, wander over to my desk and see the lists (yes, that’s plural!) of things to be done for Refuge Farms paperwork – by category! I have grant lists, publicity lists, new federal compliance lists, correspondence lists, fundraising lists… As I write this, I’m wondering if somewhere I just don’t have a list of the lists!

And it may again sound very peculiar to some of you, but crossing an item off from a list gives me pleasure. And oh, the joy! The joy when I can actually throw a completed list away! And while I’m being honest, I’ll let you in on a never before shared secret: Now that I’m older and feeling the pressure of time passing too quickly, I’m making shorter lists. That way I get to shout for joy more frequently whenever I toss a list away!

Earlier this week, I took the time to look through a magazine that LB had thoughtfully given me. In her gentle way, encouraging me to not work on a list for just a little while. In this magazine there was an article in a section called “Purpose”. The title caught my eye: “The Joys of A Simpler Life”. Huh. A simple life. Is there really such a thing I wondered?

It was a short one-page article written by a man with an obvious belief in a Higher Spirit. What grabbed me so about the article? Here. Read some for yourself:

“…That’s when I realized the truth – we couldn’t get it all done, and God never intended for us to make completing a to-do list the purpose of our lives…There are many things we think we must do that really are not worth doing…Simplifying is really about choices – prioritizing what is important – and then sticking to those choices no matter how tempting it is to add more to your to-do list… There is a price tag on every decision you make in life, even those that seem insignificant. Every time you give a minute of your life to anything, you’re giving a part of your life away.

You are the only one who can assume responsibility for your time and clarify what’s really important to you…Ultimately, it will be the donation of our life that will count far more than the duration. It’s not how long you live, or even how much you cram into how long you live. It’s really about how you live.”

As I read the article, I could not help but see the similarities between this man’s message and the message of my dear Andy. “Gilbert”, he would say, “When you’re born there is a number written on the wall. That’s the number of heartbeats you’ve been given. The trick is to never waste a one. Because you’ll never get that one back.”

So, today I did a very bold thing for me. Given my history and my need to “get things done” and the fact that I have lists everywhere. Given the pressure that I am putting on myself to do more than is humanly possible. Given the pressure that I am putting on myself to never fail. Given the pressure that I am putting on myself to get it all done. Today I put the lists away.

Today I will spend time with Keller and treasure his joy in just being here with me. And today I will try to spend time with each member of The Herd and touch them, talk with them, and reconnect with them all, one by one. And the time will have nothing to do with feeding or any chore at all. Just time with those that I do it all for. And today I will spend time in Donna’s swing and remember her. And Mom. And Dad. And Andy. And, of course, Frannie and my Jerry.

Today I will spend a day in a simpler life. I will treasure the breeze and enjoy the heat of summer. I will walk the Memory Beds and thrill in their blossoms, purposely overlooking the weeds. And I will take my bike down the road for some exercise and a change of scenery. Yes, today I will have a simple life. I will actually take time to eat a meal. And I will spend the day surrounded by the creatures that I treasure so. Once again, looking to them to teach me. Show me how to enjoy the day. A simple day. The gift of life to be learned from those who were thrown away.

Enjoy your day, today. Live simply today. Refresh yourself today. And let the lists wait for today. They’ll be there, neatly waiting for you, tomorrow!

Enjoy the journey of each and every day,
Sandy and The Herd

This past week has seen several twenty-hour days. Working to save the lives of a herd of horses forgotten back in the woods. Horses left to die without food or water. Living off of each other’s manure until somewhere, somehow, they would be given a chance to live. As a result, this past week, I have spent the majority of my time working and being amongst herds. Big herds and little herds. But always herds. Herds of horses and herds of humans. And as I sit here this Sunday morning, I am drawn to the direct similarities and wide differences between those two herds…

These horses that I’ve been spending my time with are a herd of “wild” horses. Untrained and unhandled horses that were left fenced in to fend for themselves. Horses that human hands have never touched. Horses never knowing the feel of a halter or the taste of grain. Living their lives out in the hills without the sight and sound of humans or traffic or anything other than themselves and the nature around them.

These "wild" horses, when approached by we humans that were now wandering in their living space, were curious, of all things. No striking or running away. No rearing or charging in an attempt to hurt us as we came near to them. Instead, they were calm under stress and faced us - the unknown - with open, honest curiosity. Many of us were moved to tears at their total calm and acceptance of us in to their world.

Throughout this entire time, this herd of wild horses remained a cohesive unit and moved, like fluid, together as one large body. Not one was left behind. Even the tiniest and the weakest were included and cared for in this herd of wild horses. The leading mare was followed and her instincts were trusted. She did her job exceptionally well. Being sharp when needed, strong when needed, coaxing when needed, but above all, being in front. She instilled a natural, calm, respectful order.

When we humans applied pressure to this herd, they responded quickly and communicated loudly and clearly to each other. Once again, all were included in this chatter and their movements, although quick and sharp, were still together. Survival was now their goal and they remained calm with new common goals now binding them even more tightly together. If one stumbled, there was no scolding or bad feelings. No, instead the herd would circle back to retrieve the one at risk – freely risking themselves to insure that not one single member of the herd was left behind.

Change was absorbed and again, they adapted quickly with communication and applying new skills to their new surroundings. They above all, remained calm and cohesive. Orderly and surprisingly, still curious. They never resorted to violence or striking out. No, instead they adapted and survived.

We humans are not naturally curious adults. We are curious as children, but somewhere along the line we learn to doubt and mistrust and the curiosity is set aside for judgment and criticism and skepticism. We set expectations and if another human does not meet our expectations we have disappointment and anger toward them. We humans tend to shun the human who fails to meet our expectations. Or we simply withdraw and withhold our communications and interactions with that failing human that we have no faith in any longer.

We humans tend to create societies inside of the big society, thereby leaving some behind or outside of our inner circle. We leave some behind simply because they don’t fit with us or have failed us in some way and so we no longer go back to retrieve them. We let them stay behind to fend for themselves. And in our mini-societies, we tend to tell our fellow humans what they “should do” or “need to do” or “ought not to do”. We tend to be experts on the actions of others without always considering the footprints of the others.

We humans also tend to not move like fluid. Instead we tend to fend for ourselves and forget the power of mass and the force of many. We see change and fail to communicate. Usually, we resist change and strike out either with words or that withdrawal mechanism again. Sadly, we humans tend to not meet change as a group with open communication and respect for our leader. Once again, we end up standing alone to face expectations with an already slow start because we are alone and without the support and protection of our herd.

I’ve spent time with an angry horse and a human filled with anger. The horse is calmed by my deep breathing and my remaining calm. My deep breathing does nothing to calm the human.

And we humans tend not to overextend ourselves to care for others. We tend to say you “must have some common sense about it” and we tend to leave some to die. Is it our faith that is weak? Or our conviction that is lacking? Or are we just too tired meeting all of those expectations set upon us? How can we turn our back on those who will suffer or die without us?

More than anything, I see we humans as an anxious lot. An unsatisfied lot. Not easy to please or easy to be or stay happy. We seem to want more than the sun on our shoulders and a decent meal with fresh water.

I have spent the majority of my time this past week working and being amongst herds. Herds of horses and herds of humans. As for myself, I choose to be more like the herd of wild horses that I have come to admire and respect. In this first meeting
of this wild herd of horses, I saw and learned from them absolutely everything I needed to know to survive as a Human Being. Staying calm in adversity. Curious rather than critical. Cohesive with the creatures placed in my path. Not leaving a single one behind. Communicating loudly and adapting as quickly as I possibly can. Having no expectations of my fellow humans. It is only in being like the wild herd, that I think I will find my contentment.

Enjoy the journey of each and every day,
Sandy and The Herd

Transitions. Getting to be a familiar word around here, isn’t it? Transitions. Change. Moving on.

Ole’ Man Cole appeared to be transitioning yesterday morning. Down. Non-responsive. Pale gums. Labored breathing, even for Cole. But he got himself up. Struggling and soon down again, but repeatedly up and persistently moving to keep himself alert and functioning. Determined to overcome what had befallen him.

And by the end of the day, the old coot was eating and back to pushing me around. A seizure had taken his strength in the morning but by sunset, he was back. A transition that resulted in stability once again…. Huh. Another life lesson learned in the barns at Refuge Farms.

As said so well last week, Refuge Farms is at a place it has never been before. We’ve been through transitions in the past, but not like this one! That first transition when Andy pretty much demanded that I open the barns to the public happened over seven years ago. The next transition of Frances Andrew was so very painful but so obviously sent to illustrate the future to me. Then on to a 501(c)3. And before you could blink, here we are!

Transition means change and we have several as we begin our latest cycle of growth.

A tad over three years ago, a young man that I didn’t know and would never meet called me and said, “I’ll build you a website and maintain it for you for one year – one year! Then you’re on your own.” That year moved in to two years and then in to three years. And as a result of his commitment, there is a website to be envied. A bulletin board platform from which I write to you as often as my heart has something to speak. Pictures of our Ministers and The ‘Other’ Herd. Vincent’s attention to detail and demand for perfection shines through on our website. And he has left us a tremendous gift of his devotion to a herd and the missions that he has felt but never actually touched.

Refuge Farms gave to Vincent though, too, I am happy to say! Vincent has learned the parts of a horse hoof and the definition and the symptoms of colic, the thrill of saving a life by advertising and connecting people to save an unwanted horse, and he has gained friends that he most likely would have not otherwise have met.

And so, on this Father’s Day, it seems appropriate for you, Vincent, to realize that you birthed a baby and nurtured it to grow. A gift truly from your heart that has touched many hearts. God Speed and good luck in your future endeavors. Lucky are the new recipients of your many talents! And Vincent, a sincere and genuine “thank you” to you from me. And Miss Bonita. And Big Jim. And Halima. And Richard. And Lady-the-Dog. And Big Guy. And Jerry, the Roan Horse. From them and all those yet to come….

Another transition is our Operations Manager who has decided to pursue some of her other interests and focus her energies here at THE FARM where her heart is truly the happiest – with The ‘Other’ Herd. Our new Volunteer Coordinator came to Refuge Farms on her first visit and told me - point blank! - that, in her retirement, she had no intention of volunteering. Anywhere!

In her three years as Operations Manager, Kathy has seen and assisted us in the move to a Ways of THE FARM, walk-thru’s, and Horse Handling classes. High in energy and always with a smile on her face, it is truly a time of transition for Kathy and we all understand her need for this change. Time is elusive and Kathy desires more of her time for her new hobbies, her new friends, and her new endeavors. But thankfully, she is willing to still be a leader and trainer here at THE FARM and lead us in those chicken dances and songs! Glad to have you, Kathy!

A newbie on the scene is a man whom I tell others “has no boundaries”. I introduce Craig as a man of strong ethics, strong heart, and he sees no horizon for Refuge Farms. When we talk of book signings and television coverage, I look to Craig and his face screams, “Why not?”. Finding us in the bitter cold of last winter, this man brings his heart and his devotion to The Herd as well as his constant understanding of the Human Being and the demands of life. Welcome, Craig, to the task of Publicity for Refuge Farms.

Robin is shy and quiet and “neat as a pin”, as my Mom would say. Sensitive and caring, Robin listens – truly listens! – and hears the issue underneath of what is being said. She sees the heart. Just last week, we were talking and I mentioned Jerry. She looked me right in the eye and said, “You really miss him, don’t you?” Bullseye.

Robin has accepted the role of searching and evaluating grant possibilities for THE FARM. The enormous task of finding those foundations and businesses that have like hearts and see in us the possibilities and a future. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Don’t let it fool you – this is a most difficult task with enormous consequences. Thank you, Robin, for your grace and your heart and the willingness to give by searching.

And just when you’re thinking that’s enough change in one swoop, there is a new Board of Directors, too! Collectively, this group of individuals is strong in ethics and concerns for the Human Being and all living creatures. Add to that their varying business experiences and it all melds together for a remarkable unit to lead and manage this little patch of land with a huge heart up here on this hill in Spring Valley.

Robin (the same Robin) tells us about herself:

“Only by treating all life as sacred can we touch the sacred in ourselves.” (a quote from Best Friends Magazine, 2001). Firmly believing in the sanctity of all life, I made it easy for my dear sister to choose Refuge Farms as the recipient of her Christmas gift donation in my name several years ago. Since that time my admiration and support for Sandy and her rescue mission has grown. I consider it a privilege to work with those who set an example of kindness and decency to all we share the planet with.

Moira is a Chaplain at Sacred Heart Hospital and is calm in adversity. Her faith is unwavering and she believes in the Master Plan. When I recently communicated my concern for workloads and demands and unmet needs, Moira’s response was simple, honest, and worthy. She wrote to me to have faith for the answer is in prayer. She affirmed for me that no one is alone and no one will be left unarmed for what is placed in front of them. Kind words that are now printed and taped to my bedroom door.

Michael is a gifted man who happens to be the designer of our logo and the creator of “Miss April”. Quiet, I listen when Mike speaks. His perception is honest but kind. A welcome voice in the room, he tells us about himself by saying:

I am an artist (www.MurGallery.com) from Elk Mound, WI. I originally got involved with Refuge Farms because I was friends with Sandy. Soon, though, I became excited about being a part of “THE FARM” because of its purity of purpose.

Lauren is the Executive Director of the Eau Claire County Humane Association (ECCHA) and a welcome resource on our Board. Her credibility in the industry is unmatched in this region and her heart is pure. She truly comes to us willing to share and lead and contribute. We are gifted this woman’s talents and her heart – how fortunate!

Katherine Schneider is a retired clinical psychologist. Her knowledge of animals comes mainly from having been a Seeing Eye dog user for 35 years. She started a program through ECCHA to provide pet food and supplies to seniors and people with disabilities who are on Meals on Wheels, but it was Lanna (a member of The Herd) who talked her in to serving on the Refuge Farms board.

Marcia is an RN and one of the first people to touch and welcome our Spirit to THE FARM last fall. She is kind and tender and just when you think the issue is completed, Marcia asks a simple question and puts you back in the middle of “it” all over again! A welcomed voice and heart at the table.

So much is changing at Refuge Farms! We will never be the same as we move forward in our life path. We are being challenged with what to do and where to go and how to look. Much like Cole yesterday, we at times are struggling and down, but repeatedly up and persistently moving to keep ourselves alert and functioning. Determined to overcome. We, too, are in a transition that will result in stability and growth and then even more transition once again!

Every morning when I enter the barn I am greeted by happy hearts and that simple blue bucket hanging from the rafters of this too-small barn. A barn packed with the souls and the hearts of the unwanted. A place where people come to pet one of the Ministers and maybe pause for just a moment. A moment of peace and warmth and maybe some calm. Found here only because, simply, it is meant to be. Beyond all of us, the Master Plan has placed all of these pieces together to create this place we call Refuge Farms.

Enjoy the journey of each and every day and hug your Dad!
Sandy and The Herd

I am a survivor!

A lot has changed for me the past 18 months. I have gone from being the ‘take charge’ leader of The Herd to a very scared blind horse dependent on Blaise for comfort and protection. Yet an interesting thing has happened. Just when people thought that it was all over, my new life at THE FARM has begun. The actual move was so simple but the impact so great!

About two weeks ago, Sandy moved Blaise and I into the Helen Keller pasture with PONY! and Gracie. At first, I was so confused and frightened that I broke through the fence and got into the neighbor’s corn field. If I couldn’t find Blaise, I would bray and Sandy would have to come out and walk me to where Blaise was. Would I be able to adapt? The answer is yes!

I had to take some tentative first steps – I couldn’t stay where I was -- but I have learned to trust PONY! and Gracie. I expanded my horizons and have learned that the new environment is great. Sometimes when you drive by you will see me with PONY!, other times with Gracie, and at other times I am by myself or with my best friend Blaise. I go into the barn by myself and I wait for my mates to come out. The change was scary and took work, but I have made the transition. I am enjoying my journey each and every day! Look for ‘new’ me the next time you come to THE FARM.

--- Sweet Lady Grey


Like Sweet Lady Grey, Refuge Farms is in transition. Not its first and certainly not its last. The first transition was opening the barns to the public in 2001 followed by the creation of The Declaration of Purpose in August 2002. Another major transition was to a 501(c)3 charitable organization. We have come a long way in just seven years. The mission of Refuge Farms [Ezekiel 34:16] is powerful: “I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the crippled, and I will strengthen the weak…I will watch over. I will feed them in justice.” We live our mission each day through the care that we give to the horses, through how we interact with our guests, through our outreach activities, and through how we care for each other. We now must live our mission by strengthening and watching over Refuge Farms, the organization.

To accomplish this, Refuge Farms must think about what and where we want the organization to be in 2012. Does the organization remain as it is? Does the organization become smaller both in terms of the horses it cares far and the outreach it engages in? Does the organization grow in terms of the services it provides? Does Refuge Farms remain a regionally known charity or does it, like Sweet Lady Grey, expand its horizons? Part of answering these questions also involves answering questions about how Refuge Farms governs, manages, and funds itself so that it is sustainable.

To guide our discussions about these important issues, in April an Executive Committee was formed by the Executive Director. The committee members are Robin U. (Vice President of the Board of Directors), Kathy M., Craig N., Sally D. and Joy B. Each member of the committee will be assuming a ‘lead’ facilitation role for Refuge Farms. These will be finalized in June. The committee is charged with engaging in strategic planning activities to help identify our vision and the strengths that we have to achieve that vision. The committee will also provide direction for how to resolve the current ‘crisis’ management issues related to THE FARM's operations. The committee will be making recommendations for how to stabilize Refuge Farms, what transition activities need to be taken, what new revenue streams need to be developed, and how we move forward to a sustainable organization that is positioned for growth. The committee will not be working in isolation. There will be conversations at many levels throughout Refuge Farms, including the committee’s reports at each Board of Directors meeting. Your ideas, concerns, inspirations and insights about what we are becoming are welcome! Please share!

Transitions are scary – roles change, relationships change, new structures and revenue structures are needed, and commitment [work] goes up not down – at least in the short term! Transitions require taking risks, making new investments, managing what exists while changing, and, yes, even conflict. Yet, as Sweet Lady Grey learned, the rewards are tremendous! The timing is right for Refuge Farms. We have a new Board of Directors, we have added management talent to our volunteer pool, and we have ‘hit the wall’ financially. Taken together, these provide great opportunities for change! To support the change and allow time for Refuge Farms to become self-sufficient, short-term steps must be taken so the Board of Directors, the Executive Committee, and The ‘Other’ Herd can engage in repositioning Refuge Farms.

The most pressing of the ‘short-term’ actions is to generate revenue NOW that will carry us through 2008. We cannot continue to move from one money crisis to another. This takes time and energy away from developing new revenue streams, external networking for grants and corporate sponsorships, and developing services that carry our mission into the community. As we move forward, our challenge is to spread our message about the magic of Refuge Farms through educational programs, outreach, and to more effectively use technology. Through these, we must seek events and publicity that yields greater rewards both for the people we impact as well as the revenues earned. We need breathing room to allow these development activities to take place. This means we have to eliminate the day-to-day stress of paying for the basic care of the horses and of our operations.

At the present rate, it costs $180 A DAY to maintain Refuge Farms. From January 1, 2008 through May 31, 2008, there have been thirteen events and public hours. From these approximately $9,083 has been generated for general operating expenses. This covers our needs for just over 7 weeks. Volunteers engaged in yard work to earn feed which offset part of our costs for one pallet of forty bags [we go through a pallet – or 2,000 pounds - of feed every two to three weeks depending on the temperature]. We have received checks and in-kind donations that have helped to cover some our operating costs [i.e. feed, deworming medication, medical care for three horses, alfalfa cubes, salt blocks, and leather collars]. The Hay Fund Balance is $4,417. This includes $1850 through May 31 for the 2nd Annual Hay Challenge, and $430 net for the hay fund raised by Wakanda School’s Penny Wars [this will be matched by Barb G.]. The Webb Family has raised $700 for the Hay Fund by selling Home & Garden products. In addition 25% of most fund raising events goes to the Hay Fund.

All of the donations are very important to Refuge Farms and are greatly appreciated. Yet, the reality is that our revenues do not equal our costs. We ended May with a $7,512 shortfall. In addition, our basic costs are going up. SafeChoice™ feed seems to increase each time a pallet is purchased. Last year we paid $38 a round bale and this year the projection is $70 per bale for a projected total cost of $15,000 for the 2008-2009 feeding cycle. When the hay is delivered this summer, the supplier will expect payment in full – we do not pay as we drop the bales in the pastures! We need to have our revenue stay in front of our expenses not behind them. [Watch for Hay Challenge updates on the new Bulletin Board being started.]

From July 1 through the December 31, Refuge Farms needs a minimum of $33,150. There is only one major fund raising event scheduled during this period – the Open Barn. Based on last year, it is projected that the Open Barn and Auction will generate $6700. If achieved, this will leave an operating shortfall of $26,4250 – with no money in reserve for emergencies, the operational needs of Refuge Farms, the capital needs Refuge Farms, or to pay bills in early 2009. What can you do?

· First, reflect on The Three Promises we have given to Addie-Girl, Miss April, Babee-Joy, Beauty, Blaise, Cole, Gracie, Handsomer, Jeri-Ann, Josephina, Lanna, Miss Bette, PONY!, Spirit, Star, Sweet Lady Grey, Unit, and Windsor. How will you help Refuge Farms fulfill our promises to them?
· Second, think about what Refuge Farms means to you. At its best, how have you been positively affected by the mission of Refuge Farms, its activities, and your interactions with the horses and members of The ‘Other’ Herd?’
· Third, take action! Commit to giving an amount equal to a $1 a day for July through December. Share your story of Refuge Farms with your family and friends and ask them to commit to $1 a day. And send your money now.
· Fourth, share your ideas for sustaining Refuge Farms and its future outreach and growth.

We have challenges and we are learning from our successes and our failures. We have a rich and vibrant history. WE HAVE TREMENDOUS POTENTIAL! For me, this was confirmed May 30th. Twelve MBA students from the University of Wisconsin – River Falls visited THE FARM. Several work for larger corporations in the Twin Cities, two have experience with not-for-profit organizations, some work in local business, and one works with start-up companies. All have considerable management experience. With one voice, it was ‘the opportunity’ they spoke of. They looked past the unmowed grounds and listened to the message. They had read our webpage and could see it lived in the horses, the volunteers hard at working cleaning stock tanks, and listening to the stories. The magic was present! They moved beyond my expectation for their learning – they are making recommendations to help us transition to our next phase for Refuge Farms.

Please join us in our transition!

Joy B.
Member of The ‘Other’ Herd

Warning: Some pictures in this blog may be wonderful to view!

Sometimes a life changes forever.

Life is spent enduring and yet one continues. Waiting. Living and waiting. Waiting for that moment of change. Waiting for that lucky star or a Guardian Angel to appear and make that decision, take that action, or say those words that will change a life forever. Sometimes the life changes for the good and looking back one can see the point of change and thank the lucky stars.

Yes, sometimes a life changes forever. Changes because someone saw and cared and did something to change the life forever.


Handsome arrived at Refuge Farms in late November of 2007. A tall and lanky horse who seemed to move with grace, although with a slight limp in the left hindquarter. He was curious and eager to learn. Naïve in the ways of a lead rope and taking cues from the little Human on the end of that lead rope! Never having seen feed before, he played with it until finally some went down to his stomach and his life changed forever for the first time. Feed, Handsome had learned, was a good thing and he thanked his lucky stars for the change in his life that brought him feed.

And hay. Now there was a good thing! No longer having to scrounge in the woods for food, this huge mass of hay in the pasture was certainly a good change in his life! He was content with water available, hay available, and feed on a daily basis. Yes, his life had taken a change and Handsome was, indeed, thanking his lucky stars. His life had changed forever and changed for the good. He had endured and was blessed that his luck had changed and now, yes finally now, life could be easier for him.

But his eye. It still remained as it had been for years. Draining pus down his face. Weeping. Eating away at his lower lid and creating ulcerations in the tissue. Smelly. Even though his life had taken a gigantic step to the good, his eye remained an issue. Handsome was very aware of his eye and its appearance and its odor. In general, he stayed to the back of the herd. Seldom wandering up to the guests. And very aware of their twisted faces and sympathetic moans when his eye was revealed for all to see.

Yes, Handsome needed just one more change in his life. One more lucky star. One more Guardian Angel to bring the final, life-changing gift that he needed so desperately in order to be a horse again. Not a monster with the bad eye....

And Handsome’s Guardian Angel was there for him. Shortly after he arrived in the barns of Refuge Farms, Barb G. came to know and love the big horse. Her heart visibly became connected to the heart of Handsome. To those that were aware, you could see Barb’s face change when Handsome entered the barn. You could see the adoration and love she held for this gigantic horse with the bad eye. You could see the pleasure it gave her just to touch him and to maybe brush him a bit.

It was Spring of 2008 and Handsome was once again loaded in to a trailer and riding on I94. Only this time, he was heading west to the University of Minnesota Equine Center. In the truck was Barb G., his sponsor. It was time to get a professional opinion about this eye and discuss what options were available to help Handsome. His luck was changing one more time. And it was good...

A full examination complete with an ultrasound and biopsy were performed. Surgery was the only option to rid his body of the infection, the cancer, and the destroyed eye. Some of the lower eye socket bone would also be taken to help in the healing process, but also to do our best to insure that all of the malignant tissue was removed. His eyeball, the tumor, a good portion of the upper lid, and a large portion of the infected lower lid would be removed and sent in for medical evaluation and opinion.

That meant that Handsome would need to undergo general anesthesia. He was strong and healthy and so the decision was made to lay him down for the surgery. For me, the praying began at the very point of signing the permission papers. You see, Dr. Erin, one of the surgeons working on Handsome, and I have history. We have some good history, but more than that we have history of laying down the big ones. The big ones who get so comfortable laying there as they wake up. The big ones who half-heatedly attempt to get up, but think it is just so darn much easier to stay down on their sides. The big ones, who although heroic measures are taken by Dr. Erin and her teams, never stand again.

The day of surgery arrives. We are there early to hug him. Smell him. And pray with him surrounded by us and Dr. Erin. Handsome walks slowly and confidently down the hallway to the room where he would be sedated. One hour later, a report was given that the surgery was going well. Ninety minutes later another report that all had gone well and Handsome should be coming out of the sedation relatively soon. The next report told us that he was already sitting like a dog in the recovery room. Now he just needed to stand.

Ten minutes passed. Twenty minutes passed. Thirty minutes passed. Forty minutes passed. Something was wrong. He should be standing by now… Instinctively, I stood in the hallway and called to my Jerry. Help him stand, J! Get him up! Come on, Jerry! Step up, Jerry! Bring him up, J! Please help him get up!!! Please don't let him be one of the big ones that doesn't get up!! Jerry! Please! Get him up!

Just over fifty minutes later, Dr. Erin arrived to tell us that Handsome indeed was up. Weak and sweating and shaky, but he was up! Dr. Erin told us honestly that he really didn’t want to get up. She told us that she was going to give him one more try and then re-sedate him to put him in the harness and lift him up with the hoist. And it was on that last try - that very last try - that he stood up. Thank you, Jerry. And thank you, Dr. Erin.

Within a few hours, we were standing next to Handsome and massaging those big hind hips and legs. Encouraging the muscles to recover from the surgery and not to atrophy. Hugging him and treasuring the fact that he had truly come through the surgery. And quietly, at his head stood Barb. Just watching and observing. Watching over this gigantic horse that had stolen her heart.

It was almost time to head home. Seeing that he was standing and progressing out of the sedation, I felt my body start to crumble. A massive headache began as some of the stress was relieved. Now, it was just a matter of time to allow his system to expel the fluids and for his body to “right itself” again. His team would watch him throughout the night and honestly, the best thing we could do for Handsome right now was to leave him by himself. He was in capable hands. We needed some rest.

I walked to stretch my legs before the ninety minute ride home. Down the hallway to the “mattress room” where Handsome had rested. Standing in the hallway I let the tears roll as once again I realized just how close we had come. The horse needs to want to stand and want to get up. The harness works but seldom does the horse make it through if the harness lifts them. They need to want to stand themselves.

But Handsome had come back to us. Now it was a matter of watching him for clues that he was healing and returning fully. Now it was simply a matter of good care and time.

I came down the hallway to Handsome’s stall and felt the intrusion immediately. I was pursing my lips and wrinkling my brow as I came to his door. Was something wrong? Had he gone down? What was going on? No, there was nothing wrong. The intrusion that I felt was me.

Quietly, at his head, stood Barb. Leaning in to him and talking to him. Quietly. Privately. And then it happened. Barb leaned forward and kissed this big horse on his long nose. A kiss overflowing with love and compassion. With the pure joy of being his Guardian Angel and changing his life forever. The kinship between these two was so evident you could feel it in the air. Handsome looked directly at her then. And I could feel the mutual affection. It was one of those times that you will never forget. I’ll never forget that scene and that feeling.

Soon after, we decided that Handsome had become Handsomer. Yes, we would change his name as a symbol of his new beginning! All of his pain and hard work and the chains and whips and pulling and plowing were left back on the surgery floor with the decaying flesh. The tumor had been cut out and his past was thrown out with it. Handsomer it is! A new beginning for this big, lanky work horse.

The healing process for Handsomer has not been without its bumps and worries. There was the trip to the U of M to check on the drainage that appeared during the daily bandage change. We learned a new term that day: schmu. Yup. One of those technical terms to describe the drainage that occurs as the regenerative tissue builds and must secrete these fluids to ward off infections. Schmu. Who would have thought...?

Then there was the morning a small bump on his neck by the catheter site began to swell. The size of a golf ball then the size of my fist then the size of two of my fists. In to the U of M we go and this time, Handsomer stays for a visit as we examine and ponder what this swelling is. The tissue over the jugular is swelling, yes. Is it a blood clot? Doesn't appear to be. Officially, this swelling is in his records as "undetermined and unknown source". Hot packs and careful monitoring have followed and the swelling is dissipating. Thankfully.

And so finally, Handsomer is home, we believe, for good. He is back in his pasture and the King of his domain. He is frisky and feeling good. He is finally eating his normal daily ration of feed. And yes, he is eating his fair share of the hay, too! All is good for Handsomer. Yes, all is very good for this remarkable creature.

Barb is Handsomer’s Guardian Angel. She has made a decision and has taken action to change his life for the good forever. And her decision was not just a check in the mail. No, Barb was there for the evaluation. There for the discussion and the painful decision. There for the surgery and there for the recovery. And Barb is there for the after care and the healing. Visiting Handsomer often at THE FARM, Barb continues to hold those private conversations with her big friend.

The mutual respect and adoration continues. Our walks in the pasture send Handsomer away if I approach him. But Barb? Well, she walks right up to his face. Looks him in the eye. Has one of those private conversations with him. And then it happens again. A gentle caring kiss on that long nose of his. And once again, his big brown right eye looks right at her and you can hear it. You can hear the appreciation and gratitude pouring out of this creature. Pouring out of his heart to this Guardian Angel of his standing in front of him.

Sometimes a life changes forever.

Life is spent enduring and yet one continues. Waiting. Living and waiting. Waiting for that moment of change. Waiting for that lucky star or a Guardian Angel to appear and make that decision, take that action, or say those words that will change a life forever. Sometimes the life changes for the good and looking back one can see the point of change and thank the lucky stars.

Yes, sometimes a life changes forever. Changes because someone saw and cared and did something to change the life forever.