To care for an animal for his entire life is a profound privilege. We’re grateful to all of you who believe, as we do, that their lives are important, and whose generosity enables hundreds just like Moses to experience comfort, love, and the touch of kind hands.
Our precious Moses, our beautiful spotted boy with giant floppy ears that
masked huge golden eyes, is gone. He was seven and a half years old.
Moses arrived in 2013 from a hoarding case, along with Miriam and Ginger,
his presumed sisters, and nine goats. The piglets, just a few months old,
reveled in their spacious pasture, where we joked that surely they were
digging to China as we watched them root—hour after hour, day after day,
intensely, fiercely. They’d stop for a visit, racing to us when we called
their names and flopping over, often in our laps, for belly rubs, and then
return to rooting. China was a long, long way away, after all! How we loved
them.
Miriam, Moses and Ginger...
For years, Moses was our “spa pig” during Camp Kindness, chosen for his
gentle and relaxed nature. And Pig Day was often cited as the “best day
ever” by children attending camp—no surprise given that part of the day was
spent bathing and grooming Moses, who outweighed each child by 700 or so
pounds, but who grunted his appreciation throughout the process.
“We love you, Moses,” the kids whispered.
“Mmmmph,” Moses responded.
Several months ago, caregivers found Moses lethargic, constipated, and
vomiting. We rushed him to Cornell, where bloodwork and a battery of tests,
including an ultrasound, proved inconclusive, though the possibility of
cancer was raised. The team brought him home, showered him with love, and
ensured his diet contained extra fruits and vegetables, Metamucil, and
canned pumpkin—everything he needed to keep his system moving!
Until last Thursday, Moses seemed well: his weight, his appetite, his
energy, and his attitude were all, well, normal. He ran to us when we called
his name, he ate with gusto, he snuggled in the straw with his sister.
That is, until Thursday morning. On Wednesday night, our most experienced
caregiver, Crystal Green, put Moses to bed: his appetite and his affect were
“perfectly Moses.” On Thursday morning, however, Crystal found him with the
same symptoms we’d seen months ago: he was lethargic, he wouldn’t eat, and
Crystal smelled vomit. Once again, Moses climbed the ramp of the trailer,
settled down into a deep bed of straw, and made his second trip to Cornell.
This time, the findings were grave: the vet discovered a large free-floating
mass in Moses’ abdomen, and his white blood cell count was ominously low.
She strongly suspected lymphoma, and did not feel that Moses would survive
exploratory surgery. Even if he did, treatment options were extremely
limited. None of this was what we wanted to hear, of course, but when
caregivers gathered to discuss options, there was only one choice: letting
him go would be our final act of love.
And so, we did.
Moses’ ashes will be spread in his pasture. His spirit will live in every
blade of fresh spring grass, and when we welcome our next batch of rescue
piglets and watch as they, too, dig to China, we will smile, remembering….
To care for an animal for his entire life is a profound privilege. We’re
grateful to all of you who believe, as we do, that their lives are
important, and whose generosity enables hundreds just like Moses to
experience comfort, love, and the touch of kind hands.
Onward.
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