Kathy Stevens, Catskill
Animal Sanctuary
June 2017
We got the call from Annemarie Lucas of Animal Precinct fame: she’d
picked up a sheep being chased through the Bronx by dogs.
“Sure we’ll take her,” we said. It was Christmas Eve, 2004. I walked to the
barn to welcome our new charge, and not surprisingly met a terrified animal.
We placed her in a deeply bedded stall, promised her that she’d never again
know fear, and turned out the light.
Imagine our delight when, on Christmas Day, we walked in to discover a
snow-white lamb curled up in the straw next to his exhausted, emaciated
mama. We named our Christmas baby Christopher and assigned “Noelle” to mom.
The pair did what moms and babies do: Noelle cared well for her child, and
Christopher took his cues from the being who gave him life.
This is was what felt sad to us: of the thousands of animals Catskill Animal
Sanctuary has accepted from horrifying circumstances, none have been more
terrified than Noelle. As soon as she knew we were entering her pasture,
she’d flee. Closing them in each night was an ordeal, and it took an entire
team to catch her for health care.
Over the years, we moved the pair all around our spacious grounds —
sometimes trying to integrate them into existing flocks, sometimes resigning
ourselves to the pair living alone — always, of course, looking for the
space that would provide the greatest peace. We took our cues from them, and
the message from Noelle was, “Stay away from us.” So that’s what we did,
allowing them to live quietly, in safety and in peace.
But three decisions in the final years of Noelle’s life ensured that her
life didn’t end the way the way it began: in fear of every being around her
except for her devoted son.
The first involves a volunteer and bags of treats.
Two long-term volunteers with Catskill Animal Sanctuary, Dawn Freeman and Jill Meyer, began having their lunch in Christopher and Noelle’s pasture. That’s all. They simply ate and sat quietly, week after week, as Noelle and Christopher kept their distance and Noelle stamped her front foot in a “don’t you come any closer” gesture. But one day, Christopher began inching closer to Dawn’s outstretched hand, until weeks later, he worked up the courage to approach for his reward: an orange anise “Superstar” treat. He loved them. And while Mom hung back, curiosity eventually got the better of her, until she, too, came close enough to accept the treat. As more weeks passed, Noelle approached Dawn eagerly.
For the Catskill family, this was a breathtaking victory. If Noelle could
overcome her history and her psyche to trust one human being, then perhaps
she would trust more. Perhaps the terrified animal could have a fuller life.
Our wheels began to spin.
We introduced the elderly mom and son to a flock of five: Atticus, Scout,
Mica, Marla, and Zeke, who live in a hilly pasture near the main entrance.
Atticus, the dominant male, was assertive, but not aggressive, and we were
delighted at how well Christopher and Noelle integrated with this gentle
bunch. Attempts with other flocks over the years had been less successful,
with Noelle and Christopher always being ostracized. But not this time. Not
with sweet Scout. Not with loving Zeke. Christopher and Noelle were embraced
… and for the first time in their lives, experienced a kind of security and
comfort they’d never known: that of being part of a family.
Noelle’s life had expanded … and it was to expand once more in a way that
I never could have imagined possible a few short years ago.
If you’re new to Catskill, allow me to introduce “The Underfoot Family.” The
Underfoots are an ever-changing cast of characters who roam freely during
daylight hours, and whose members include a large number of goats and sheep,
potbelly pigs, special needs ducks, chickens, and occasionally a gentle,
aging horse, donkey, or cow. All day long, the Underfoots are free to do
whatever their spirits are moved to do: graze, explore, make new friends,
disrupt morning feeding, cool off in the shade of a willow tree, ride along
in the truck on a feed route … you get the picture. “We may not be the most
efficient sanctuary,” I wrote in my first book, Where the Blind Horse Sings,
“but we just might be the happiest.” Or as Animal Care Director Kelly
Mullins sometimes says, “Welcome to the mayhem.”
And so, with faith in Noelle and Christopher, their new flock of friends,
and the best caregiving crew around, Kelly opened the pasture gate one
morning … and Noelle was free. Tears clouded my vision each time I watched
the old girl venture a little farther. Some days were a challenge — her
respiratory system was compromised. She got tired. Her knees hurt. On those
days, she’d just rest for a bit near the barn. But soon she was up again,
determined to make the most of her newfound freedom.
For the last years of her life, Noelle’s small, fearful life grew large,
even bold, thanks to lunch breaks, a flock of loving sheep, and the
wide-open hearts of the Catskill crew, always asking the right question of
each and every one who comes our way: what more can we do to enhance your
happiness?
After suffering from severe respiratory distress one recent evening, Noelle
passed away peacefully and gently, her head resting in Kelly’s hands and
surrounded by those who loved her. Christopher was given the opportunity to
understand that Noelle was gone: he approached and retreated, smelled her,
walked away and came back again. Once he finally returned to the barn, our
crew knew that he had said goodbye.
Today, Christopher is doing just fine. He lives with his loving flock, roams
freely all day as an Underfoot, and on Thursdays, when volunteer Dawn is
with us, searches for her, looking for treats and love …. not necessarily in
that order.
Goodbye, Mama Noelle. Thanks for the opportunity. May the angels sing you
home.
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