A story for children of all ages
Illustrations by Michah Beahan
The only sound was birds singing their ancient love songs as Princess Isi stared into dancing gems in the lake, the sun’s reflection on its surface. But Princess Isi did not hear the birdsong, and did not even see the lake. She was lost in her own thoughts…
“If only I had a platypus! I would call him Ivor, the Irish Warrior Platypus. He would be so much fun to hang out with! He could swim in the lake while I dance on the shore… Come to think of it, I need three of them!! What on earth does one call three of them? Platypi? Platypuses? All I know is that without at least one platypus there is nothing to do around here!”
This was a common lament for Princess Isi, who had been dreaming of a platypus for a very long time, at least two weeks. Princess Isi knew, she just knew, that she was meant to have a platypus, and that her life would never be complete without one. But how ever does a mere young princess find a Platypus?
She had asked her parents a million times, and they just smiled like she was saying something cute. But it was not cute, and she was not cute. She was serious. Princess Isi needed a platypus (or three)!
“Mom,” she cried, “this is a matter of life and death! I cannot go one without a platypus named Ivor!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, child,” her mother chided. “You are a princess! You have everything a girl could want. Why do you think you need a platypus so much? Or platypi? What is the plural for platypus, anyways?”
“I don’t know,” Princess Isi mumbled dejectedly, “and besides, without a platypus, I am not a princess. I may as well be a pauper…”
You see, Princess Isi was lonely. She didn’t seem to know how to make friends at school. She and her parents had come from a faraway land. Their skin was a different color than the other kids, and they spoke with an accent. More importantly, Princess Isi and her family lived and even understood the world differently than the other kids. Isi thought the platypi might be easier to understand than the kids she knew. The Princess moped for days, thinking of nothing but Ivor, her destiny.
The Princess had just had a big fight with her parents!
They were sitting at the table eating. Well, her parents were eating. The Princess refused to eat the disgusting Roast Beast the chef insisted on making. It was obviously gross. They had to smother it in some sort of horrible sauce just to eat it. But her father, the king, loved it.
So, there she was, trying to impart how important it was that her parents get her some platypi (or was it platypuses?), that in fact without them she was a mere pauper, when her father burst out laughing!
“Honey,” he said once he caught his breath, “just put it out of your head. You’ll forget platypuses (or is it platypi?) in a few weeks and you can go back to playing with your dolls and matchbox cars like a good Princess.”
Her father was so mean!! And he didn’t even know her! If he knew anything, it would be that she abhorred dolls and matchbox cars and had not played with either in months.
She slammed down her napkin and ran out of the palace, straight to the lake where she just knew Ivor would someday cavort and promenade. She flung herself in the grass facedown and pummeled the earth with her hands and feet until she exhausted herself, lying sobbing.
Suddenly, a flower appeared under her nose, where none had been a second ago! “Wh…wha…,” the startled Princess stammered as she looked up to see a porcupine smiling kindly and holding the flower out to her! And this was not just any porcupine! No, this was a porcupine in 1960’s Beatles style sunglasses, wearing a big peace symbol pendant, surrounded in some sort of sweet perfume.
“Who are you?” the Princess wrinkled her nose, “And what is that smell?”
“Oh! Do you like it? It’s my essential oil, patchouli.”
“Essential oil? For a porcupine? How on earth does a porcupine apply patchouli oil without pricking herself?”
“That, my dear, is a secret for another day,” the aromatic porcupine answered enigmatically, “But do you like the scent?”
“Yes, no, I don’t know…who are you? Some kind of hippie porcupine?”
“Who, me?,” she said sweetly. “We’re all One, lovey. I am you, and you are me, and we are All That Is…”
“Whatever!” The Princess turned her back on the strange sight.
But the porcupine was not to be put off. She came right around to shove the flower under Isi’s nose again.
“Ok, Ok, I can see that was not what you meant. My name is Clover Astralride Lovehaze. But you can call me Clover. And you are Princess Isi,” Clover said with a bow and a flourish.
“Clover Astralride Lovehaze? Seriously. Did your parents name you that?” the Princess asked incredulously.
The porcupine simply smiled. Reluctant but curious, the Princess took the proffered flower. “Nice to meet you,” she stammered politely.
Quite suddenly, without the slightest advance notice, the hippie porcupine broke into song– the classic Beatles song, in fact, only the Princess didn’t know it:
Oooh wah ooh,
Do you want to know a secret, Oooh wah ooh,
Do you promise not to teeeee-eeell?”
“What? Tell me already,” for patience was not among the Princess’s considerable virtues.
“Closer,” the porcupine went right on singing,
“Oooh wah oooh,
Let me whisper in your ear,
Tell you what you long to heeeeeear…”
“Enough already, tell me!” our pugnacious little Princess was not much of a charmer, either.
“I’m trying to. Just hang on and let me finish!” the porcupine chided before resuming her song:
Oooh wah ooh,
Do you want to know a secret, Oooh wah ooh,
Do you promise not to tell?”
“Yes, yes, I promise not to tell, but only if you STOP SINGING,” the Princess yelled with her hands tightly covering her ears.
Clover only sang louder,
“All’s in love with you,
Oooh ooh oooh oooh ooh.”
“What! Paul’s in love with me? Paul who?” the Princess asked eagerly.
“No! Not Paul, All. All’s in love with you.”
“What kind of name is All?” the princess scoffed.
The hippie porcupine sighed and sat down. “You know, All. All That Is. The Light,.The Source. The Creator.”
“Creator?” Princess Isi said with a wrinkled brow, “You mean God?”
“Yes, God or Goddess, if you prefer.”
“So that’s the big secret? That God loves me? My parents have been telling me that since I was little. That’s no secret!”
“No, my dear, that is not the secret. But what you may not know, and this IS the secret, is hat All That Is– or God– or your own Higher Self if you look at it that way– wants you to have all that you have ever wanted or needed or dreamed of. And there is just one simple thing you must do to get it.”
“All that I dream of? Really? Even a platypus named Ivor, the Irish Warrior?”
“And his faithful pals?”
“Yes, and Ivor’s faithful pals. You, my dear, have plentiforous platypi at your fingertips, all for the asking.” “Really?”
“Yes, all that your heart desires,” Clover intoned majestically.
“No, I mean, that’s great, but is the plural of platypus really platypi?” Princess Isi enquired.
“Well actually, both platypi and platypuses are correct, but don’t you want to know how you can have plentiforousness?”
“Are you going to tell me?” the Princess asked skeptically.
“The answer lies in your heart,” Clover answered cryptically while spraying a mist of patchouli in front of her and walking through it before settling down in a lotus position.
Have you ever seen a porcupine sit in lotus position? Ouch!
“Come on! My heart is already certain of the truth! I know that I must have platypi! My life will never be complete until I have them!”
The porcupine sat still, neither looking at Princess Isi, nor saying a word. A breeze blew the grass around them, the leaves rustled in the trees. Far off, birds sang. The two sat in the warm afternoon sun, a perfectly-at-peace porcupine and a petulant Princess who perceived herself a pauper.
Minutes passed, and finally Clover spoke. “My dear. The problem is perception. Your predicament is in your pauper perception that what you have is a mere pittance. Your heart is full of what you don’t have. Look around you. Look at what you do have. For you are not a pauper princess, but a Princess with a profusion of plentiforous prizes. I want you to tell me, right now, what are you grateful for?”
Pugnaciously, the Princess replied, “Porcupine platitudes…”
“Do you need me to start singing again? No? Then describe for me your plethora of presents!” Clover settled back down into the lotus position (ouch!) and said more gently, “What do you appreciate about your life today?”
“Well,” the princess replied tentatively, “I am a Princess with parents who love me. I have this beautiful meadow and lake to play by. I have food and a warm bed to sleep in. I have flowers to gaze at and to smell.”
“Go on,” Clover encouraged.
“I can dance. I can sing.”
“You can listen to me sing!” They were both getting into it now.
“Oh no! I am grateful that you stopped singing,” the Princess replied giggling. Soon they were both rolling in the grass laughing until their stomachs ached.
Finally, Clover sat up, straightened her glasses, fixed the flower chain around her neck, and straightened her peace pendant.
“Plentiforousness, my dear. You have plentiforousness. The key is in your perception,” pontificated the perspicacious porcupine softly. “Close your eyes for a moment, dear Princess,” instructed the porcupine. “What do you hear?”
The wind blew gently, rustling the leaves in the trees. Birds sang. Waves lapped quietly at the lake’s shore. “It’s beautiful!” the Princess whispered with awe. “I never noticed before how beautiful it sounds out here.”
The porcupine smiled.
“So to paraphrase,” the Princess pondered, “if it’s all in my perception, what you are pointing out is that we must not see what we don’t have, but what we do have.”
“Om…” the porcupine intoned peacefully. “All things bring us joy.”
“But how does that get me my platypi?” the Princess earnestly enquired.
Clover turned then and gazed into the princess’ eyes. “Lovey, everything we do, everything we think, everything we are is a prayer. You may be praying to God or Goddess or the Universe or the Light or All That Is or your own highest self, or that tree right over there. Your prayers go out to anything you believe in, the ocean, the wind, the concept of goodness, anything at all. The point is that your whole life, my dear, is a prayer. And when you pray, ‘I have a paucity of platypi, I am a poor Princess who will never know plentiforousness and will never open up to joy,’ then that is what is granted to you. Remember that All is in love with you and answers every prayer.”
“So how do I get my platypi?” the Princess was becoming petulant again.
“Princess Isi, you must stop worrying about the platypi. It does not mean that you don’t want them, and that you won’t have them. But instead, focus on two things.”
“Gratitude is the first,” said the Princess, “but what is the second?”
“The second, dear girl, is Love.”
“Love? I don’t get it, I’m too young to date.”
“No, my dear, not love with a small ‘l’, but Love with a capital ‘L’. Instead of thinking of your own needs all the time, give time everyday thinking about and doing for others. How can you show them Love? What can you do to bring joy to others, to help others? For example, when was the last time you pestered your parents for platypi?”
“Umm…about an hour ago?” the Princess mumbled.
“When was the last time you did something thoughtful for them?”
The Princess realized it had been a long time, “I guess it would be nice if I would bring a bouquet of wildflowers to them.”
“A little love goes a long way,” Clover agreed.
“This is all very pretty, but what does showing Love to others have to do with getting me plentiforous platypi?”
“Why do you want platypi? Be honest.”
“To play with, of course!”
“And tell me, why do you never play with other kids?”
“They don’t like me,” the Princess said sadly.
“Are you sure? Have you done anything to let them know you’d like to be friends?” “Errr, I don’t know..”
“Might they be concerned that you, an exotic foreign princess, might not like them?” “I, I, I never thought of it that way,” Isi stammered with surprise.
“Mmmm-hmmm,” the porcupine said sagely.
“I think I get it!” the Princess exclaimed, “I have been focusing on all the wrong things!
Instead of trying to get what I want all the time, I should look at what I already have, and look for ways to help others find happiness.”
“Precisely, my Princess, precisely.”
The now-peaceful Princess and the paladin Porcupine gazed at the sky and saw something very special! The clouds were shaped like playful platypi promenading above them!
“Plentiforousness,” the Princess put forth. “I had it all along.”
And the two laid back to watch the clouds roll by, content in the here and now.
© Story copyright Indra Lahiri, 2019, ©Illustrations copyright Michan Beahan, 2019. Do not reproduce without written permission. For permission, contact firstname.lastname@example.org
His eyes told his whole story.
They were filled with fear and pain, but beyond all of that, just at the back, was a barely noticeable glimmer of who he used to be. Although his body was weak now, his spirit awaited an opportunity to soar once again.
His pen was covered with rusty metal farm implements, dangerous nails and glass. There was no soft or clean place for him to lay. His water tub sat empty in the harsh sunlight. His spine, ribs, and hips stood out in sharp relief. There was nothing to him but his pain. The ghost of the warrior he had once been.
The female pig with him was not as skinny or as weak. He had sacrificed himself, allowing her to take what little food was available so that she could survive.
A spark of hope seemed to awaken in him as I sang softly. Together with rescue workers from the SPCA and Woodstock Farm Animal Sanctuary, we were removing all of the animals from this sad, sad place.
When we offered him food and asked him to come with us, he followed gingerly and climbed into the car with no hesitation. He was very weak, and moved slowly, tentatively, but even so, he moved. We had filled the back of the SUV with soft, fragrant hay and had the air conditioning running. He lay down and sighed before launching in on the food and fresh water.
Then he slept, heavily and deeply.
On the way home, I reached back to offer him a Pink Lady apple. As he crunched into it, juice spurted from his mouth, and he threw his head back to move his floppy ears from his eyes. Looking directly into my soul, he conveyed such gratitude, such hope, such joy…I will never, ever taste an apple the same way again.
Gavin, we named him, after a very brave, strong young boy. The name Gavin comes from the Celtic “Gawain” and refers to the White Hawk of Battle, a being of such fantastic ability and skill that most fall before him in awe. An eminently suitable name for two Gavins courageously facing tremendous battles for their own lives, and doing so with great strength and Grace.
He was the sickest, the skinniest, and the saddest of all the animals we removed that day. Gavin probably would have died within days, had the humane police not gotten the warrant to seize him and the others.
And yet, less than a week after being rescued, he has learned to flop over for a belly rub. He rejoices as we humans approach, no longer cowering in fear. Unlike other recently starved animals, Gavin eats very slowly, savoring each bite. He listens in wonder as I tell him stories of Gavin the boy, or sing his special song to him (“Oh, oh, oh, he’s magic, I know… Gavin the pig he is so, so magic, I know…Never believe it’s not soo…”)
He may look like a skinny, sickly pig– one of billions left to suffer at the hands of humans. But just like each one of those billions, Gavin is a precious, sacred individual. His spirit, like that of the White Hawk, is indomitable. He will fly again in glory. Until then, we will nurse him and love him and support him and give thanks everyday for the honor of caring for him.
Please, never forget that it is because of you– your support, prayers, and kindness– that we are able to take precious beings like Gavin to safe sanctuary. He still faces tremendous odds. Gavin requires round-the-clock care and veterinary expertise. We would be so very grateful if you would help us care for him in any way that you can– share his story, donate towards his care, send him love, light and prayers.
A Hail Mary Pass, they are calling it.
A last-ditch effort, but instead of a Superbowl win on the line, it was a life. A beautiful, precious, sacred life. A life that mattered dearly to the one who lived it, and to the ones who called him family.
The skinny, frightened, bruised and scarred pig was not ready to die, but the smells and sounds around him assured him that was the plan. So, when the transport truck opened, he leapt and made a break for safety. The humans went after him, yelling scarily. He scrambled, dove, spun and ran for all he was worth. They were in hot pursuit, but somehow, Grace intervened.
He lost them.
Trembling, he hid under a pile of hay, exhausted and out of options. A silent plea rose from his trembling body. “Save me,” he beseeched mutely, “Please.”
And Grace, in its unfathomable majesty, responded.
An angel whose job was to save horses found him quivering in fear. She begged the “kill buyer” in whose custody the pig had fallen, to spare his life. He heard her, and took mercy. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, “I’ll give you a grace period.” She had 24 hours to find him sanctuary.
But now what was she to do? Angels who save horses don’t necessarily know where to bring lost pigs, and 24 hours is not a lot of time to find those places. And it was Superbowl Sunday evening. Who on earth was even going to be around to answer the phone?
But Grace does not take time off for football, as it turns out. Grace works all the time. Outside of time.
On her first call, she got through to another angel, this one at Poplar Spring Animal Sanctuary. They were not able to take any more pigs, but the Poplar Spring angel was eager to help find this little pig safe haven.
She called more angels, from New York to Canada, and one by one, they joined in the search. Soon, the little pig had a whole army of angels working on his behalf. Safe haven was found for him at Indraloka, where we all cried with joy at adding another beloved to our family.
Finally, he arrived. Under the bruises and wounds, every bone was visible. And yet, his eyes were filled with hope. I cried at the beauty of it– this pure, unadulterated Śraddhā .
Śraddhā is the intersection between faith and mindfulness. To me, it embodies the notion that we need to take action for our own well-being, but also to remember that we are not acting alone—that there are strong forces of love that work with us and protect us even as we work on our own behalf. So, Śraddhā is faith, hope, love, and action all in one. And this pig, with his light-filled eyes, and his leap towards freedom, was the perfect example of this. How, I wondered, in tears again, had this pig managed to survive such brutality and still remain so beautifully pure and hopeful? The thought of it filled me with awe for this wise little soul.
He leapt from the trailer and ran into his quarantine pen without hesitation, needing no guidance to find the right pen. After drinking several gallons of water, he munched happily on a big, fresh salad and some sweet hay before greeting us, one by one, with a sniff and a smile. As I write, he is sleeping contentedly under a big pile of hay, snoring peacefully.
Dominic, we named him, and he is full of Grace.
Many, many thanks to: all of you who make it possible to rescue and care for our beloveds, Kelly from Omega Horse Rescue, Terry from Poplar Spring Animal Sanctuary, Monica from Esther’s Army, the person who chose to spare his life, and to Cameron O’Steen from the Yoga Animalia Project for his beautiful photos, and to Grace.
Today is Jake’s day of glory. It’s Thanksgiving day and his spirit is flying free.
It is a good day to die.
Jake came to me with a flock of poults (baby turkeys) that were destined to be killed for Thanksgiving in 2003. I remember being spellbound by the little birds, who grew so fast that every hour they looked different. I had never known a turkey personally, and never even imagined the complex, fascinating, sensitive, curious beings I discovered them to be.
Jake never liked humans. I always took it as a great compliment that he felt free enough to eschew human company, including my own. He knew we respected him enough to understand he was his own being, free to make his own choices. We never tried to meld him into who we wanted him to be.
Jake was one of a kind. He could be a bit of a hothead at times, quick to defend when he perceived the slightest threat to his dominion. He protected his flock valiantly. Jake cherished his freedom, and enjoyed each day to its fullest. Even on the day before he died, Jake dozed in the sunshine, sought tasty delicacies in the grass, and hung out with his pig and turkey buddies.
Jake’s best friends were Tom (another Turkey), and Selick, a blind, elderly pig. Years ago, when Selick first came to us, we tried to have him live with other pigs, but each night, Selick broke out of the pig enclosure and into Jake and Tom’s pen. So, Jake and Tom got a new roommate.
Early this Thanksgiving morning, Jake succumbed to a heart attack. He died quickly, with his best friends, Tom and Selick, by his side.
Jake was one of very few free turkeys on this earth. He was much beloved and tenderly cared for every day of his life. Among the oldest turkeys alive, it is nothing short of a miracle that he died a beautiful, peaceful death in the company of family and friends on Thanksgiving Day.
Today, I give thanks for the blessing of having had Jake in my life. I pray that all turkeys will someday be free to live as the sacred beings that they are. I pray that every human will someday know the joy of nurturing, encouraging, and protecting life in all of its varied and beautiful forms.
Today is your day of glory, my precious Jake. My heart soars with your spirit. You lived free and died free. I am deeply, deeply grateful to you for walking with me for this brief time.
Hoka hey, my beloved familiar. It is a good day to die.
They lay helplessly before us, innocent babies. It was clear that they had suffered greatly in their short lives. Covered in open wounds and excrement, malnourished, with misery in their eyes, they were too weak to stand.
The tiniest of the three cried in pain. Instinctively, I scooped her up and cradled her close to my heart. Her panicked heartbeat slowed to match my own. I tried to convey, with my eyes, that she was safe now—that she was loved. She turned her head to mine, her gentle brown eyes filled with wonderment. This might have been the first loving touch she experienced in her life. Harika, we named her- Sanskrit for “beloved of Indra”.
Gently, I touched the huge wound on this tiny girl’s neck. She cocked her head to the left ever so slightly, seeming to be aware that I was sorry for her pain. I moved my hands slowly over her body, assessing the damage. At each wound or bruise I stopped and said a silent prayer. Her eyes held mine and she nodded her head minutely each time. I felt gently along the splayed legs that would not hold her. I touched her yellowed skin, most likely jaundiced due to blood loss. I felt her keel bone through her skinny little frame.
Then I just hugged her close to my heart again, feeling her tiny heart beat against mine while I prayed for all those beautiful babies that never make it out… all those turkeys who suffer each day of their short lives. Forty-five million innocent babies, every Thanksgiving, are raised in unspeakable conditions, never to hear a kind word or feel a gentle touch… never to experience sunlight on their feathers, fresh air, or grass and soil beneath them.
But this one, this one made it out. How or why, I don’t know. Fairly often, we get these rescues, lucky ones who somehow escape and wind up where good, caring people find them and bring them to us. I imagined she fell off of a truck- it would explain her splayed legs- but who knows? Maybe she was dropped as she was being packed into a crate for transport. Maybe she was asleep and, looking as she does, was mistaken for dead and thrown in the trash.
It didn’t matter. All that mattered in that moment were those eyes looking into mine with what I can only describe as trust, and that little heartbeat against mine. I can never explain this feeling in words- this moment when everything disappears and all that is left is me and a little life depending on me.
What could I ever have done to receive such blessings? Such a miracle as this perfect, perfect little child gifting me with her trust, when nothing and no one in her short life ever gave her reason to feel anything but fear?
I began to spin dreams for her, speaking to her of a long life ahead. Days of lolling in the sunshine and playing with other turkeys. Years of healthy meals and a clean, warm place to sleep. Of humans who would hold her in their laps and pet her as we do a beloved cat, listening to her soft purrs and smiling at her joy. Together, we dreamed of the beautiful life before her. Her eyes never left mine. I believed she was spellbound, and as hopeful as I.
Only a day or two in, we noticed that her leg was getting worse instead of better. She seemed to be in more pain when we tried to give her physical therapy, or even place her in a sling. The pain medication may have helped a bit, but it was clear that she was far from pain-free. Her brother, Habibah (Swahili for beloved), was also faring poorly. We decided to consult with the avian experts at an esteemed veterinary hospital. The third baby, Hadaaya (beloved in Arabic), seemed to be doing better, happily, so we decided to leave her at home at the sanctuary.
Their appointment was on Wednesday, the sixth day we had them. So, on Tuesday, despite the strict quarantine under which we place all new residents, we took the three babies outside, in an area far from any other birds. One by one, I felt them relax in my arms as they felt sunlight on their backs, most likely for the first time. I set them on the grass and smiled, listening to their delighted coos and purrs. The color on their heads and necks turned red and blue- a visible way for them to express their joy (sort of like a human smiling).
With me was a woman with a huge heart. She was new to farm animal rescue, and she was appalled. “Who would do this to them?” she kept asking. Everyone, I explained, just about everyone– everyone who ever eats turkey, everyone who knows what they go through and does not demand that it stop, everyone who says, “I can’t think about that,” and turns away from suffering. I told her about how most animals used by the food industry are routinely raised. She was shocked, and kept repeating, “People need to know. If they knew, they’d make it illegal. They wouldn’t support it.”
So here I am, telling all who will listen. This is happening, and no one will stop it if we don’t. Please, please, please, for the babies’ sake, please help us stop this. This is wrong. No one should suffer like this.
It was such a miracle that these three got out alive, somehow, and were in the sunshine with people who loved them, their whole lives stretched out before them. They were happy. They were free. They were beloved and they felt it.
If only for that moment.
At the hospital, we learned that Harika and Habibah were too far gone. Their pain would only grow, and there was no hope of fixing their legs. Given that theses types of turkeys grow to be very large, we knew their problems would only become worse. I have often thought that the heart of sanctuary work is to be selfless enough to give them a good death. So, although it pained us greatly, we made the choice that was best for them.
Hadaaya, the third baby bird, is continuing her recovery at the sanctuary, with lots of TLC. In the absence of her siblings, she has lots of toys and human attention. Just as soon as her quarantine is complete, she will join another flock of baby birds we rescued recently. Her days will be filled with all of the freedoms and pleasures Harika and I dreamed of together, and Harika and Habibah’s spirits will live on through her, and in our hearts.
One day of sunshine was all I could give them- my beloved Harika and her sweet brother Habibah.
Six days of love and one day of sunshine. And I trust that was enough.
It was the perfect weather to fall in love. Sun shone from a deep blue sky, while the wind played gently with my hair. Sunflowers reached towards the light, wildflowers bloomed in the meadows, and there she was, standing before me.
Her chocolate eyes were soft and playful. Her red coat gleamed in the sun. Muscles rippled as she walked. Gently, the giant warmblood reached down to place her nose against my heart, resting there for several breaths.
I met Catera on early on the morning of September 11, 2001. By the time the planes had crashed into the buildings, I was already in love—and horrified to hear the news on the barn radio. How could anything so vicious happen on such a beautiful day?
People told me, repeatedly, that I was too inexperienced to adopt a “green” horse. At the time, I had not yet given up riding horses. I hired trainer after trainer, and gave all that I had to learn to ride this giant of a being, but instead I broke many bones.
The first time, she broke into a gallop in an open field. I lost my seat, catapulted over her head, and landed on my head in front of her. She tried so hard to avoid stepping on me that she injured herself. I broke my occipital bone, cracked a rib, broke my shoulder, and tore my rotator cuff. Another fall from her back fractured my neck.
There was not a single person in my life that did not advocate for me to either euthanize Catera or to return her to the rescue she had come from. But I couldn’t do it. I had given her “Indra’s Lifetime Guarantee”. From the time I was a child, this is what I called it when I committed to an animal. My lifetime guarantee was that I would never give up on them, that I would love them no matter what, and that I would lay down my life in defense of theirs. She had my word. If I lost every person in my life, or every bone in my body, so be it.
I did not do this to be a martyr. I did it because I believed that we can only be redeemed – I can only be redeemed– through a pure, selfless love. Catera was giving me the opportunity to redeem myself.
Over time, spending hours and hours with her, I began to understand her better, and learned to adjust my behavior to meet her needs. She did not like being ridden—especially in a ring.
On the other hand, she loved taking me for a ride in the woods—and by that I mean she made the choices about when and where we would go. We used to disappear together for hours. When I relaxed and gave up control about where we would go, and at what speed, she began to trust and take care of me.
On our adventures, we got close to many, many wild animals that never would have trusted me to approach them on foot.
Once, she stepped on a ground wasp nest, and we both were stung multiple times. Even then, she did not bolt or rear or throw me. She calmly walked away from the bees. We had twin swollen faces for weeks.
Another time, when crossing a creek, we wound up in a tar pit. Instead of moving forward with each stroke of her powerful legs, we were sinking downwards. I swam around to her face and asked her not to move, and to wait until I could get help. She stayed still, patiently waiting, and then allowed herself to be tied with ropes and pulled out.
She used to love to open gates and barn doors. One of her favorite activities was to roll in the mud and then let herself into the barn where she would roll in pine shavings. I would find her in the barn covered in pine shavings with a goofy grin on her face.
She used to put her head against my chest and fall asleep while I rubbed her ears and called her “pretty girl”. Her head was the size of my entire torso.
Almost 15 years went by, and our trust and friendship deepened. Catera grew into the role of benevolent alpha mare and gentle giant.
Early one morning just a few weeks ago, I saw that something was not right with Catera. Her heart was racing, she appeared weak and in tremendous pain. I called the vet and began to run a wash cloth soaked in cold water along her body, trying to soothe her and bring her temperature down. It was nearly 100 degrees that day, and her body temperature continued to rise dangerously, along with her heart rate.
I stood her, soaking wet, in front of a powerful fan and tried to keep her calm while we waited for the vet. After a thorough exam, he diagnosed an impaction of the large intestine. He gave her medication for the pain, and threaded a tube through her nose, pumping mineral oil and water through her GI tract, in the hopes that it would help resolve the impaction.
And then the waiting began. Either the impaction would resolve and she would get better, or she would need surgery to keep her alive. Until a few years ago, Catera experienced similar impactions at least once annually, and it always resolved on its own. So, the vet and I thought her chances were decent.
Per the doctor’s order, I left her in a stall with lots of water to drink, and instructions for everyone to check on her frequently, while I led a tour. The people were lovely, as they always are, and despite the heat, I hoped they and the animals enjoyed each other’s company.
As soon as they got in their cars, I was back in the barn to check on my girl. What I saw will never leave my mind. My beautiful, strong, kind girl was belly up, with her feet too close to the wall to be able to move, breathing rapidly. The whites of her eyes revealed the extent of her fear.
Even then, she trusted me enough to wait while I got help and materials to get her back on her feet. With our heroic team assembled, we tied ropes around her legs and rolled her over.
She was a big girl, well over 1500 pounds. Her powerful back legs were too heavy for me to roll, even using all of my body weight. However, I did not want to place anyone else in the corner of a stall rolling a big, potentially flailing horse. Finally, we decided to have someone else stand behind me. Between an intern at her front end, the two of us at the rear, and two more caregivers pushing from the other side, we were able to roll her over. As she attempted to get her feet back under her, our intern and I jumped out of the way as planned. However, the young man who was standing behind me was not quick enough. One of her back feet grazed his chest and slammed into his chin.
His t-shirt ripped, he stood panting beside the panting horse. I wasn’t sure who to take care of first. “Are you ok? Can you breathe? Do you need an ambulance?” Miraculously, he was ok, but we did arrange for him to rest for the remainder of the day and ice his injuries.
Catera, on the other hand, was no better. We took her into the paddock, thinking in the larger space she would be safer. Every 20 minutes, we hosed her down. She refused all offers of water, and food was out of the question.
At 5pm, she went down again, this time with her feet stuck in the gate.
All but one team member had left. I couldn’t imagine how the two of us alone would have the strength to roll her again, but we had to try. I tied the ropes around her legs, and miraculously, our strongest volunteer (who was not scheduled to be here) appeared. A power lifter with a deep love for all of the animals, she was easily able to roll Catera’s back end, while I rolled her front end. We called the vet again, and this time his examination revealed that her large intestine was displaced, a life threatening situation.
The vet called the hospital to provide background to the doctors and our heroic volunteer kindly agreed to come along with me. Catera was terrified, but once again, chose to trust me. She followed me into the trailer and we were off on the three-hour drive to save her life.
Forty-five minutes away from the hospital, Catera could be heard trembling and flailing in the trailer. We pulled over and found her shaking uncontrollably. A call to the vet confirmed the dire nature of her condition. We were instructed to give her more pain medication and get to the hospital as fast as we could. The valiant trailer driver drove the trailer safely and confidently, in a lightning storm, in the dark, on winding roads, faster than I dared drive in my little, easy to manage vehicle.
On arrival, a team of earnest and caring veterinary professionals was ready for her. She fell as she made her way off of the trailer. By then, she was clearly incoherent, and barely able to stand at all. They worked valiantly to keep her on her feet long enough to start her on IV fluids.
But it was too late.
Her huge body crashed to the ground as she began to seize right there in the hospital’s entrance hallway. The kind vet asked for permission to euthanize her. If we did not, she would die painfully. I agreed.
With my hands on her head, my beautiful girl’s huge spirit gathered into her eyes, and with a last look, she was gone.
Pastures stretched before us, warm winter gold against a periwinkle sky, while a rainbow arced breathlessly end to end across the grounds. Our visitors were receiving an enthusiastic welcome from Vanna, a playful geriatric goat; Selick, a charming and affable blind pig; several gregarious turkeys; and around a dozen inquisitive cats. The menagerie vied gently for the bemused visitors’ attention, without once jostling one another out of the way.
“I am amazed!” the woman exclaimed, “I have never seen this many animals get along so peacefully!”
Just then, a group of ducks noisily parted our crowd, intent on a game whose rules or name none of us knew. But none of the other animals even flinched, they just calmly stepped out of the way.
It’s a bit like living in a fairy tale, and it happens every day here at Indraloka. We are all one big family, and the cats of Indraloka are a big part of what makes this such a special place. Nearly 100 cats currently call Indraloka home. Many of these were former ferals or strays who found their way to us and never left; others came from shelters or were even abandoned here by people who didn’t want them anymore. But regardless of how they arrived, these kitties have made an amazing family for themselves— and for us.
While all of the cats at Indraloka are uniquely special in their own right, many have also come to perform an incredibly special service for the farmed animals we rescue, who often arrive confused, afraid, and deeply traumatized. But inevitably, one of our friendly felines adopts each struggling newcomer and provides much-needed love, reassurance, healing and companionship. These special interspecies friendships persist for as long as the animals are with us.
The Mayor of Indraloka
Wesley T. Monkey is an irresistible extrovert with a BIG personality. Most of the cats here have a few good friends, some feline, some of other species. But Wesley T. Monkey has LOTS of good friends of every species. He is just that popular.
While many of our cats have no compunction about jumping onto the lap, or even shoulders, of visitors, Wesley T. Monkey doesn’t stop there! On a daily basis, Wesley can be spotted riding a sheep or a pig, sunbathing on top of a dozing cow, or even sleeping curled up against a chicken friend. Wesley is ridiculously wonderful in many, many ways.
Like so many cats, Wesley knows instinctively when someone is in need, and he does not shy away from their suffering. Penny the cow was the beloved Grand Dame of the sanctuary, a mother and friend to all. Wesley and Penny spent many happy hours together, Wesley contentedly grooming himself while Penny grazed nearby. But Penny was more than 30 years old, and the day came when she could no longer stand on her own. As she lay dying, surrounded by friends, Wesley climbed up and lay right on top of her for her final moments, helping her to feel loved until her last breath.
Babaji was born to a stray cat who showed up pregnant at our sanctuary. Early on, Baba cultivated a special bond with Louise the turkey, who was rescued from slaughter and who arrived afraid and in need of a friend. Many have observed these two relaxing in the sunshine together, curled up to sleep in the barn at night, or even out walking and exploring the sanctuary side by side.
Baba’s other favorite friend? Jeremiah the pig, a “backyard meat” victim who arrived to us completely skin and bones, unable to walk and bleeding profusely from the nose in the final stages of severe pneumonia. But with extensive veterinary treatment and nonstop TLC from his two-legged and four-legged friends, Jeremiah survived and now thrives at Indraloka. Babaji could not be more pleased with this outcome.
LuvBug2, Protector of the Upper Barn
Remember Maddie? When Maddie first came to us, her body was emaciated and misshapen, broken from years of over-breeding, and her spirit was broken too, from the endless cycle of giving birth and having her beloved babies taken away. When she was no longer an asset to the farmer who used her all those years, she was marked for slaughter, but thankfully we were able to bring her here instead. That happy, healthy goat in the picture is Maddie! And her indomitable feline friend, LuvBug2, has been a big part of Maddie’s recovery.
LuvBug2‘s ever-present calm, loving energy and soothing presence pervade the upper barn. Like Maddie, most newly rescued animals arrive frightened, having learned that humans can be cruel, and they are afraid and uncertain of what might happen to them. But whether the new arrival is a terrified duck, a confused chicken, or a badly overbred goat, LuvBug2 is always on the case to provide reassurance and set them at ease. You can catch a glimpse of him at work here (especially cute with Maddie at 3:10).
Rottie Rescues Orphaned Kitten
Puff Daddy was just a tiny, screaming gray cotton ball when he was abandoned at our door. He was so frightened that he resumed screaming every single time I put him down, for even a moment. Finally, one day, I noticed sweet Izzy watching us, her big brown eyes trying to tell me something. I placed the sad little foundling at Izzy’s feet, and Izzy, a huge Rottweiler, gently comforted him until he fell asleep curled between her paws. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Over the years, Puff Daddy and Izzy spent many joyful hours snuggling together and grooming one another.
Izzy was diagnosed with aggressive lymphomas in late December of 2015. By late January, the tumors had grown so much that they were causing this sweet, wonderful dog tremendous discomfort. With no hope for a cure, we called the vet to come and end her pain. Izzy was lying in her favorite spot, in front of the crackling fireplace. Soft music was playing, and her head was in my lap. And Puff Daddy lay curled next to her, resting his head on her heart as it slowed to a stop.
Nursing a Neglected Pig Back to Health
Our dear Jeremiah came to us late at night in the dead of winter. As we mentioned before, he was only hours from death when he was rescued, starved and suffering terrible, long-term pneumonia. Babaji the cat would later become a best friend, but as Jeremiah lay in his sickbed, resting and healing those first hard days, it was CC who took to cuddling with him and gently grooming him as he slept.
CC had been living in an urban feral colony and was trapped as part of a Trap-Neuter-Release program. However, when the TNR folks got her to the vet to be spayed, her eyes were confirmed to be so badly infected that one of them had to be removed. Her rescuers were concerned that she would not survive if released with only one eye. So, we agreed to make her part of our rapidly growing gang of kitties. And for the first year, CC was extremely shy around all humans, hardly allowing any of us to be within several feet of her.
But then came Jeremiah, and everything changed.
CC came into the barn on Jeremiah’s first or second night there, while he could still barely move, and inexplicably made a nest in the straw beside him. She watched us nurse him around the clock for weeks, and soon she began to trust us. These days, CC loves to rub against our legs and heartily enjoys a gentle scratch behind the ears.
Goats Adopt Abandoned Kitten
A red pick-up truck flew into the drive and screeched to a halt. The angry young driver threw a mother cat and four helpless kittens out the window, yelling that he would shoot them if he ever saw them again before he zoomed away.
The terrified mother cat and kittens scattered, and we spent days trying to lure them into the open so that we could make sure they were safe and comfortable. Finally, we captured the mother and three of the kittens, however, we did not find Gilligan until a week later. It was late, and we were doing the night check to be sure the animals were all tucked in safe and snug. And there was Gilligan, sleeping contentedly between two goats, Ruckus and Hootenanny, who were lying in a protective embrace around the tiny kitten.
As Ruckus grew older, he had a difficult time standing and walking. We had to place him in a sling for several hours at a time, in the hopes of helping him to regain his strength. Gilligan was a true little buddy to Ruckus during these trying sessions, providing entertainment and companionship for hours on end.
On the last day of Ruckus’s life, we spent the day outside in the sunshine with him. Many, many of the cats joined us in those last hours, and in particular, Gilligan never left Ruckus’s side, even purring against him as he drew his last breath.
Giving Back the Love
We humans could learn a lot from the Indraloka Clowder— we spend far too much time trying to put up walls between ourselves and those we perceive as being different from us. But the Indraloka Clowder lives by a clear and simple principle: it is the spirit of a being that matters, not the form it takes right now.
The cats of Indraloka are such a loving, generous bunch. They work tirelessly to help our other rescued animals heal, live joyfully, and die peacefully when the time comes. This month we would like to give back to our caring kitties and are asking our supporters to consider sending our wonderful feline friends a valentine. Your gift in any amount helps us provide much-needed spay-neuter services, medical treatment, food, and winter housing to the nearly 100 cats who have made Indraloka their home.
If you have observed a precious moment between a cat and another animal, we’d love to hear your story! Please tell us about it in the comments section below.