What do you do to steady your heart?

Winston is a funny old chap, sometimes loving, sometimes standoffish, but always honest.

The longer I travel through life, the more the importance of honesty is cemented. We all pour so much energy into other's, many times on fruitless ground, ground that wants to stay barren. Many of us left feeling empty by the nature of relationships that are lopsided, bruised by the selfishness of others actions or deeds. Caught in the whirlwind of the rat race while trying to stand firm against the onslaught.

Constantly giving is in some people's nature, as is taking for others, is this the yin and yang of it? Is it necessary to know people of one sort, to value those that are kinder natured? Many times I am told to withdraw, pull-back, protect myself, but if this is not my nature, then I must find other ways to heal my reserves, as must many of you that try so hard and end up feeling not quite enough. Put on edge by the turns of life, jarred by what you witness.

My remedy often is to look at my children, and ponder at their wonderful natures, hug them as often as I can and actively listen to them. Sit for tiny moments with the animals, let them come as they want and cover me with mud and kisses. Watch Jerome as he potters around, wait to catch his eye, and just share a smile. He is a bit short sighted so I have to be at the right distance or he'll give me a blank stare, which always brings me anxiousness, even after years together. Soft as putty it seems I stay, despite my advancing years.

When you are feeling low or emptied, what do you do to steady your heart?

A few thoughts on French "patrimonie" and animal welfare

Did you know Columbia has just passed legislation banning bullfighting! Another small step towards sanity, but still a mountain to climb. There are seven countries left that continue, France being one if them. Warning, if you read further it has references to the horror of bullfighting. 

Our beautiful Jack 

Southern France has a bullfighting tradition dating back to around 1289. That year, the Running of the Bulls was first recorded at Bayonne, down the coast from Bordeaux. Currently, bullfighting is slowly becoming less popular in Spain, Catalonia has effectively banned the sport, whereas in France, the corrida is well and truly alive.

France is set to become the bullfighting centre of the globe: an estimated 1,000 bulls per year are dispatched in French arenas. Jerome and I have been to a rally outside of one, where the use of tear gas was exceptionally and gleefully used. While we listened to screams and bellows of sentient animals and the mindless bloodlust of the humans. According to the pro-bullfight organisation, the Observatoire National des Cultures Taurines (ONCT), two million people attend corridas in France each year. 

The love for bullfighting is at odds with the country’s penal code, which under article 521-1 bans “cruel acts and serious ill-treatment towards animals”.  But, "cruel acts and ill-treatment" run rife across the board, throughout the land, just think of fois-gras and veal, dairy. Everyone's tolerance for cruelty is directly linked into their own "personal choice".

France is a nation where patrimoine (heritage) is always used as the trump card. Thus, the penal code allows exceptions for bullfights, as it does for cockfights, (Cockfighting is illegal in France, but a law passed in 1964 tolerates it in two northern departments, as well as in the overseas territories of Guadeloupe, Martinique and La Réunion, where this age-old practice has been a "tradition" since the 18th century) - where there is “uninterrupted local tradition”.

A presentation by the ONCT, the Ministry of Culture registered bullfighting as a French Intangible Cultural Heritage in 2011, it all beggars belief. As does the ban on hunting in the UK, serving as just a veil for continued practice - the French parliament have voted to end the use of wild animals in live circus shows (although some travelling circuses still have them), and outlawed mink farming, in new animal rights legislation. But it flunked a ban on bullfighting, and it seems to continue generally to turn its heel rather quickly if animals are involved at all.

The Society for the Protection of Animals ((SPA) (RSPCA equivalent) has filed cases in cities where bullfighting is popular without success. Today 50 or so towns are organised in L’Union des villes taurines françaises. Created in 1966, the UVTF, was a key lobbyist behind the registration of bullfighting as a French Intangible Cultural Heritage. It's  hard to write some of these sentences and remain level headed. 

French supporters of bullfighting cite heritage, art and biodiversity, some claiming that since the bulls are raised outside this "rusticity" gives the bulls “a savagery essential to their behaviour in the arena”, (according to the ONCT). Then they cite heritage, again. Anyone with sense or knowledge knows that bulls are protective and courageous for their herd, they are not enraged. Perhaps one should consider the barbaric practices held just outside of the arena to incite fear, stress and excruciating pain to these desperate animals.

French fans, generally travel for tauromachie, which we saw and witnessed. But the patrimoine argument is absolute nonsense to put it mildly. The corrida form of bullfighting, where the animal is provoked and killed with swords, was imported in the mid-19th century from Spain, where the “sport” had begun in Seville abattoirs!!! (remember the humane argument we hear so often).

 For the south of France, with its, “Espirit du Sud", Spanish style torture represented resistance to Parisian centralism and perhaps still does, for those with a memory for excuses. Bullfighting is a trans-Pyrennean business; bulls raised in the Landes and the Camargue — there are some 40 members of the Association des éleveurs français de taureaux de combat — are transported to Spanish rings (a bull can earn its "owner" €3000 for their 15 minutes of hell in a corrida). Meanwhile the matadors appearing in French rings are largely Hispanic. No French matador entered the top ten rankings until Sébastien Castella in 2005.

The anti bullfighting song La Corida by French balladeer Francis Cabrel, is well worth a listen. Written from the bull’s point of view, the chorus runs: Est-ce que ce monde est sérieux?

Is this world serious? As humans that care about other earthlings, we say this rather a lot don't we?

French tauromachie originally had non-violent roots. In the “Course Landaise”, the matador leaps acrobatically over and around the bull; in the “Course Camarguaise”, men and women race about, trying to grab ribbons and pompoms from the animals’ horns. Angry, stressed, terrified, but alive, the bull is put out to grass afterwards. According to the Anti-bullfighting Alliance, 76% of French people wish to replace bullfights with the Camargue and Landes alternatives. Personally taunting and stressing an animal is unnecessary and distasteful, pointing to the character of the humans need to distress an animal for entertainment. But like Seaworld and Circuses, the lists of degenerative entertainment are long.

In the 21st century, a highly sentient creature is provocatively stabbed, then slaughtered for amusement. It really is astonishing, and highly hypocritical when we all point fingers to countries abroad that are "worse", when we all only have to look outside our own doorstep to see cruelty disguised as entertainment, sport or heritage. The bull fighting season runs March to September. 

Monty's Story

Monty joined the sanctuary residents back in early 2023. Like so many Monty was being given away as he was no longer desirable or wanted, the commitment to his needs no longer attractive. He was in a particularly gruesome state, which was clearly apparent in the first few seconds of meeting him. We knew, whether or not he was friendly with our other dogs, that we were not leaving him behind.

Monty was emaciated, ribs and spine showing, gangly, unstable and limping. His coat sparse, brittle, grey; with large bald spots revealing scabby red skin and scuttling fleas. He was being driven wild scratching himself and whimpering. He had a huge swelling on his head, lopsided swollen ears, discharging a putrid smell, and had a missing testicle.

We were told that he always hid with new people, peering out from under the table and piddling in the corner, yet he scooted over to us. Slinking, belly to the floor, he arrived at our feet, quivering, tail tucked, a desperate little boy in need. Popping him on a lead made him squirm and piddle, walking him for his toilet needs showed evidence of a warm overload. Monty sniffed at our car and jumped in without a backward glance, then vomited hard, raw, pasta all the way back home.

Arriving at the sanctuary we bathed him, fed him, wormed, flea treated and cleaned his ears. He only weighed 17kg and would only drink if we walked out the room. He was booked with the vet and we slept with him this first week. His first vet visit confirmed severe untreated bilateral ear infections causing cranial swelling. High parasitic load, skin infections, allergic reactions, deficiencies, fear induced incontinence, testicular problems and a 30+kg dog that only weighed 17kg.

We decided that he was so poorly and unstable that his story would remain unpublished. He was to be one of our many “quiet ones”; to only share if we could balance the sadness and horror with some hope and grace. The world is so turbulent, the news now so treacherous; as a sanctuary we decided long ago to not add to the misery. We want our active profile to match our real life, to have compassion for those reading and not to dump any more virtual sadness unless it can be tempered with a silver lining. That being said, for the first six months we just didn’t know if he would push himself through, or if his miserable start would be too much of an obstacle to the rest of his life.

His next vet visit, 10 days later, showed a weight gain of 6kg, just from being wormed and fed correctly. He was continuously drinking, so we knew something else was to be unearthed. We were cleaning his ears twice a day, rubbing in creams, walking only on a lead and using positive reinforcement all the time. Cutting a very long year short- Monty gained 15kg in the first two months, needed 5 trips to the vet for his ears and skin. He then needed stomach surgery to remove 4 large stones, we think from trying to fill himself up. He has needed intense care for his first year and remained emotionally fearful and incontinent for 6 months, if voices were raised, arms moved about or shone a lead.

By January 2024 he was finally able to sustain other exploratory surgery to remove his internal testicle and have his ears cleaned again under anaesthetic. fast forward and Monty now has a shiny black glossy coat and is 38kg. Monty is about to turn two and he has had over a full year and a half at the sanctuary to recover from his first year of life! He is confident, playful, and no longer wets himself. He sleeps in Louis’s room as he suffers from night terrors if he doesn’t have his human family on hand. It seems he has turned his corner and he has his family, his dog friends and his home.

The Doorways of Life

Doorways are throughout our lives, how many, and where is the destination? Some think they know, others are sure. When someone has gone through a doorway physically, or metaphysically and they are out of sight, are they gone?

We spend so much of our time moving, thinking ahead, planning, we forget how many doorways we walk through unnoticed. How many people we pass, always in a bustle and a hustle. How many realms are we blind too?

If an animal is lucky and they have safety to be at rest, they certainly regard life differently. They study and literally ruminate in both of its meanings, over life. Interesting the meaning of the word and its roots.  They watch, listen and experience in a completely different way. Many suppose it is more basic than us, but how do we know that really? We view everyone through our own experiences and shortcomings, very few of us can be open to consider, difference as a strength. Slower as better, wanting less, as having more.

Their communication is more subtle, their daily patterns more measured. Is basic lower, or is it more thoughtful, more intense, more truthful to life? When they are not in fear of their lives and they trust their surroundings, they certainly seem to be more at peace, needing and wanting no distraction from the moment they put themselves in. 

They remind me often of monks, gurus, yogis, call them what you will. They watch life and humans with a graceful quality, that to my mind shows a perceptive depth that we are yet to appreciate or comprehend. Maybe this is why so many of us choose to have animals in close proximity. Whether we like to admit it or not, and to what extent, we all know they are special. Some of us want to explore that, others just like to keep special as, "cute, funny or cuddly", but that doesn't limit the animals real capabilities. It only highlights the limit to our own capabilities of philosophical thought. A limit to the consideration of how their difference, could in essence be, in the very least equal, or superior. They can see differently to us, they hear differently to us, why is that less than? They are more welcoming to new members of family, they are inquisitive, protective and less judgemental. Maybe they do not yearn in the way we do, maybe they know innately this is trivial to the meaning of their life. Are we not constantly told to meditate for health, to live in the moment, have animals not already conquered this? 

The Trust of the Innocent

"The trust of the innocent, is the liar's most useful tool" ~Stephen King

Trust is a gift given to others. What one does with that gifted trust, denotes the character one has.

We often scatter the word innocence in our speech like a crumb of bread, as if it is an everyday reserve of little worth. It is a word of profound depth, that encompasses a part of life that is lived only once. It is not a throw away comment and cannot be used lightly, for once innocence is lost, it cannot be regrown or born again. It is something to be cherished and protected by those that have lost theirs, and can understand the implications of the loss. Innocence is either mocked by many in jest, or derision, preyed upon by those with unwholesome intent, or used against the holder of innocence, to gain something that is not for the taking. Child or lamb, they are both born with the innocence of trust, the belief that all is right, all is loving. Only those with greed in their hearts would wish to steal innocence.

Hundreds of times I could capture a variation of this image; the bond and the love. Yet each image can only paint a picture, it doesn't capture the essence and the depth of the feeling. Little Winifred cares so deeply for Gwynnevere, that while she naps Winifred will reposition herself to sniff Gwynnevere's face and burrow her head into her neck. It isn't just a case of wanting comfort from her, there is a palpable worry for her friend. She checks her breath, she lays her ears close to her heart. It is breathtaking in its sublime concern.

Winifred lives in the moment, if her friend is not engaging with her, then she watches over her until she slips into the dreamworld herself. We do not position Winifred, she chooses where she goes, in this instance Gwynnevere had just laid down and nodded off, within moments Winifred scooted around. 

As parents to them both, it is always a concern when a bond formed from love is this intense. If one becomes ill then it affects the other, if one were not available to the other, for multiple unforeseen reasons, then this causes stress and sadness. We watch and wonder at their relationship, and let the love for our daughters umbrella their journey together. It would not be seen as a problem for anyone if Winifred was a dog, but she is not. She belongs to one of the most abused, tortured, misconstrued and misrepresented animals in the farming world. They are safe here in the Land Ark, we let the magic and love run as it must for them both. 

The gorgeous Gretel

One of the lambs that we rescued just before easter 2024, Gretel is an absolute delight. She is so close to her mum Abigail, that when she decides to make contact with us, it's exceptionally intense, yet otherworldly. 

Her stare is something else to behold, like an alien visitor assessing what creature and classification I am. Occasionally she will allow a head scratch, but she has to be in the mood. More often than not she just wants to stand close and study. Head always lowered so she can look directly. If I break contact before she decides she is finished, she will shout and follow, then repeat the study.  It's not a complete day without a little Gretel research. 

I can't imagine a world without her in it, yet she would have already been dispatched, torn apart, packaged, burnt, and would be a fetid worthless lump, congealing in a sewer by now. How odd a want we have, to take someone so beautiful, individual, loving and free thinking and reduce them to less than nothing. How desperately sad and odd. 

This is such a beautiful picture of a beautiful soul, and my mind wanders in the direction it feels for each image. I thought this would stay beautiful, but how do we recognise beauty, without acknowledging the darkness of the reality in which we strive?

Have a beautiful day.

Meet Gentleman Jack

 Jack is the biggest gentleman we have ever met, and it's hard to imagine his life being any other way, than it is, but it could have been over before it really started.  Over the years we have had many farmers pass by and admire him, some for the astounding animal he is, others to ask if he was for sale. 

Sell Jack? Nobody could afford him, he is worth his life, what cost is that? How do we define what he values his life to be? He is worth his family, who could afford to loose him? He is worth his friends, how could they afford to part with him? His worth is his to own, and for him to decide everyday what he does with it. How he chooses to interact with the outside world. He was brought into existence to only survive if he was female, but he fought against that fate. How do we put a price on that courage, that commitment to pull through awful illnesses, loosing his natural mother, what hubris to think we can define a price. What a disgusting attitude to believe in and hold over a fellow earthling. 

He is worth more than we can give him too 😔 He is worth not being behind a gate, free to roam in all the fields, he is worth choosing going left or right, not herded into the fields that are ours.  He would choose, if free, to stand in the road for as long as he wanted, he loves sniffing flowers. He would choose to itch himself along the sides of cars. He would choose to wander off down the chemin to the bluebell wood. I know without a shadow of a doubt, he would sit there in the luscious beauty and smell, for he always sniffs the bluebells and daffodils along the paths between pastures.

But we are all caged, whether we realise it or not. Our cages can be vast, or tiny and disgusting. We can have perceived freedoms within limitations, but we are all brought into line. I would rather we were all free to roam, but the majority of humans have no boundaries that we seem happy with, content with, we always want more, or something that belongs to others, other lives being the biggest example.  Those that rule us, rule by greed, and this filters down, so that the poorest souls are left with nothing at the bottom.

Until we are all free of this greed mentality, I don't feel there is a peace to be found. The change needs to come from the bottom of society up, for those at the top will never release their sweaty, fisted grip of control, power or the need to have more. The power we have is in our deportment towards life, our reserves of patience, hope and kindness. To shine until it becomes infectious and those around us have to take notice. To vote with our choices of consumerism and action. If the majority were to decide that we really wanted the world to be a kinder place, then it would be.

Our beautiful Princess

 A window where a white face used to peer from, belonging to Duchess. Sweet natured and intensely loved, none could love her more than  her best friend, Princess. Many of you will remember that iconic photo, it is printed in my mind like a watercolour, changing with time, but remaining beautiful in its journey. 

Princess is a magical character, shy yet gregarious, loving but mischievous, calm yet stubborn. She wears her heart on her shoulder, in plain sight for anyone that wishes to see. Her hair as soft as a babes head, her whiskers as sharp as any grandads moustache. She is watchful, seeing any visitor, any passers-by  assessing them in her inky stare.

To think she was once left in a barn to starve, after years of having her children taken, brings a lump so sharp to my throat that it takes me on a memory journey of her suffering. Her "downed cow" status, that dairy cows earn the title of. If I could implore any of my followers to stop anything, it would be dairy, it is a despicable, tyrannical industry. Profitable only through intense misery and suffering. There is no such thing as a happy cow, only in the carefully crafted adverts. These ladies pine and grieve for months, with hideous mastitis, and a lifestyle that renders them too weak to stand. Please think about whether it is necessary to partake in this trade, I implore you.

Princess will rest with us for as many years as she has left. We helped her to learn how to walk again, to trust again, to eat again. Our dream was that one day she could raise an orphan calf, but we wait for the opportunity to present another unwanted holstein. Our last calves, Duchess took command of being mummy, now Duchess is gone, we only have one mum left. Maybe fate will shine kindly on Princess, and give her this chance, either way we will love her unequivocally, as you all will, that meet her. Maybe she will shine for you, in the way she touches our hearts❤

Words of wisdom from the rescued dog

Here I wait, guarding all access, you can't leave me behind at bedtime. I watch where you are downstairs, I listen to your voice, your footfalls. You are my world and I will not leave you. 

 When you go in the bathroom I'm on the step, in the potting shed I'm with you, walking down the stairs I'm before you. In the car I will jump in the boot, and listen to the music with you, jump out and come to the shops, sit by your side. If you're sick I watch you, if you laugh I'm with you. When you aren't aware, I'm aware of you. You are my everything. 

While you sleep, I'm at the foot of your bed, while you dream, I'm running by your side, I can hear you while I sleep. If you sleep too deeply, I'll nudge your face with my nose, just to check you haven't left me for another world. I waited for you, I'm here until the day I leave this world. 

When I was beaten, starved and bred to exhaustion, I dreamed of you. When I was chained I saw you in fields of freedom. I knew your smell the second you met me, I will not forsake you. I am your friend, your companion, your protector, I will stand between you and any danger I see, hear or think of. You took me out of hell and held my head until I felt love again. I will never forget you. 

 When we walk together, I check on you, I see you watching me. If you leave me for a moment, I hear you arriving before you are anywhere near. I anticipate your arrival. I'm always happy to see you, even if you're sad. When I've gone from here, I will still watch over you, I will still meet you in your dreams, I will wait for you to come. You are my everything. 

 To every guardian of every loved dog, every rescue dog, every lost and saved dog. You are their everything. 

Thank you x