It’s been a long road to recovery for Lucille Lamb, yet this brave and determined girl now makes the most of her hard-won mobility, strolling about the sanctuary as a member of ‘The Happy Wanderers’ our free roaming lamb clan who elicit smiles everywhere they go.
Quickly named for her portly proportions that were far more befitting of a Victorian era, the Duchess of May arrived at our sanctuary greatly in need. Although her “bustle-esque” figure was quickly refined thanks to a long, long overdue shearing, we now feel a more fitting name for our new ovine friend could well have been “Mrs Robinson” for her overtly keen interest in her much younger companion, the Duke. Yet knowing full well a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet, the name has stuck, and so too the great bond between the Duchess and her Duke. Continue reading
Many people are now aware of the plight of the bobby calf: sweet doe-eyed babies taken from their mothers only hours after their birth so the milk nature intended for the calf can be harvested for human consumption. Sadly, many, in a bid to escape complicity with this cruelty, choose goat’s milk as a “humane” alternative, in the misguided belief that goats are “natural” producers of milk who do not have to be pregnant in order to commence the lactation process. Yet mammals are mammals, and in the goat’s milk industry as in the cow’s milk industry, the babies are usually unwanted by-products fated to have short and motherless lives. And so dear little Snowy (a sweet Saanen buck) and the dapper Bluey (a refined British Alpine buck) came into the world, off-shoots of the caprine dairy industry, getting lucky of sorts, finding a home in regional Victoria. But their fortunes turned once again as their cutes became more of an annoyance than a delight, and for their innocent crimes they came within days of having their lives ended.
Now, our new buddy Hank may be built like a tank, and he does have an equally tough exterior, but beneath that rough surface lurks a sweet little lamb who, although yet to emerge, is none too far away. With the necessary adherence to our strict “no breeding” policy carried out, we provide the handsome Hank no reason to ever reply “no t’anks” to our offerings of kindness.
No we didn’t name him “What”, we named him “Pumpkin”! The reason why sits somewhere between his magnificent orange coat and his love of this sweet vegetable. Quirky in form and most friendly by nature, Pumpkin has been earmarked as a new BFF for little Elvis Pigsley. Currently sharing an adjacent yard to Elvis, the two are getting to know one another, and each evening the dulcet oinks of “I’m not lonesome tonight” can be heard.
With her size in an inverse proportion to her indomitable will to live, a lamb with two adorable and symmetrical black patches over her frightened eyes recently came into our world. On the receiving end of a dog attack that had claimed the life of both her mother and another flock member, Patchini bore the legacy of a short life hard lived. Unable to move her neck due to painful swelling, aggressive bruising and deep-reaching wounds, little did Patchini know that she was about to swap heartache for happiness, although the transition was to prove slow.
“How do you know THAT is Harry?”, a journalist recently asked as I affectionately patted the head of the sheep standing by my side, cordially introducing Harry. “How do I know that’s Harry?”, I perplexedly countered, “How could I not?”. And I quickly added, “By the same reasoning I know that’s Lyn”—pointing to the person we both so readily recognised as Lyn standing only a few feet away.
So how did I know that the sheep before me was in fact Harry and not Sparky (tall, distinguished, curious), Elma (diminutive and shy) or Fifi (cheeky, rotund, loves to wag her tail). Or Fanta (crowd surfer, singularly determined), Rosie (loner, friendly) or Walker (in your face, determined to claim every wheetbix as his own, make sure you wear protective footwear). Whilst to me it seemed odd that I would be questioned on my ability to recognise my buddy, it is indeed a perfectly natural thought for someone who had just been introduced to 97 sheep. (Indeed, should I be introduced to 97 people I had never met, the chances of me remembering their names would be pretty low!)
Not only is this undeniably true, our words, our deeds and our intentions all have the power to create the future we desire. Here’s how we here at Edgar’s Mission continued along our journey toward a kinder world in 2018.
Our unending thanks to all those who make our work possible. We couldn’t do this without you.
Already having challenged fate once, with a timely escape from an abattoir sealing her destiny, our brave, yet gentle citrine-eyed beauty Gigi has again battled the odds stacked against her.
Gigi entered our care by way of a rural pound recently and touched our hearts like no other as we set about winning the trust of the terrified Merino ewe. Yet something else was amiss with Gigi and a thorough veterinary examination was called for. With biopsy results confirming our fears, we were advised that Gigi had squamous cell carcinoma (skin cancer) of the vulva, something that was going to prove difficult, if not impossible, to treat. With her shortly docked tail exposing this normally protected area permanently to the sun, we couldn’t help but wonder how many of Gigi’s kind have lived this same tale, albeit with a different, more painful ending.