On May 1st, we celebrated Sundance Sanctuary’s first anniversary. This year, the weather treated us to cold wind chills and a mixture of snow, ice crystals and sleet, but even as I expressed untold phrases of disgust at the weather, I thought back over the year. Ten animals. We’ve given forever homes to ten animals since we’ve been open, and from each of those amazing spirits, we’ve learned lessons in joy, in love, in sadness, in hope.  What we’ve also learned is that transitions ~ no matter what species you are ~ can be really difficult to navigate. This week, it was our sheep who have been making their way through uncertainty and back, we hope, to security.

As those of you who follow us on Facebook know, on Monday we said goodbye to Betsie.  For several weeks, she was able to make her way out to a small pasture we have that’s next to the barn and graze, moving around slowly, for a few hours in the morning until she tired and needed her stall again. For that time,  I smiled as I watched her amble around, choosing a fine piece of grass here, a stalk of hay there, and every so often lifting her face to the sun. Then a week ago, her pain became more than the medicine could manage, she couldn’t move even within the stall, and I knew her time here had ended.  

Her transition was the most drastic and the most emotional, but since I said goodbye, I’ve remembered those pieces of Betsie that make me wish I had known her years ago. This girl had courage. She was the one who always stuck her head around the corner first if I was cleaning the play area while she was close.  She was the one who never let a cat ~ or anyone! ~come between her and what she wanted. She would head butt Echo away from her grain, not-so-gently nudge Miracle out of my lap if she wanted cuddles, and crowd Wilma away from the beets in an arthritic version of a body slam. What I remember most, though, is that Betsie loved to graze in the sun. How wonderful to know that now she can do that forever.

Wilma’s transition time came as soon as our vet and I walked into the stall with her and Betsie. Betsie was standing, but not moving, and Wilma was right beside her.  We knew that Wilma needed to be with Betsie as she let go of this life, but we didn’t know if it would be safe. Wilma is unpredictable, always Betsie’s protector, but aggressive with it. We decided to sedate Wilma and just let her be with us. That was a good call; Wilma watched from a safe distance, and as soon as we knew Betsie was gone, we left the two alone. Wilma went over to Betsie once, sniffed her face, and walked to the other side of the stall. That was all she needed to say goodbye.

For the rest of that day and all of the next, Wilma was trying to understand what had happened. She couldn’t stop shivering, she didn’t eat, and she didn’t protest anything. I sat with her many times during those tough transition hours, talking softly, sharing Fig Newtons with her, trying to be what help I could. Yesterday, it seemed that she finally understood that Betsie isn’t here anymore. She stopped shivering and started talking ~ loudly, aggressively, constantly. She also started eating. 

Today, she’s a bit calmer, so I gave her a few hours munching grass and enjoying the sun in the little pasture she had shared with Betsie.  When she started scaring Bella, Mary, and Cricket, though, with her voice and her head butts against the fence, she needed to return to her stall. We don’t know how this will turn out for Wilma. She’s thirteen and has been Betsie’s companion and protector for all of her life. I know several things for sure: she can’t destroy fencing because she might slice her head open, she can’t scare the other sheep, and she can’t spend the rest of her life isolated in her stall. I’m trying to listen, though, to what she’s willing to do within those parameters.

Duchess is definitely the next of our sheep to find herself in the confusion of transition this week. Duchess came from a loving home, but her injury meant that she couldn’t stay there without risking her life. This past Sunday, we welcomed her to our flock. Her transition started with watching her family pull away and leave her in a strange place, then it moved quickly to being isolated from any other creature as night fell, then waking to cold wind, snow, sleet and ice falling on her head. I was truly glad she still had her winter wool on because it meant that the weather would be the least of her stressors ~ loneliness would be the greatest, despite the many times the cats wandered over to say hello.

Sheep are community creatures and prey animals. Duchess knew that being alone was not safe, but she didn’t know where those who had kept her safe had gone. My heart broke over and over for this little girl as she paced around the quarantine pen for hours, never stopping, never taking shelter in the calf hutch available to her. As I did with Wilma, I spent a long time just standing with Duchess, talking softly to her, stroking her as she paced by me. Yesterday, though, the sun came out and the wind died down. We discovered that Duchess loves dandelions for a snack, and I was able to spend time grooming her and fitting her injury with a make-shift bandage. Today, for the first time, she’s laid down in the enclosure several times, munching the grass around her and lifting her face to the sun. Duchess is calming down.

As for our three Ambassador Sheep, they’ve had their own transitions this week ~ shearing, shots, and really cold winds! Bella, in the picture above, had never been shorn before, and as our shearers prepared to start, we all discovered how acrobatic our three sheep are. Mary leaped over Cricket to avoid being caught; Cricket leaped over Bella to avoid the same fate; but Bella? Bella would be amazing as an agility sheep ~ if such an event existed. She all but flew through the air, hooves as high as my waist, sailing across the playroom. I know she was scared, but I’ve seen her leap in the same way when she’s in the pasture and I call out “Beets!” Bella, it seems, loves to jump. But then winter returned, and none of them had their wool coats. We’ve already used multiple bales of straw just building places for beds that they can burrow into at night to stay warm. When the sun came out yesterday, they all finally stopped shivering. 

I know that Mary, Cricket, Bella, and Duchess are moving through their personal transitions and coming back to feeling safe. How do I know? Because today was the first time all of their tails wagged again as I stroked them. Cricket is back to nuzzling my shoulder when I have coffee with them, while Mary burrows into my knees. Bella comes over with only a little hesitation, tail wagging and big eyes unblinking. Duchess is laying in her enclosure as I write this, but I know her tail will wag as soon as I walk out the door. Phew! Transitions are hard…but even as I still try to get warm myself, I wonder who the next year will bring to us!