When The Lost Are Found—The Story of Bodhi

The day Bodhi lost his mumma, he could have lost everything.
His future. His sense of safety.
His place in the world. In truth, he did lose a future.
The one all calves born to beef breeds are supposed to walk towards.
The one that ends in silence, never in sanctuary.
But through an act of grace, Bodhi’s path was rewritten.

Still, grief clung to him.
He didn’t understand kindness.
He didn’t trust hands that offered help.
Wary of humans. Wounded by absence.
Bodhi stood apart—body uncertain, eyes searching, heart sealed.

But not Sol.

Sol had arrived a few days earlier, just two sunrises old.
And somehow, through some quiet knowing, he understood.
He drank from the bottle we offered.
He nudged gently into arms that held only tenderness—though, he also hoped, milk.
And he turned back towards Bodhi, his breath brushing his new friend’s fuzzy ear as if to whisper:

“It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re at Edgar’s Mission.”

And Bodhi followed.
Not blindly. But slowly.
Carefully. Tentatively. Hopefully. Reminding us that trust is earned, not given.
They had both lost their mummas.
But in losing, they had found each other.
And in each other, a kind of home.

There is something deeply sacred in the way they move together now.
Playful leaps under the winter sun. Matching breaths, side by side.
Nudging. Nosing. Knowing.

Sol, the gentle teacher.
Bodhi, the willing student.
Both the wounded.
Both the healers. Here at sanctuary, every life is more than survival.
It’s growth. It’s joy. It’s purpose. They find theirs. And we live ours.

Bodhi’s story is not one of sorrow, but of acceptance—
To love.
To trust.
To the belief that family can be found in the most unexpected of places.

We often speak of the ones we lose.
But perhaps, just as importantly, we should speak of the ones we find.

And of what it means to be found—
not just by place or person—
but by possibility.

Bodhi was lost.
Now, he is loved.
Now, he is home.

Welcome, little one, welcome.