The Knowing

Some rescues call upon something deep within you that you struggle to name, but are so thankful you have.

Hilda was one of them.

When the photograph arrived of a sheep lying in a wheelbarrow, staring blankly into space, there was an awful knowing.

Is she still alive?

She was. But only just.

With scours pouring from her like hot water and heartache staring from her eyes, we could only wonder what this poor girl had known before kindness found her.

Arriving after veterinary clinics had closed, her care fell to our team. Intravenous fluids, antibiotics and vitamins began as we forensically worked through her symptoms and the little we knew of her past.

While our hearts had already made room for Hilda, our hands knew exactly what they needed to do. What we didn’t know was whether Hilda could make it through the night.

Those first hours told us little of who Hilda was. Some outward things we could read. Her tiny, rat-like tail spoke of her East Friesian breeding and her frail body of just how poorly she had become. But it was who lived inside that body we most wanted to know.

And the hours that followed began to tell us.

For somehow, this desperately unwell sheep, who had every reason to mistrust our kind, knew to lean into our care and softly explore our faces from the closest of ranges.

That almost broke us.

Today, Hilda is improving, though far from out of those scary woods that are still trying to claim her. Her symptoms pointed towards polio and, hearteningly, she is responding to treatment, although some neurological symptoms remain. Only time will reveal what they may mean. Whatever comes, sanctuary will make room for it.

And for her.

We named her Hilda before learning her name means battle woman.

Perhaps we chose more wisely than we knew.

Or perhaps, in that mysterious way animals so often do, Hilda knew exactly what her name needed to be.