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A Tribute to a Pony-Loving Goat Named Herb
There was something about the way Verity looked at me. She would tilt her head ever so slightly to one side, fix those gentle eyes upon mine, and hold them there with a knowing that seemed almost impossible to explain.
Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.
Twinkle Dot did not exactly burst into the world. Born in February of 2025, one of eight tiny piglets to rescued mumma Petunia, he was the smallest.
This morning, I was reminded that the measure of a living being is not found in whether we have named them, understood them or even noticed them.
Today marks an entire lap around the sun without you. And although the sun shines no more for you, because of you it shines so brightly for so many.
There are some animals whose lives become so entwined with our own that it becomes difficult to remember a world before them. Polly was one of those animals.
It is a word we so often associate with force, with dominance and with the ability to bend the world to our will. But recently, a heartbreaking image of a pig named Imogen forced me to look at power through a completely different lens.
Some stories do not begin with a plan. They begin with a feeling. A tug, if you like. For me, it was the tug of a tiny piglet.
Calvin Swine. Even his name makes you smile, and somehow that feels fitting, because he was that kind of pig.
“If not you, then who? If not now, when?” — Hillel the Elder. It began with a small blackberry bush. Just a slender, spiked vine growing by the roadside at the western entrance to my town.
I sit here beside my broken heart and try to write the story of Hansel. A task made tougher because it feels as though a piece of it has left with him.
