The Things We Do For Love: 22 years of Edgar’s Mission

Today marks 22 years of his mission, our mission—Edgar’s Mission. And when I look back on everything that has unfolded across those decades—the heartbreaks, the healing, the growth—I land on a question I often ask myself: If I knew then what I know now, would I still have done it?

The answer comes quickly. No. Not because of regret. But because I am no longer the person I was then.

I am someone who has grown—and greyed. Who has learned, laughed and cried—more than my fair share. Someone whose heart has been broken, over and over, but who still believes in people.
And the value of kindness.

Who’s had trust betrayed and faith restored. Who has been gifted with the right wisdom at the right moment, more times than I can count.

I’m someone whose introverted soul has been pulled to centre stage—somewhere no introvert would ever choose to stand. And yet I do. Because the only thing I dislike more than putting myself out there is what continues to happen to my animal friends.

I’ve learned the value of humility.
I’ve grown wiser by the grace of kindness.
And just like one inimitable pig, I’ve changed in ways I never imagined.

If I live to 100, I truly believe I’ll be the wisest old woman around—because of everything the animals have taught me.

And it all began with Edgar Alan Pig.
My pig. My muse. My greatest friend.
Edgar, I love you to the moon and back.

And then some.

As I reflect, I think not only of the years—but of the animals who shaped them. And so, to honour 22 years, here are 22 souls who taught me what love truly means:

Chloe, the lamb who grew into an old, old sheep. The one who taught me that gentleness is not weakness, but strength in its purest form.

Alice, the former breeding sow who found freedom and forgiveness in green pastures—and in doing so, taught me both.

Sunday, the lamb who died in my arms, but left a story that would become the beating heart of our mission.

Mrs Peaches, who showed that pigs can be powerfully large and powerfully kind.

Chicquin, the first rooster to steal my heart—and the one whose statue still stands, quietly, atop Edgar’s memorial.

Dilbert, a rooster with a disability and a love letter from his rescuer. He showed me that dignity belongs to everyone.

Gladys, the first goat we rescued—wise, calm and Mother Teresa in hoofed form.

Rusty, the second goat—and the reason there almost wasn’t a third! But oh, how I loved that rascal.

Claudette, a traumatised and terrified goat, who taught me the quiet lessons of trust and patience.

Buddy, a calf who we found after he fell from a truck. He died not long after—but proved that trying is never failure.

Brian and Georgia, two horses who showed that true love is not confined to just one species.

Catwoman, tethered for years, who taught me the power of a promise kept.

Macho, the alpaca who taught me what an alpaca spit really feels like.

Esmerelda, stoic and steady, who reminds me daily what tenacity looks like.

Ruby, the world’s most beloved dog, whose loyalty lives in every lick and tail wag.

Clarabelle, the dairy cow who finally got to raise her own calf and proved that a mother’s love is universal.

Red Baron, my cheeky, charming little rooster buddy—never underestimate a rooster.

Little Miss Sunshine, the ex-battery hen who changed hearts and redefined “bird brained” as a compliment.

Smudge, the calf with a cleft palate who didn’t live long, but who lit lives in his short time and reminded us to be the reason someone smiles.

Kansas, the lamb we almost gave up on. She reminds me every day to never, ever give up—and also how loudly I can yell her name.

And of course… Edgar Alan Pig. The pig who started it all. The reason for everything. My raison d’être. The one who showed me that love, when acted upon, can change the world.

22 years. 22 animals. Thousands of stories. Countless lessons.

And through it all, one truth remains: The legacy of Edgar’s Mission will not be found in what kindness looks like. It will be felt—in what kindness does.

It lifts—
It forgives—
It sees—
It heals.

It grows, just like love does, when we give it the chance.

So, if you ask me again, would I do it all over?

No. Because I would no longer be the same person. And that, I think, is the whole point.

Because the things we do for love don’t just change the world.
They change us.