What the $*@! is Wrong with the Other 50% of People?

Forward

Before you read Rasta’s blog today, first, I wish to thank our friends, family, board members and co-founders for all that you do. Our friends on Facebook have provided such tremendous moral support, love, and prayers that have kept us going, and donations have been made from $2.00 to $500.00 that have helped us weather the regular days and the really tough ones—every penny has counted and made a difference. Other friends and family have been with us on the ranch working, helping, giving time, energy, and love, or sending it via notes and prayers. For all that each and every one of you do, thank you from the girls on the ranch and all the animals, those in sanctuary, those adopted, those past and present. You make a difference in our lives every day and we appreciate you—you’re good people for whom we are so grateful.

Now on with the blog!


What the $*@! is Wrong With the Other 50% of People?
(I really hope it’s just 1%, but don’t want this confused with the 99%
because this isn’t political, it’s a sincere question from a girl on a rescue ranch)

Woke up this morning, several times to dogs asking to go out, then, finally, after a half-night’s sleep woke to realize Facebook had made changes to the way messages appear on the notification’s page. There was one we missed. A gentleman advertising a horse on Craig’s List received it and forwarded it to us. Although it was sent to him back in June, I have to respond in the wake of a series of events that have continued my life long lesson concerning how fundamentally screwed up so many people are.

You would think that animal rescue would be fairly simple once the animal is out of harms way, once it is off death row, out of the hands of an abuser, receiving food, water, love, and vet care. It’s the right thing to do, a good thing to do in a world where so much goes wrong and so many harms are committed, but, no, behind the scenes of animal rescue is really just another window into the games people play. There’s rampant jealousy, backstabbing, threats, and lies told not about the bad people who once had the animal in their possession, or the jackass backyard breeders, or the families too financially wiped out to care for their pets, but of all things, about the rescuers, about the people working daily to do the right thing. And, of course, as a rescuer, you also have to take crap from friends of people you may have rescued an animal from or those people themselves hiding behind the guise of more facades and lies.

Taking the relatively small world of animal rescue and the “theater” surrounding it we can then look at the larger picture and see this is what is wrong with the world—why there are wars, murders, inequities, starving, hatred etc.. It is because people lie, they lie to themselves, and they lie to the world. Politicians lie, pass blame, and fail to take responsibility and or a correct course of action because it’s all a game. Lives are often lost because of this and the toll on humanity as a whole is unconscionable. The world of animal rescue is a reflection of this.

Here’s the response the gentleman advertising his horse on CL received:

Had a horse on craigslist and this was one of the responses: Please be careful who comes to pickup your horses. If a nice sounding lady named C from "Rasta's Rescue Ranch" wants them please think twice. She got a pony from a friend, lied, tried to turn them in to Animal Welfare when they got upset. Because, instead of the promised vet care, she put the pony to sleep. She now runs a so called rescue named after this pony with a made up story so she can get donations. She can't afford vet care for any of her animals, just wants pets for her daughter to play with. Please do a home visit, or have a friend do so. Unless you want your friends to go up for sale and end up who knows where. Thanks, a friend

First, I have to address this blatant falsehood:

“Because, instead of the promised vet care, she put the pony to sleep.”

The day after Rasta’s arrival on our small ranch, two vets came over to check on Rasta. This Equine Hospital is a highly regarded horse hospital and the two vets were appalled by the condition of Rasta’s feet; he was severely foundered and in chronic pain for which there would never be relief. The woman who had Rasta allowed this poor pony to suffer day in and day out. The proper vet care was to relieve him of his suffering. Dr. Berkley Chesen and Dr. Feathers said there was nothing else in the world we could do for him and they would stand by that today.

Secondly this, a perpetuation of the lie:

“…made up a story so she can get donations…”

As a fiction writer, I could not have, would not have conceived of such a relentless heartbreaking story as that which Rasta told us. Rasta’s suffering was unconscionable and literally had been allowed to continue for years because those who possessed him did nothing in the earliest stages to correct the problem. They only allowed it to worsen until nothing more could be done.

On that fateful day alone, nearly one thousand dollars left my personal bank account and in the coming months thousands of more dollars, not donations, but personal money poured into the cause of animal rescue, not because we wanted donations, but because the suffering was appalling, the need too great to be ignored.

Third:

“….just wants pets for her daughter to play with.”

Oh, boy, this bothers me at the core of my being. For those who have met my daughter, you definitely feel it too. To the person who wrote this: One, don’t involve my daughter in your lying rant; two, you haven’t a clue about whom or what you are talking about.

Sometimes I have considered my daughter quite blessed to be living on a rescue ranch for all the lessons she is learning, invaluable lessons that will make her one of the best people you will ever meet when she is all grown up. I can say now she is already more fully rounded out as a human being then most of the adults I know. But to the idiot that actually wrote this, here’s the reality: running a rescue ranch is work, physical labor, there are animals to be fed, water buckets to be scrubbed, pens to muck, fences to build and mend, and these things must be done regardless of rain, cold, sleet, snow, wind and there’s a girl out there working the ranch right along side the adults, unless she has too much homework or is with her dad. She does this not because she has to, but because she lives what she believes in; her compassion is tangible. She knows commitment and responsibility. The harder lesson, though, is the heartbreak she has learned, the devastating reality of what happens when human beings do not do the right thing, or they lie, cheat, steal, or abuse.

To the person that wrote that statement from the bottom of my heart, the depths of my soul, may God/Karma/the Universe forgive you your ignorance, shame, blasphemy, hatred, lies, and inability to do the right thing, take responsibility for where you failed as a human being responsible for all the world’s creatures great and small.

You will never know how many tears have been shed on this rescue ranch, never know how many a little girl has cried for the failure of others, how many vets she has spent time with, how many hopes she has had for a better world, how much love she has experienced, nor the depths of compassion she has learned.

Finally, I am a fortunate woman, not for the wealth in my bank account, the fancy car I drive, the properties I own, or 5th avenue office of Rasta’s main branch (LOL, folks), but for my experience in life and the friends and family that I know, love, and cherish, most especially my daughter and Chandon Banning, co-founder of Rasta’s.

In 2009 there was no reason in the world for us to make the personal sacrifice of starting a rescue ranch, no one held a gun to our head, and the devil did not make promises about great riches via donations. No. I had a property that went underwater, lost a job, and necessarily sold off everything I possessed of any financial value. Starting an animal rescue was the craziest thing in the world to do, but fact is the underwater property was originally just that, and the pens were available, the yards and the land, and the reality was the need was overwhelming. Equine and dog rescues and sanctuaries were full, shelters filled to capacity, people were posting ads giving their horses away, some were letting them go to fend for themselves because they could no longer afford their care. Families were losing their homes and their beloved pets, and animals were going without vet care and food. The economy was beating the hell out of good and bad people all the same. I had the time, energy, will, and knowledge that you cannot just stand idly by. I also had a friend whose compassion and passion for animals absolutely compelled our action.

“Stand up for someone other than yourself” – this is something Ms. C. not only has written on her website, but something she honestly lives by. So, to the person that wrote to the man with a horse, again, God forgive you, because I won’t. You ultimately are responsible for Rasta’s story, you wrote it every time you looked at that pony and saw his feet all overgrown and twisted. You are responsible for the creation of Rasta’s Rescue Ranch and by my calculations you owe me personally $20,000 dollars. Stand up for someone other than yourself and do the right thing for once in your life.

Please make the check payable to Rasta’s Rescue Ranch, inc. a 501 (c)(3) public charity; all the proceeds will go to animals in need of a rescue, because of people like you.

And if anyone else out there has anymore lies to spread, and you know who you are, you better make the damn effort to talk to me first, because I’ve had it with your drama, your lies and innuendo, I’ve had it with your whining, your pleads and your backstabbing jealousy/hatred. Get your ass out to the ranch meet the animals, mend a fence, bust some ice, brush a horse, love a dog, toss a ball, hug a kid, realize the magic that happens when we put those who cannot defend themselves ahead of our personal needs otherwise shut the hell up!

Yours Truly,

S
Co-Founder
Rasta’s Rescue Ranch, Inc.

Mini Goat Rescue

We made it and thank you! The new pen is built and waiting for the goats. Their arrival was delayed by a few days, but hopefully we will have an update on Monday December 12, 2011.

Animal Tales-Maggie Mae

I follow in the footsteps of a very big dog.  My name is Maggie-Mae.  In August of 2010, my forever mamma dog lost her best friend of 18 years, Bucky.  Bucky Marie was a red-nosed pit rescued in the ‘90’s.  Her day of good fortune came when C picked her up at 8 weeks of age, wrapped her in a sweater, and carried her home.  When I was dumped at a gas station in a wayword southwestern town, I had no idea what my future held.  I was left still bleeding from having just delivered puppies.  A Good Samaritan picked me up and took me to the local animal shelter; she probably didn’t know it was a kill shelter, but fortunately for me a small rescue did. 


Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, C had already seen my picture.  She spends a great deal of time searching the lists of shelters, of those lost and found, those abused, and those in need of a rescue.  She didn’t know how she would get me from one place to another or if the rescue ranch she co-founded was prepared for another dog.  Losing Bucky was a hard transition for Rasta’s human caretakers and the dogs on the ranch.  Being an elder, she held a place in the hierarchy of the six-pack at Rasta’s and a really special place in C’s heart that no one could ever fill.  


My fate was uncertain, I knew that much because in my belly there sat a ball of fear and I had no idea what became of my puppies, but my body ached for them.  I suppose I was with people that are called backyard breeders and they didn’t need me,  just my puppies to sell, fight, use as bait, or breed more.  


I should mention I’m a Staffordshire Terrier, a smaller dog, but strong as an ox, or so people have said.  Like the American Pit Bull I am a decendent of the bulldog and am sometimes the target of breed specific legislation.  The fate of dogs like me, once in the shelter system becomes a precarious one, especially in high kill shelters and/or areas known for dog fighting.


I ended up being one of the lucky ones as a small rescue made arrangements for my transport all the way to Rasta's.  At that time no one knew C had seen me, but once she discovered I’d made it closer to her, she determined fate was at work and my ultimate destiny was Rasta’s Rescue Ranch.


I am now part of Rasta’s permanent six-pack and have taken my place as second in command under Uncle Rudy, known as the Guardian of the Ranch.  This summer I received my first opportunity to prove myself a good mamma dog and a necessary part of the social network on the ranch.  First came Rain, a German shepherd lab mix found by New Mexico Dogs Deserve Better and then Rasta’s 7, the pups that came to Rasta’s in August.  I’m helping Rain grow up and loved having a chance to help those little pups along.  I wasn’t their mamma dog, but could have been.


I am a really happy dog now and a grateful dog, grateful for the small rescues that make the biggest difference.


Maggie-Mae

Blessed

Some days a common phrase around the ranch is “I hate people.”  Those are the bad days.  The days when Angela finds a pup like Sawyer, “The Padlock Puppy,” the days when you hear about a mama dog being dumped on a rural highway with her puppies in a bag beside her, or when someone finally surrenders a dog because they really don’t know what to do with an embedded collar.  Sometimes we just shake our heads and say through anger or tears, “I hate people.”

On those days our friends, supporters, donors, and volunteers make an immeasurable difference, and I’m reminded the good people outweigh the bad, careless, ignorant, and just plain cruel.

This week a professional dog trainer, Deb, visited the Ranch and volunteered her services.  Our horse trainer, Jan Burnham volunteered her extra energy and time.  And yesterday was volunteer day.  Jamie and Sue arrived with bags of apples and carrots and gave not only the horses extra attention, but their pens, catching up on maintenance (beyond mucking) that the three girls on the ranch don’t always have the time for.  This is when I am reminded most people are good.

Last week we raised all the money needed for Rudy’s surgery and can’t thank all of you enough or express the difference your gift of giving made in the company of many prayers and so much love. 

General care and feeding on the Ranch runs us a $1000.00 a month, so extras like Dancer’s special medicine for the Cushing’s, Rudy’s surgery, or even Rasta’s 7 pups, rescued in August, stretch our resources.  Sometimes it’s scary.  In 2009, when we started this venture it was rough financially, even more so emotionally.  2010 didn’t let up, but sheer perseverance helped us get by.  2011 has delivered us to a new phase here at Rasta’s.  It’s not easy to ask for help, but we’ve learned it’s not for us, but the animals and there’s a world of people out there who want to help make a positive difference.

All of you make a difference in Rasta’s world.  You’ve made it possible for us to grow with your donations, you’ve sent love and prayers, and I am certain that has provided much of the healing and the good and promising energy that is flowing for the ranch right now. 

We have volunteers!  We have professionals offering their valuable services.  We have you and that’s pretty neat.  Sometimes it’s hard, but friends and family can make all the difference.  Today, Rasta’s has a family beyond the animals that reside here and the caretakers of the ranch.  We have a growing family of friends from almost all 50 of the United States, a friend in Finland, France, and Great Brittan and well wishes from many places in the world.  A gathering of good people believing in a common cause, the health and well being of animals.  We are blessed to have you and send our thanks and very best to you and yours.

Your help makes it possible to do what we’re doing advocating, caring for, and providing for those in need of a rescue. 

Thank you,

From the spirit of Rasta, the Guardian Ru, Maggie-May, Sam, Chloe, Savannah, Pirate, Bella, Sadie, Scarlet, Dancer, Duffy, Sgt. Pepper, Moon, Lily the Goat, Rain, Tigger, Red, Rasta’s 7, and the three girls on the Ranch.

Righting Wrongs: Dancer

Dancer 2006 After Months of Love and Grain

In 2005 a woman approached me at the local gas station.  I knew her in passing and she’d heard, via the grapevine of our south-side community, about the new horse stalls and arena I was building.  She knew a woman who needed to sell a horse.  The woman lived just down the road, so I consented to visit.

The woman needing to sell the horse was about my age, running a small dog-boarding business, single, and embarking on the adventure of single motherhood.  There were several animals on the property aside from dogs: horses, goats, sheep, pigs, and chickens.  The animals looked healthy, except for one, a gelding appaloosa, who was obviously underweight.  “That’s Dancer,” she said and of course he was the one. 

As we neared him, I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d gotten myself into.  He was blind in one eye, from a virus a previous owner had neglected to take care of, but most concerning was his thinness, seeming fragility.  He approached immediately and I knew there was no walking away, no leaving him behind.  She was asking a $1000.00, too much for a horse into his twenties, half-blind, and malnourished, but I understood.  She had others to feed and he was the sacrificial lamb, being underfed for the sake of a mare and stallion she wished to breed. 

There really wasn’t time to argue with her about a misplaced value system.  She explained she had rescued him from another woman in need, but couldn’t afford him.  So there I was suddenly incensed with a responsibility to save this horse.  I offered $600 and she countered with $800.  Fine.  Though not all that experienced with horses then, I knew Dancer’s time was short.

We didn’t have a horse trailer and I was not experienced enough to ride him home, though only a few miles.  Of course, she would have delivered him for a fee, but I figured I’d given her enough.  On a fall day, a dear cowboy friend and overseer of Eaves’ Movie Ranch, Thomas Wingate retrieved Dancer on my behalf.  As I spotted Thomas approaching along the trail behind our property, I clipped wires at the fence creating a needed entrance.  As Dancer entered he knew he’d arrived home and gave a whinny to Scarlet, a quarter horse paint we’d acquired just months before, a rescue in her own right, but that’s another story.

Dancer December 2005

In a matter of weeks Dancer began gaining weight and by winter his winter coat came in full and healthy.   Come spring he availed himself to my daughter to ride and carefully carried her about the arena, allowing her to hone her skills as a young rider.  Since 2005, Dance has been the best horse ever, always loving and appreciative, a sweet and dear prince. 

Sometimes I think about the things he went through on his path here.  Our best guess is the road was hard and long.  He’s fully broken, meaning anyone can ride him, and probably because he was once used as a cattle horse.  He’s very sensitive about his head, especially his ears, suggesting there was a roughness, borderline abusiveness in his past.  As mentioned, he’s blind in one eye having lost his sight because one owner along the way ignored a simple and treatable virus.  And I know first hand his bought with malnourishment.  I don’t know how much of the woman’s story was true, if she really did rescue him from someone else she wasn’t doing her job and ultimately seemed more interested in quick cash than his health. 

Recently Dancer was diagnosed with Cushing’s an pituitary gland disease in horses.  Over last winter he lost weight and failed to shed in the spring.  The vet gave me two options.  Cushing’s is treatable, but the medication costly, about $185.00 per month.  Of course, Dancer is part of the family; he became that the moment he arrived, so the alternative is not up for consideration.  However, it would surely help if we could find sponsors for Dancer.  As he rehabilitates from the Cushing’s with the help of the medication, he will need additional vetting, which will facilitate the process.   

Dancer is permanent resident of the ranch and will be with us as long as he desires.  He’s taught me much about the plight of some horses; his story reflects that of many, passed from hand to hand, year after year, until somehow being forgotten along the way.  Though his journey here to the place that would become Rasta’s Rescue Ranch was hard, he helped prepare us for the rescues that would follow: Rasta, Chloe, Savannah, and Pirate.  In my heart he will always be the best horse ever, I just wish all his previous owners would have known that too.

August: Puppies, a Pinto, Princes, & New Friends

Updates From a Lil’ Rescue Ranch

Oh, we are crossing our fingers tight for the big Red boy, in hopes of him finding his forever and most loving home.  He’s been staying with his foster mom, Kate, since narrowly finding his way out of the shelter system in Los Angles via an avenue of great dog lovers who determined this boy needed a second chance.  They were right.  He’s smart, ready and willing to learn (after years of neglect), and really as Kate says just a big lap dog.  Rasta’s is proud of Red, grateful to Kate and Red’s fans, and happy we could help in his journey.  Applications for adoption are out—this is very exciting for Red!!!

Our loving Dancer rescued seven years ago has been diagnosed with Cushings, a condition which impairs his body’s ability to maintain weight.  His meds arrive via UPS on Monday and hopefully they will do the trick.  Dancer is well into his 20’s and a dear loving member of Rasta’s permanent residences.  He’ll have to receive the medication the rest of his life, but considering all that he has given us the cost is superfluous in comparison.  Dancer lovingly cared for the young rider on his back since she was merely seven.  He allowed her to learn and they share that special relationship that happens between a little girl with a passion for horses and a princely spirit who just wanted to be loved.

Ms. Chloe is on the mend after her second bout with colic.  Seems our little blind Pinto likes to eat sand.  The paddocks are not particularly sandy, but she somehow manages to find it.  We will be moving her into a different pen in efforts to correct this.   Colic can be life threatening to a horse and of course Chloe forever holds a special place in our hearts.  She was rescued shortly after the loss of Rasta, the beautiful Shetland pony whose spirit inspired all that has followed.

Many have come in the wake of Rasta, most recently the pack of seven pups, who today get to celebrate the wonder of a little rescue ranch willing to go the distance.  We’re double securing their little yard, have temporarily surrendered Chandon’s studio to their needs, and will be preparing them to find their forever homes.  After rescuing them, we discovered the promised "Freedom Train" to Colorado, may not be the freedom we would hope for concerning these pups.  Preparation for forever homes is a huge emotional and financial investment, but abandoned dogs only get so many chances to be the best they can be.  This preparation involves putting weight on them, getting fully vetted including: another round of shots, micro-chipped, heartworm tested, and, of course, spayed and neutered.  The option exits to send them off to another rescue, but we’ve seen too many dogs who suffer separation anxiety from being passed from shelter to shelter, rescue to rescue, foster home to foster home.  This won’t be an easy task for the three regular caregivers on the ranch, but it will make a tremendous difference in their lives.

As much as I would love to go on with stories from the ranch this morning, I have some administrative (hate that word) tasks that must be done, some fencing to buy, and some money that needs to be found, ASAP.  There’s a little donate button on this page and if you could help we would so appreciate it.  Every dollar counts and we know times are tough for many out there, but even the smallest gift makes a big difference.

This month we’ve watched Rasta’s likes grow on Facebook and received special notes and stories from many.  Thank you for sharing your love for animals with us, your missing of loved ones, and hopes for changing the future of many. 

Sincerely,

Shawn, Chandon,  & Lilli 

Seeing Red; Saving Beauty

Red in Santa Fe.  Photo by Chandon Banning

Red’s sponsors know whom I’m talking about, the sweetest boy ever, who spent the first 5/6 years of his life just plain being neglected.  Then there’s Bella with a family who loves her and she clearly loves and they couldn’t keep her.   Red is the pit bull somebody probably wanted to look cool; Bella is the half-pit, who just lost her family because of those who want pits to look cool, bad, whatever it is. 

I’ve never watched a dog hug her family good-bye, but today I saw that.  Poor Bella now wondering what she did wrong—nothing, dear heart.  And then there’s Red so much love to give, so much love desired, but neglected for years and left on a chain until an embedded collar made somebody correct a bad human decision. 

Bella at her family's home before coming to Rasta's

These cases make us grow weary of bad human decisions.  Red and Bella are both paying the price of being pits in America today.  Hopefully we can change that.

Red’s life is changing, thanks to his sponsors and Kate.  God bless him, he’s a good boy, despite what he’s been through.  There has to be a family for Red.  Now we have Bella with her broken heart, delivered to Rasta’s today.  She loved her momma and little boy Dillon and doesn’t know what’s happened.  She’s scared and her heart broken. 

She and Red are just two rescued among a million that will pay the price this year—the price of the once revered nanny dog.     

Keep up the good works pit lovers, dog lovers, animal lovers.  It’s one animal at a time, sometimes….

Rescue a Mare, Save a Foal

*The following is written by Rasta's Rescue Ranch's youngest caregiver.

My name is Lilli. I am 12 and my parents and I run a small ranch called Rasta’s Rescue Ranch.  We rescue disabled horses, farm animals, and dogs in Santa Fe New Mexico. We currently have 5 horses, 3 goats, 1 sheep, and 6 dogs, and just the other day I read some very cruel things that a lot of American horse owners that put there horses in auction do not know about.  This is why Rasta’s is trying to start a fund to rescue one of these horses from slaughter, kill pens and feed lots.  I know that rescuing a horse does not seem like it would make a difference, but it would make a huge difference to the horse that we rescue.

The horses that they put in auctions are most likely to get auctioned off and then sent to Canada or Mexico for slaughter. Then the meat from the horses is shipped overseas and served on European and Asian dinner plates.  In 2009 over 70,000 horses were slaughtered and every 5 minutes one more is slaughtered.  Most of the horses that are slaughtered are pregnant mares because in the time that the mare is pregnant she is hooked up to collection devices that collects the urine that is turned into a very popular medical drug.  After the mare does not produce the urine that they want anymore she is auctioned off.  

In 2006 the U.S. banned horse slaughter for meat. But still every year hundreds of thousands of American horses get slaughter in Mexico and Canada. But just recently in Montana it has been legalized for the slaughter of horses to be practiced there. The congress wants to reopen slaughter houses for horses in the US.

A lot of the time slaughter is done very inhumanly because a lot of the time the horses are not completely unconscious during slaughter.  In other words, they are still awake while being slaughtered because the stun gun doesn’t usually hit the horse in the correct place.  It is also illegal for people to not feed the horses in the kill pens because of slaughter regulations, but the feedlots and kill pens refuse to feed the hundreds of staving horses a piece of hay.

These are the reasons Rasta’s is looking for a sponsor that will make it possible for us to rescue a pregnant mare or 2.

Chloe is a fourteen year old pinto pony. She went blind from moon blindness and is completely blind in both eyes.  She is a retired barrel racer, whose owner took her to an auction.  A man offered to buy her, but her owner realized the man was a broker for a slaughterhouse in Mexico.  Chloe’s owner said no and found Rasta’s Rescue Ranch. 

Chloe
Photo by: Chandon Banning

**Chloe was our first rescue after losing Rasta in December of 2009.

STELLA!!!

A famed movie moment, Brando screaming “Stella!” at the top of his lungs, but despite my film degree, in this case we’re talking about a pit bull and a rescue facilitated by Rasta’s via Pin-Ups for Pit Bulls on Facebook.  Everyday there are posts and stories on the web and news about Pit Bulls.  Unfortunately the press is often negative and web posts are frequently pleas to save another pit from a kill-shelter. 

One of our co-founders, Chandon Banning, made rescuing pit bulls a cause in her early twenties when she began rescuing them with a friend in L.A., and this effort continues today.  One thing Rasta’s does is share the posts of organizations like Pin-Ups for Pit Bulls in efforts to find homes for the neglected, abused, abandoned, misunderstood, or just lost.  More often then not these canines are pit bulls and Stella was one of them. 

Stella!
Photo by Chandon Banning

After years of being used as a breeder, Ms. Stella was discovered wandering the streets of La Puente, known gang territory, and ended up at the Baldwin Park Animal Shelter in southern California.  One look into Stella’s huge eyes and Chandon made this girl a priority and went to work on her L.A. friends from our home base in New Mexico to find Stella a home.  Stella’s stars aligned perfectly as a friend of Rasta’s and Chandon’s stepped to the plate to care and provide for this incredibly sweet girl. 

Not everyone can take on an older dog nor afford the expenses associated with rescues.  Not everyone has the space, time, or energy, but when the time is right, the dog right, and the rescuer right something magic happens.  In Stella’s case it worked out perfectly, a safe happy home and an adoring human, doting I might say, but for Stella after years of litter upon litter, the care and affection she receives is well deserved and makes right of many wrongs, at least for her.

Pit Bulls, once renowned as the nanny dog have been vilified for years, to the point of being banned in some communities.  They are over bread, abused, and used for the gambling sport of fighting, and unfortunately part of their nanny dog nature to which they were once predisposed seems lost.  This is the doing of humans, not the nature of the breed itself.  One of our missions at Rasta’s is to change this before the “nanny dog” disappears through the calculated indifference of careless persons. 

Stella is the quintessential embodiment of the nanny dog.  She trumpets her hellos and snuggles close with waging tail.  She expresses genuine gratitude for the life she has now.  No, she was never used for fighting, but there’s a damn good chance many of her pups were.  In many shelters pit bulls make up 30 to 50 percent of the population, approximately 1 million are euthanized each year, 200 per day in Los Angeles county alone (2008), then are those not counted, abandoned on the streets where they die in accidents or from starvation, thousands on the streets of Detroit alone, and then there is dog fighting, of course, it’s illegal so real stats are non-existent, thus we’ll leave that to estimates, based on the above figures, we can guess it’s awfully grim.

During a recent visit to Twelve’s elementary school I noted a bulletin board outside her classroom.  Apparently the children were learning about charts, graphs, and statistics.  They gathered information from their schoolmates to compile their statistics and from these created pie charts and bar graphs.  Not surprisingly among the expected inquiries of sixth graders, like favorite sports, subjects, colors, there were several dedicated to favorite or most popular breed of dog.  Again and again the top ranked, most wanted, most popular, coolest, and most owned— the pit bull.  I doubted the boys selected the pit because of its long ago nanny dog title and wondered why the girls too voted it top dog.  For the pit in America it is currently the top dog, most popular, most over bread, most abused, abandoned, fought, used, and talked about.  Sometimes it’s great to be top dog, other times, especially in the case of pits, it’s a terrible position to occupy.  One of Rasta’s missions is to change that.

For Stella we helped advocate that change via Pin-ups for Pit Bulls and a ready and willing rescuer, but for thousands more and generations to follow chances of a good, healthy, and happy life are just one in six-hundred.  Being top dog has placed the breed at the bottom of the barrel.  If you’re interested in having a pit bull or know someone who is, there is one in a shelter nearby in need of a rescue.  Paying for a pup only perpetuates what has become a nasty trade.  If you know of abuse or suspect it, report it.  If you suspect a dog fighting operation or know of one contact local authorities.  Change is advocated for through actions and it’s time to return the pit to its proper heritage— the nanny dog.  In doing so, so much else will change too and for the better.  The world can be made a better place and, in this case, it’s one dog at a time—Stella is happily down with that.

Rasta’s Rescue Ranch, Inc. in Santa Fe, New Mexico wishes to extend much appreciation to Pinups for Pit Bulls and all those who share their posts, Jana Savage at the Animal Advocate Alliance, who shared Stella’s story beautifully, the staff at the Baldwin Park Shelter who posted a video of Stella on youtube that truly captured the spirit of this great dog, and Kate who stepped to the plate, giving Stella a world of love, treats, and her forever home.     

If You Build It They Will Come

Rasta’s Rescue Ranch is uniquely positioned on the scenic Turquoise Trail between the City Different and the historic mining town of Madrid.  When purchased in 2003, the L shaped property looked like little more than a lot of work.  Ramshackle run-in-sheds and thrown together fences speckled the back three acres in a haphazard fashion.  The barn at the very back, just beyond the corner of the L, looked as if ready to collapse, and still does.  The house, built sometime in the late 1950’s, sported obvious signs of neglect and oddly not thought out additions made over the years.  No, it did not look like much, but as the sun began to set and that peaceful orange glow stretched across the land a vision of something special began to formulate.  I didn’t know exactly what it was then, beyond a feeling, but that’s usually how most cool things begin. 

Photo: Benjamin Lucas

Over months an arena and horse pens were constructed under the guidance of two genuine southwestern cowboys.  They were real cowboys, the first I’d met in Santa Fe, Thomas Wingate and Frank.  They wore broken in hats, Levis or Wranglers, grew thick scruff on their cheeks, and Frank sported an elaborate mustache.  Both were veterans of the Vietnam era, loved the high desert, and understood the needs of horses.  Frank advised on the perfect arena, Thomas talked about pens with room, and then the two of them set to fixing railroad ties in the ground, stretching new wire at the back of the L, and securing horse panels about the arena.    

Over the course of several more months, I set to dismantling the old run-in sheds and fencing strewn about the property.  The sense of something special continued lingering, but I still didn’t know exactly what it would be. 

For a few years, as I continued cleaning up the property, we operated as a horse board and care, but that wasn’t the ultimate destiny, the vision that kept popping into my head as the sun would set and cast that incredible bold and golden glow across the land.  Seven years would pass before the vision clarified; sometimes visions take their time coming to fruition. 

Hints started in 2009 with two goats, Sergeant Pepper and Moon, and a horse named Brue.  Sgt. Pepper needed a new home and his best friend Moon and Brue, well into his thirties, needed a winter sanctuary away from pasture life.  Winters on the high desert can be harsh, a reality once unknown to a girl from southern California.  By this time two girls from sunny southern California were learning this lesson, but as a team they began refining the vision and by January of 2010 knew the destiny of this little L shaped ranch on the south side of Santa Fe.

Thomas Wingate, Lil, & Scarlet in the Arena

Rasta’s Rescue Ranch was born in honor of a Shetland pony and others who began to come in need.  After Rasta, came Chloe, then Savannah and Pirate, and two sheep.  If you build it they will come.  And still more came, Lily the goat, Maggie a wayward pit bull abandoned at a gas station, Sam, a silver miniature poodle, and Sadie a German shepherd dog mix and new pal for Rudy the guardian shepherd of the land. 

For the most part we’ve self-funded the operation with funds from a yome we rent out on the ranch, where some really terrific young people have stayed.  We’ve kept up as much as we can, but it’s been tough, financially and emotionally, one of the hardest undertakings ever, and truth is there is more to be done and many more in need of a rescue. 

We’ve outgrown the facilities built years ago, but there’s room for more as the vision grows and clarifies.  Looking across the land, I imagine a new barn and more spacious pens.  Closer to the house I see a dog park, where our rescues can run and play and friends from the neighborhood might join them.  In the future there is a space where the goats and the sheep can roam free.  I see children coming to meet the animals, to hear their stories and learn not just the ways of a ranch, but the difference we can all make in the world.  

It’s one step at a time, as it was in the beginning.  The new barn will be a little while yet, but a nice big fenced yard for dogs and additional pens are goals for summer.  Much depends on sponsors, every dollar coming into the ranch counts.  The Facebook “Like” campaign brought to life by a very generous sponsor raised $650.00.  That will feed the horses for the month of April.  Whew! 

There is so much potential, so many possibilities, and such a tremendous need.  During 2009 in New Mexico, out of desperation some people just released their horses to the wild to fend for themselves.  In this challenging economy unconscionable numbers of pets have been abandoned, some dropped at shelters, others simply left.  There is much to be done and a difference that can be made for the better.  Rasta’s looks forward to contributing to that difference one animal at a time.  We hope you’ll join our efforts. 

Photo: Benjamin Lucas

Again, every dollar counts.  $9.00 buys a bale of hay, $20.00 a bag of Equine Senior, heck, $ 4.00 buys a bag of cement for fence posts.  So you see, even the smallest of donations makes a difference on a rescue ranch.    Of course, we welcome larger donations too.  Those enable us to move faster and often we wish we could.  Sometimes a rescue needs to happen in an instant.

Thank you to our supporters for our page “likes,” your valuable encouragement, and for sharing us with family and friends.  Can’t wait to update everyone on where we are tomorrow. 

RASTA’S RESCUE RANCH, INC. is a 501(c)(3) public charity.  ALL DONATIONS ARE 100% TAX DEDUCTABLE (receipts are emailed to you or snail mailed if requested). 

DONATIONS CAN BE MAILED TO 3820 STATE HIGHWAY 14, SANTA FE, NEW MEXICO 87508

OR

NOW YOU CAN PAYPAL A DONATION TO: RASTASRESCUERANCH@GMAIL.COM

Transformations: Savannah the Buckskin Mare

Little girls want horses and dream of naming them things like Magic.  They imagine brushing their manes and braiding their tails.  I know because I have one of those little girls.  From very early on, my daughter wanted a horse, riding lessons, treasured books and movies about horses, and learned to draw them better at five then I ever could.  Little girls want pink and white saddles and cowgirl boots and imagine adorning their magic pony with sparkling reins and riding off into wonderful adventures. 

On a Tuesday, in early 2010, a Buckskin mare named Magic arrived at Rasta’s, but how she received this name is unknown.  A lady who tossed her cow hay over the fence of a small pen for a truck driver, who owned her, though rarely home, brought her to Rasta’s.  The lady admitted knowing it was cheap hay for a horse, but it was what the trucker provided.  And after seeing Magic through most of another winter, malnourished and unattended to, less bare necessity, she talked the trucker into surrendering the horse, then gathered Magic into a trailer, and made the drive to Rasta's.

How long Magic lived solely in a small pen, untouched by human hands, and fed just enough to sustain her is unknown.  “Years,” the lady hinted.  And before that she went from home to home.  Surely once, as a registered horse, she received love, proper care, and nurturing.  The gratitude she shows us reflects having once known such things.  Perhaps once a little girl did dream of having a horse and maybe she did in her innocence name her Magic.   We renamed her Savannah.

Horses remember and tell us their stories.  Savannah immediately told us of once being brushed and loved, being saddled up and adored.  For hours she stood still and graciously while C and Ten brushed dried mud from her coat, mane, and tail.  Her mane tangled, knotted, and clumped with mud necessitated a haircut, which C caringly provided.  She had worn her halter for so long the rope thinned the hair leaving its impression.  Her coat for winter was thin, dry, and caked with balls of dirt.  She looked as if a pack of pre-adolescent boys had taunted her with mud balls for days on end.  Who knows?  Who really knows?  Savannah. 

So it is that when you visit her she whinnies a sweet hello, patiently anticipates a complete meal, and graciously stands close and still for a brushing, and what she once knew a long time ago, and dreamed of as she found herself sent from pen to pen—the touch of human caretakers, a couple of girls, one still small and one all grown up, who take pleasure in providing a good brushing and whispered words of dreams about magic horses that take us on adventures in our hearts.

*Update: January 2011, Savannah, the Buckskin mare, once named Magic has a full and healthy coat and can be found every morning talking with her friends, especially Chloe the blind pinto pony next door.  She patiently awaits our arrival with alfalfa mix and grain, and whinnies a thank you.  


**Update: February 15, 2012: Two Saturdays ago, our sweet Savannah could not stand for the farrier to do her hind feet.  I told her she would have to tell me what she wanted to do.  I didn't know she would make her decision so soon, but truly believe today is how she answered me, letting us know it was time. She appreciated each day here on the ranch, always said hello and thank you.  No, thank you, dear heart, thank you for finding a home with us, loving us, and being with us.  As we said good bye, I told you to run free, I know it's been a long time since your body allowed you that, hope you are doing so right now.  Many blessings our beautiful Buckskin Mare with a magic spirit.   Blessing always, my beautiful Savannah.  

Form & Flight: The Story of Where Rasta's Rescue Ranch Began

During the fall and early winter of 2009, with my best friend, C, and daughter, Ten (now Twelve), I committed to a massive undertaking.  It is no small task to assume responsibility for the lives of others, for their faults, defeats, and utter failings as human beings.  Taking responsibility for the hungry, sick, and suffering in the midst of world-wide economic crisis with tentacles threatening to drown you in the waves of financial uncertainty, is at the very least a brush with insanity, but at the very best a revelation of human soul and decency.  

It started with Sergeant Pepper, not his band, but a goat named Pepper.  The Craig's List ad read something to effect of a northern New Mexico family had decided they wanted to “collect” a different kind of goat; thereby, Pepper needed a new home.  My beloved animal advocate, C, found herself aptly appalled.  The ad declared Pepper might make a perfect rodeo goat.  I suppose if Pepper grew up with a rodeo clown instead of being bottle fed by children, the story might sound somewhat less callous.  If Pepper knew the ropes, so to speak, of bolting around an arena evading the pounding hooves of a racing equine and rope-wielding cowboy, perhaps C’s eyes might not have locked on.  Fact is though, Pepper knew the inside of a family home, not the rodeo grounds, and literarily grew up in the arms of loving children. 

Before I knew it, we set to constructing a goat pen.  As the saying goes, one thing leads to another.

In December, along came Rasta.  His owner called him Snowflake.  She gave him a light airy name to match his beautiful white coat, as if this summed up his existence.  If possible, I’d grant the owner ignorance, but she knew damn well better when she posted the ad seeking a new home for Snowflake.  C came across the ad months earlier and attempted starting a dialogue with her, asking about the situation, needs, and what could be done to help.  The owner seemed reluctant to communicate, perhaps aware that she caught the eye of a true animal advocate, which could lead to troubles for her regarding this particular Shetland pony.  For months she evaded C’s inquiries, but finally due to circumstances, likely financial, surrendered to C’s persistence. 

Days before Christmas, Snowflake, already re-named Rasta, arrived via a professional equine transporter hired to move him from a distant New Mexico county to our small country property in Santa Fe.  As I peeked into the small horse trailer, those huge gorgeous black eyes gazed back into mine.  He’d just made a journey of many hours and miles.  The transporter had also seen the ad months before and made inquiries about the Shetland in need of a new home.  She found the owner reluctant to deal with her as well, perhaps because she primarily transported for equine vets and experience had surely taught her the plight of neglected ponies.  “Pathetic conditions,” she reported.  “This poor pony.” 

Not many years into the business of caring for and owning horses, I’d only heard of the condition, not actually seen, or understood the consequences of foundered, particularly a case neglected for years.  The transporter guided the Shetland from the trailer.  Only our second rescue and we stepped into the worst-case scenario.  His four small feet were twisted with hooves well over grown, mangled by unmanaged disease.  In our naiveté we felt we could treat him, proper care and love might help heal, then again, in our hearts, C and I knew better.  Your human mind wants to rationalize and correct, but you know instinctually something has gone on far too long, you understand the necessity of freedom from pain and suffering.  And here you thought I was just writing about some animal rescue in northern New Mexico.

Nothing could be further from the truth.  I suspect if you’ve read this far you already know this.  And if you’ve read our postings in emails, our website, or on our Facebook page, you know what happened here.  The next day, after Rasta’s arrival on our small ranch, tragedy struck; tragedy comes without warning, hence the shock of her nature, the circumstances in which she embraces us, like Mother Nature, unpredictable and uncompromising. 

I delivered Ten to school and returned home with Rudy and Cowboy.  Rudy is a German Shepherd, the caretaker of Ten, since she was five.  His duty, as I taught him and instinct made him, is to protect his girl, his property, and the tenants of this land.  Cowboy is a pit-bull mix rescued from Espanola, New Mexico.  I’m not sure what happened that morning as I allowed Cowboy to do morning rounds with Ru, but something unsuspected, out of the ordinary—a tragedy, a blend of fate, a lesson in dignity, kindness, giving, and profound heartbreak. 

From a daydream slumber, I wondered to the sunroom, something didn’t feel right.  Closing in on the exterior room, something didn’t sound right.  From a distance came fierce barking.  Swinging the door open to the yard, I called to the dogs.  I saw Rudy running the fence line to the pens, signaling something wrong in his domain.  He knows the rules of this property by nature.  I called again louder, then knew something had gone terribly wrong, or as nature might have it, God might have it, if you will, something terribly right.  In retrospect, sometimes we can understand tragedy this way, make right of wrongs, correct unforgiving courses, change the world in which we live.  That’s the kind of tragedy that morning delivered us, a devastating, heartbreaking, do the right thing for God’s sake kind of tragedy.  As painful as it is sometimes the right thing is a challenge to everything we thought, our ideals, wants, needs, denied for something bigger than we imagined as we embraced the notion of bringing home a rescued pony for Christmas. 

Curses came to mind as I thought of sending Ten down to meet Rasta that morning.  I thought of the girl I was, remembered crying over a mouse who ate poison set out by my grandfather at the grandparent’s summer retreat.  The family dog walked up and released it from its misery and I, about ten at the time, burst into tears.  Life went so fast.  I didn’t understand the mouse was already dying, just saw life ending in a flash.  I recalled my grandparents and aunt assuring me Winnie, a Beagle mix, had done the right thing by the mouse.  

In the wild the weak, injured, and suffering are identified.  Cowboy identified Rasta’s plight.  We were mortified as we raced to the stalls.  Rasta’s injuries were slight, but his fear and desperate need for human intervention profound.  C wrapped him in her scarf and jacket and embraced him in her arms.  I returned to the house to call Thal Equine Veterinary Hospital.  Coincidentally, the best equine vet in Northern New Mexico sits less than a mile from our property.  Two vets were on site in short order.  They confirmed that Cowboy’s welcoming, though unfriendly, caused no serious harm, but I remember distinctly the statement, “What about his feet?”  They affirmed then what we knew, not from experience with foundered horses, or reading up on the subject, but in our hearts.  Rasta lived in uncompromising pain, utterly uncorrectable after unimaginable years of neglect.

Circumstances led to a necessary decision in less than twenty-four hours.  We inherited the responsibility of another owner’s failures, and a heartbreaking choice.  C held Rasta a little longer then whispered a loving good-bye.  She returned to the house and I checked with the vets one last time, just to be certain.  Rasta needed to be free. 

The gentle hands of caring vets humanely released a princely spirit from a body wrought with injury, from years of, as one described, excruciating pain.  We cried for hours, cried for his suffering, the neglect inflicted by humans.  Tears inevitably surrendered to duty, a responsibility we assumed on behalf of a handsome boy.  He wore a beautiful white coat and a Rastafarian mane.  He truly looked and behaved as a prince, handsome and brave.

That evening I walked down to the horses alone.  I apologized to them for the tragedy they witnessed.  Though not indifferent to the occurrences of that morning they seemed oddly distracted.  I entered the barn to gather hay and grain then heard the pounding of small hooves.  I glanced outside.  Scarlet and Dancer, our two horses waited simply for their food, along with Sergeant Pepper and his companion goat Moon.  I returned to the bales.  A rushing sound went by like a pocket of wind.  I turned catching a glimpse of white, too big to be a rabbit.  I thought Sgt. Pepper might have escaped his pen.  No, he stood waiting, as before.  Again hooves pranced by with another flash of white soaring happily.  Dare I say, Rasta embraced his freedom. His spirit celebrated his release and he made certain that I heard and saw him, so C, Ten, and I would know, although we felt our hearts broken, he found his wings.

In conversations that followed and tears that still swelled, in honor of a handsome prince destined to enter our lives Rasta’s Rescue Ranch, once an idea discussed, took form and flight. 

Rasta's Approved

January 22, 2011, the Internal Revenue Service stamped their approval of Rasta’s Rescue Ranch, Inc. as a public charity.  After a year of largely self-funding the operation, this is huge for our small rescue in that now we can turn to the community, corporations, friends, family, Facebook fans, and neighbors for 100% tax deductable donations and or just help spreading the word of our presence   We can apply for grants specifically designed for non-profit organizations, expand on the potential of our small ranch, and grow our community out reach programs.

Just over a year ago a vision began, the first steps in a journey of soul and ideas, a process of paperwork, funding, and energy, physical and emotional.  And now we’ve arrived at a new and exciting starting point.  We hope you’ll join us on this journey! 

www.rastasrescueranch.com