Someone else deserves her love now

{PS She found a new home}

I made this doll in honor of our beautiful old Matilda, who died this past month. It was a hard goodbye and making the doll was a way to grieve–and I got to hold her as I sewed her dress and stitched her polk-a-dots.

Matilda came to us a young elder and for over 10 years we cared for her after she had been taken out of a neglect situation. She was in rough shape after being used as a brood jenny for years but without proper care or feed. Her feet were horrible and her back swayed, and she was weak and worn out. In time, we put weight on and helped her. She died at 30. That is a good long life for a donkey and especially after her start.

But I miss her.

Dolls and art are a wonderful way to grieve and say good bye, again. People wonder why I don't keep a grief doll, and there are some I keep. But it is the process that is important to me.

I had over ten years with the real Matilda, so I want someone else to enjoy her as a doll. I made a linen dress for her with polk-a-dots of silk and wool. The dress linen is from my family collection of old Swedish linen napkins. Her face includes natural mohair and hand stitching [raggedy style]. On Matilda's last day I spent a lot of time brushing her, and found her hair in the brush-I'd forgotten about it-but it was bittersweet to find it. So I put it in on the doll's head.

I will also enclose a copy of 'Misfits of Love" because there is a dialogue and story of Matilda in it. 

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Taking care of old and needy animals takes time, money, insight...and of course desire

Old Matida, age 30, walks to the barn.

A couple days ago, a friend sent me a link about a neglect case in southern Maine where many horses and other animals were taken from a property where a woman was taking in needy animals. Neighbors said that the number of horses seemed to be multiplying fast and while there had been complaints, many of the nearby neighbors weren't totally alarmed. When I saw news footage, many of the horses looked in good body shape - I could not see their feet and I guess that was another issue. Some looked thin, but I knew that it takes months to put weight on a horse and maybe they had just arrived. One neighbor said the horses got out a lot.

But maybe she was just in over her head.

I thought of the woman all day, and what she must be feeling. I don't know her nor is she being identified, and because she was cooperating with animal control and police, I thought it was perhaps an all too often case of someone with a good heart but misguided expectations. The woman did not own the large barn and farmhouse, she rented. This to me is an immediate red flag for trouble ahead for anyone wanting to take on as many animals as she was. While the barn looked large, it supposedly did not have adequate shelter for 30 horses.

We have built just about everything here for the animals, over time. It took money  but it also took Martyn and his skills since he did all the finishing and prep work. I could not have done it alone, I have little to no building skills even though I am handy and capable of many jobs here. Each animal that comes along it seems a new fence or paddock has to be built...fencing goes up but you have to maintain it. If you have pigs -and I guess this place had pigs taken too-well, pigs are tough on everything and require an entire different fence than a horse or sheep or goat. And even then, they have strong noses and get out-trust me, I speak from experience, Earnest the pig will concur. ANimals get out, but if they are getting out all the time, something is missing in the managment.

I thought of the weight of caring for that many equines, not only the feed cost, but the hay storage, the farrier work, teeth floatings for any of the needy ones...my vet bills are huge and that is with mainly healthy animals. Just the manure management...and fly control.

I do know that those of us who choose to help animals are always asking ourselves if we can accommodate one more, or one comes along and you just want to help it. When I took the old horse Honey on, I knew she was on her last legs and just wanted to give her a good year in a better situation. And I did. But I thought about it long and hard. If she had been younger, I don't think I would have. Once I had euthenized her, I knew I could handle one more equine and Biggs was presented to us and I'm so happy he was. But I have to think about many things-do I have room for that much hay since I buy my hay all at once for the year which is the safest and best way if one can afford it, and has room for it. We have putrid fields but we supplement with feed and hay so we do not put money into our fields-they are wet much of the year and are not great grass fields. But again, since I supplement I have to be realistic about feed costs and storage.

And how many can I work with at a time? I guess these horses had very little interaction with people, and it showed right away to the people taking them. I work with my equines-not necessarily in the round pen, but in boundary work and manners and such. I am with them a lot.

I feel for this person, without knowing all the details. I think her heart was in the right place, she just did not have the means to make it work.

Just caring for old Matilda is a big commitment. For example, she has Cushings so is on a daily pill. Every year we do blood work to see how her levels are [it's kind of like having diabetes]. She came out of winter thinner than I had hoped-after multiple teeth floatings- but still looking OK for her age. But her levels had really jumped so now she is on a whole tab instead of a half of tab. I think it is $1.50 a day for the tab. It adds up. Multiply that by other horses that might need pills [like Captain Sparkle] and it can get very costly very quickly. I spend lots of time grooming her since Cushings horses often don't shed well [another sign her meds needed to change, we thought]. She's now on other pain meds too, and will have to be regularly floated the rest of her life [some horses, like Boone, went for long stretches without needing a float].

I think one needs to start small if they are taking animals in–and learn how to work with them, and build relationships with their vets. Farming out west and rearing animals taught me so much. I learn something all the time working with my vets and farrier.

It takes time, money, insight, and desire–desire to keep doing it day in and day out. There aren't any vacations and I don't care. I don't need a vacation. Working with animals is a vacation for me.

I am no saint! And I don't whisper!

I get really uncomfortable on social media when followers refer to me as a "saint" due to my taking on needy animals. For the record, I have never, ever met a saint. And I am not close to being one, nor do I aspire to be. I just try to keep dancing, as fast as I can.

I also get cranky when I see other people referring to animal people as 'whisperers'. This is such an overused term and means little or nothing to an animal. Firstly, communicating with the animals needs no words, it is about intentions and responses to a given moment or encounter. In fact, Martyn sometimes calls me an Animal Yeller, when he hears me out in the barn screaming,

"Georgeeeee!" at the goat who is always in trouble somehow.

My lack of saintness was never more apparent this past Thursday night when I found old Matilda lying, alone, in a far corner of the field, away from the herd. I had wrapped her legs entirely to protect against flies, with vet wrap. The sprays just weren't working as well this year. I figured she had an abscess because she was tender on one hind foot. But I could not for the life of me find one, or even detect heat. I brought her into the stall for the night, worried she might not be able to get up in a far part of the field. And then it dawned on me that the vet wrap might be too tight. I had also been adding layers of it as the wrap slowly slid down over the day. When I took the wrap off, I was appalled to see raw ulcerated areas. I had caught it in time, but she was swollen at the hock on the sore leg. I had certain meds but the next morning I called my vet and she was able to send another equine vet out that day. I was so glad they could come. We dosed her with stronger antibiotics and did intravenous anti inflammatories. I do not do any of my own intra-vein work, always leave that to a vet.

The vet was very helpful and reassuring I was not the year's worst equine owner. But I did learn I made a mistake with the vet wrap. We shaved her legs and I am doing 3x a day topical with a silver mixture. She is eating well, and the swelling is gone. Plus I can just tell she feels so much better. We also did some blood work as she lost some weight since spring when she had come out of winter looking so good. She is going to be 26 so there could be many reasons for this. My vet returns Tuesday to give non equine rabies shots, and we'll reassess her.

But anyway, I did not whisper anything to her. In fact, I just apologized. I know that animals do not hold grudges nor did she judge me for my error. She has always liked it when I work on her, so our routine now to get her over this - and the sores are already looking good- is just one more way to seal our bond.


Seeing her in the field that way gave me pause. I am not one to do heroics to keep an old animal alive. But, I am here to try to make what life they have left a good one and a comfortable one, within reason. Matilda is going to be 26, and I am of course very fond of her. Seeing her alone in the field, I wondered if she was beginning her transition, as an animal will often separate from the herd in their waning days, I've seen this over and over in my work. I think she was just horribly uncomfortable from the swelling. I hope that is the case. I don't want that goodbye right now, even though it will happen. Hopefully her blood work is fine.

The Matilda bond

I had to look up the date to see how long Matilda has been with us. It was 2011 when we brought her home. I can't really imagine life without her. Matilda was being used as a brood jenny, the story goes, and fell into some hard times. She was not being fed properly and her feet were neglected and she was very thin. While she still has a sway back from carrying all those babies, she is in good condition and we love her dearly, as does anyone who lays eyes on her.

This was one of the first photos I took of her on her arrival, adorning her with flowers she so deserved.

Matilda has a very clear, and old soul. She wears it in her eyes. Over the last few years, we've grown even closer, since I have to work on her more than I used to-I put fly ointments and sprays on her daily since they bite through her skin-she is more of a magnet for them probably due to her age. We have a routine each morning where she is fed separately to ensure she gets her supplemental feed, and then she stands for her fly spray. When I'm done with that, she continues to stand for a gentle brushing. Working with a creature like this grows any bond and trust that was meant to be.

The choir sings to the animals...was that a dream of sorts?

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A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Jun 24, 2019 at 2:28pm PDT

Yesterday was perhaps one of the most memorable times at Apifera in our many years of existence. It was one of those days where the glow began from the first moment, spontaneous encounters happened each step of the way, and by the ending it was like...a dream of sorts.

The Homeward Bound Hospice Choir  came to sing to all the animals. I had met them through one of our volunteers, also in the choir. The choir is a group of people from all walks who volunteer their time and heart, and voice, to sing to people in hospice. When I came into touch with this group, I immediately asked if they might come and sing to the animals. They immediately agreed and sent me a date that would work-that date turned out to be yesterday, which was also Birdie's birthday. Hankies!

Now, normally when I have a group coming, I might rearrange animals into paddocks or barns so the people can see them up close. But on this day, I made a conscientious choice to let the animals be...as they are...I let the donkeys and Boone go to their fields, knowing that if the energy was right, they'd come up when they heard singing. And they did. More on that later.

I had old Else and the elder gang, and Opie and The Goose, in the orchard, and that is where we began. In some ways, this was the most touching scene for me. I had packed lots of tissues in my vest, and hoped I'd get through the day without becoming a blubber fest. Else is on her last summer, I am pretty certain of that. She enjoys the sun, and spends most of the time laying down, which she was doing in the clover and grass when the choir entered her area. I was busy doing something and when I looked up, the choir and lined up in front of Else, and that is where they first began to sing. It was as if Else was there just for them, and vice versa. And then The Goose arrived, voicing, or singing, but also checking in on Else, which he does regularly.

We went on to sing to the llamas, Arlo infatuated them all, and then on to sing to Earnest who greeted each singer through the gate, and even did a belly flop [a sign of true pig happiness]. White Dog was next and he of course loved it, The Teapot was as I thought she would be, The Teapot, snorting and chewing her hay. And then into the equine area. The donkeys and Boone were in the lower fields. I suggested the group begin to sing, and I did yell down to the field to get their attention. Old Matilda began her slow walk up about 400 or so feet, and that alerted the donkeys to come up. I knew that Boone would most likely wait, and in Boone fashion canter up in a beautiful Boone way, and he did-and that was a beautiful moment. The donkeys were right close to the singers, and Matilda especially won their hearts.

And then, we sang Happy Birthday to the nearby resting spot of Birdie. I made the entire day without a blubber, till then.

The day hung on even after they left, it was a glow, a glow that comes after certain special encounters, or music concerts or gatherings. I think what I felt the most strongly, after I had time to gather my thoughts, was that...this is truly where we were meant to move to, this exact spot, at this exact time. The scary reality of leaving the old farm, the pit in my stomach when I was the only one who knew we were moving to Maine and I knew it was a calling of some kind and once I expressed it out loud all hell would break loose...all that turmoil ended up landing us in a place that could bring us to this moment.

The other thought I had was, all the animals, and me, we are a bunch of bodies walking around, but we are so connected, like a string of old pearls...I have heard people repeatedly say it is a magical place and I believe it is magical-because the idea of what Apifera started as long ago came from my child's heart, and it has remained true to that essence and intent. One of the reasons I am not interested in having an open farm event every week, nor do I accept people's pleas to visit [or very rarely] is because this is my haven, this is where my heart lives entwined with the trees, fields and creatures-it fuels me to create and write, but I also fuel the creatures with my intentions-and they turn around and act the way they did yesterday. They didn't do any special tricks...but what resonated with the guests, I believe, is the pureness of my intent that is channeled through the animals and is demonstrated by their gentleness, their acceptance and enjoyment of the people. Animals know our intentions. And one of my intentions with my animals, is while I teach them boundaries [ie ground manners that are and aren't acceptable] I allow them to be...just be who and what they are at that moment...a grumpy pig or cat, a sour little spitfire pony, a young llama learning the do's and don'ts.

I also am a firm believer that music is a healer and communicator on so many levels-for all creatures including people. When I worked with Boone, I often sang to keep his canter or trot going. Mothers have been soothing babies for centuries this way, music is a rhythmic cue to our animals. And of course music is a vibration and I believe it connects us with our souls of long ago.

The entire day was 'pure'...of pure intent. It wasn't about propping photos for social media and marketing [although we all did take pic and video, thank goodness], it wasn't yoga for baby goats to gimmick us into the paper, it was pure and raggedy and imperfect. I loved the choir-they are not the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, they are just sweet people singing, a note or two off, it was so Apifera.
Oh, I should mention the song choices were all spot on....including "Angels Hovering Around".


So there you have it. They came, they sang...and I can guarantee not one of them left here without a buzz.

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A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Jun 24, 2019 at 2:43pm PDT

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A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Jun 24, 2019 at 2:32pm PDT

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I embraced winter so I guess I can embrace this

The Goose and Miss Lilac both stunning

Many years ago, when I was living as a single woman in my little Minneapolis bungalow, I made choice to embrace winter. I actually loved winter, but it could and can get to you, especially when I lived alone and had to shovel and all that. But I began walking almost everyday, no matter the temp. The other day as the weather warmed, and a flock of mosquitoes - or are they a herd since they are as big as elephants this year?- followed me everywhere, I decided I had to embrace summer.

Summer is my least favorite season, always has been. I have fair skin so heat and sun are hard for me. Humidity, which thankfully midcoast doesn't suffer too much from, kills me, literally shuts me down. If it is over 78 and sunny, I slow way down mentally. The flies leave scars on me no matter what protections I take.

But this year, I decided to start focusing more on small elements of summer. I have no trouble loving the snow, I need to open up to...heat? Anyway, I have been relishing many things this year. It was the most beautiful spring we've had since arriving in 2016, and the garden is already gorgeous. Last night, we saw our first fireflies. I walk the garden twice daily, and love my time with Martyn examining things we've planted and nurtured. Yesterday, I held a yellowtail for seconds.

I can also say that the mosquito traps we've found are working, for small areas, so I also embrace those.

Matilda in the seas of Runaculous

Arlo embraces summer by rolling in the pile of dirt

Okay, we will miss snow covered Teapots

Spring is upon us...really, it is. It has been sunny and 40's for two entire days and the ice is dropping and birds are singing, the pussy willows are popping...and just two days ago this was the scene. It has been a long, icy winter [for so many] and as difficult as that can make farm life [or any simple tasks for all of you reading] I have to say I loved seeing the The Teapot and donkeys in their snowflake suits. So I guess just as we yearn for the tulips and spring blooms this time of year, come November we will look forward to seeing our little short and stout masterpiece in the snow. The donkeys and her are getting along well, although Old Matilda still thinks she is a bit forthright in her attitude. The Teapot comes into a separate stall at night to prevent overeating. Earnest, the poor chap, has given up on being friends, I think. He moved his bed to be near Boone's area. I thought it was sort of sweet, he has always liked Boone and can commune through the fence.

The rapture of the first fluffs

Old Matilda came out with me today to greet the first snowflakes of the season. I greet snowflakes the same way I greet spring tulips-with rapture and kid like joy. My farrier and I were in barn early for trims this morning and it was raining, when we left, snowflakes. And I yelled out, "Snowflakes!"

They are such sweet little creatures that are each individual in their makeup. Imagine their journey, they start out as liquid and swirl around way up high and travel down to earth, some have short lives, others stick around.

A friend dies of suicide, and I sit with the old donkey

Note: This post was originally written and shared publicly last week after I learned a friend died from suicide. In the past days since his death, his family and friends have begun the process of grieving, sharing and also, teaching, just as Jason would have in this time. I deleted the original post, because I used the term 'committed suicide' and I learned through posts by family, that this is an inappropriate use of words. Criminals 'commit' crimes, suicide is not a crime. So I wanted to edit that. As I said in the post, I have never felt suicide was 'selfish', rather I think it is a courageous act that happens in a hopeless moment. I am still shocked, and so many people are too. I don't have any answers, and am sure I never will. That is the aftermath. But I know he is at peace.

I lost someone I know to suicide this week, someone I never met but had known for about 8 years through blogging and Facebook, and over time, had intimate conversations with. I cared about him and his opinions, and learned from him, and laughed with him too. He stood up for me in a very public way after an extreme group of vegans slandered me and my farm online, really in a vicious way-he turned it into a teaching moment. He was funny, he was vibrant and he could also be biting. He was not perfect, he was damaged like any of us humans are. A friend once said to me, “We are all damaged, some of us just more than others." I only found out about his death the day before I took this photo. When I looked out at the old donkey, Matilda, lying in the paddock near the grave of the elder sheep Assumpta, who died a few weeks ago, I was drawn to go over, even though it was supper time and I was about to return to the house.

I said ‘Hi, Matilda,” and then I sat down on the ground with her. She did not move, she did not even reposition her front leg for comfort. I told her a friend of mine was dead. I closed my eyes and thought of my friend, in light, in calm, out of mental pain. His suicide was shocking to so many. I thought of the place a person has to be in at the moment they do that final act, alone, and how much pain, either emotional or physical or both, they have to be in. Some people like to say that suicide is selfish. I don’t feel that way. I think suicide is a courageous act but it is done within a place of helplessness. For a person like my friend, who was a psychologist who worked with many hurt people, to have reached a place, a moment, where he went over, he must have felt so helpless like it was the only way. He had love in his life, a partner, a career, a family, a dog he adored, he loved to cook and share everything he was thinking and caring about. He was a gay man in a world that isn’t so kind to LGBT people, and he was outspoken and an advocate for them in society. He was outspoken about injustice and racism.

So, I sat with Matilda. It was a beautiful day and night. Autumnal breezes and no bugs, a sunset coming behind us. One by one, the other donkeys left their hay dinner in the barn and returned to our private Donkey-Woman sit down, but they stayed about ten feet from us, as if they recognized-wait, they did recognize-that Matilda was letting me express important things. My friend loved animals and I envisioned him looking down on us, smiling.

“It’s okay, now, Jason,” I said to the sky.

There is a gut wrenching aftermath to suicide. I understand why many people use terms like “selfish’ to explain it. The pain and thoughts that the surviving loved ones are left to deal with, forever, well, it can’t be denied. But it is not about them, or me, or us. It is not to be judged. Nor is this a time to analyze a person’s faults or missteps. It is a time to hold that person in the light.

I thank Matilda for calling me over silently to give me space and time to do that for Jason.
_________________________________________


Links from Jason's family:
http://www.suicide.org/stop-saying-committed-suicide.html

Talking helps. For the many who have asked for help finding support groups:
Friends for survival: 800-646-7333
Heartbeat: 719-596-2575
American suicide foundation: 800-273-4042
American association of suicidology: 202-237-2280

Be Donkey...Be Love

Let’s all go out there and give some love and attention to someone-Paco has always believed Old Matilda is his mother, we have never tried to dissuade him from this idea.(Copyright Apifera Farm) #donkeylove #apiferafarm #animalnonprofits #pacothepoet #matilda

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Aug 22, 2018 at 6:02am PDT

Old Matilda has a request

We are still raising money to defray the cost of the yearly hay that will get us through spring. We have raised about $1000 of the $3,000 needed to add back into our piggy bank.

Anyone donating through this week will get their name in Pino's bucket and one person will take home an archival print -either art or a photo-their choice. I hope to have some other incentives in the next couple weeks.

Anyone who donated initially in the last couple of weeks, your name will be added into the bucket too!

You can go to the Hay Fund page and donate, or donate on the donation page on the blog. I will add your donation onto the hay fund page so we can all keep track of what we are bringing in.

It takes a village of Misfits to keep this place running! Thank you.

Martyn clutches his pearls

It was a very busy weekend. Saturday was hot and muggy...that always leads to trouble in the barnyard, not because of the animals, but because of my mood. I have a hard time with summer weather and the humidity is a killer for me. Just as there are folks who really have physical and emotional challenge in cold weather [I do not], there are many of us who rate summer as the least desirable in the seasons. I try to focus on the good of summer, I really do, but if the temp rises, or my arms are covered in welts from reactions to fly bites [which they are] I get a tish spent.

So it was a nice surprise to get this beautiful shawl from a friend who stopped by for other reasons, and handed me this. It is made from our Apifera wool, and I always get verklempt when I work with things that have come from our animals. It is lovely weight wool, soft, which CVM is known for. I even used it last night as the heat dissipated on Sunday with a chill in the air.

As usual, I asked Martyn to pose with it so I could post it. I always admire the way he drops everything without complaint and takes my request so seriously. He was standing there with it over his shoulders, his arms at his side, and I said,

"Pretend you are clutching it, like you were clutching pearls."

And voila, another Martyn Moment caught on camera.

On Saturday, as I said, it was hot. I was grumpy. I got into arguments with many of the animals. They all know what to do when this happens, back off and let it pass. It always does. By Sunday, I was hanging out and communing again. I appreciate their ability to let me be me, as much as even I can't stand walking around as me in the heat. Sorry guys. Winter is coming, I'll be fine.

On Sunday we had to take down a huge tree, by the outer barn, because the third barn begins next week. Martyn is experienced with felling trees, and he does not take chances. I trust him to do anything he thinks he is safe to do. He has all the safety gear needed for this, and he ties an arborist rope to the tree, and then cuts notches in the tree trunk at the correct angle. He also stays safe knowing when and where to stand. I came out to be in sight of him when he was ready. I said,

"We better kiss, just in case." He laughed and we kissed.

But you know how many of these things end up on You Tube. He had the challenge of felling just right so that it missed the roof of the other barn, and also didn't hurt the 100 year old apple. I waited 100 feet away, this tree was about 20-30 feet I guess, a beautiful Ash but the pigs and girldled it so we knew eventually, soon, it would die and could do a lot of damage.

Well, he sawed for about 5 minutes, and the tree fell forward, right in between the barn and Old Apple, just as planned.

Phew. A good 3/4 cord of wood too.

And the goats will get to eat the debris now, they are thrilled. A giant pile of brush awaited them this morning and I watched as they ventured over to the new breakfast bar.

The weather Sunday was so perfect. Seventies, a breeze so few bugs, and the animals, and myself, all communed. I worked on putting up more electric wire to protect the fences from Boone leaning over to greener pastures. But I took time to stop a lot, and sit with the animals.

When I'm terrified, I look to Matilda's eyes

"I've been absolutely terrified every moment of my life and I've never let it keep me from doing a single thing I wanted to do." {Georgia O'Keefe}

I pretty much feel this way too. I have moments of deep doubt, or fear, of the future, about what I am doing or not doing, about what will become of me, and Martyn, our earth, my animals, is anyone listening or looking at my art, is any of it enough?

Old Matilda and the animals, along with Nature, reel me back to a more compassionate view of both world and self. It is all about the now to them. Is there food, are they safe, do they have their herd, do I show up-those are their questions.

I think it is human to be terrified the minute you leave the womb, maybe even before. I imagine out little human brains floating around in mother thinking,

Something just doesn't seem right and boom, you are born. No choice, human-wise. It's the soul that must propel us outward into the unknown frontier. Like leaving the warm house every morning to feed the animals, and the cold hits my skin, I could retreat, but there is so much life out there relying on me, and I get so much each morning helping them.

So Matilda's soul is right there for all of us-in her eyes. Can you see it, feel it? She's been through some stuff, like any of us. But she shows up each morning, just like I do, like you do. We are  a team of possible terrified-ness. But we choose to go on, and seek out calm. For me, the calming these days comes from just showing up, and working at what I love be it art, writing, or animal therapy work...or simply relishing my food bite by bite.

Even in her photograph, Matilda's eyes seem to mesmerize her viewers.

When whiskers freeze, Sophie has a slumber party and Matilda gets a coat

Old Matilda with frosted whiskers

It is really cold. Not just a 'tad chilly', it is dangerously cold. But we are fine. It's one thing to have this weather for a few days, but we will have it for over a week, maybe even two weeks. As much as I love the winter, I'll be honest, it adds a lot onto the daily chores-ice buckets, and making sure everyone has extra hay so an additional trip tot h barn in mid day is necessary.

I put out a request this morning to Apifera Angels for another horse blanket for Matilda, and bam, one was purchased. Oh the power of the village of love. Thank you!!Don't worry, Matilda is not in danger, she has one winter coat but I'd like a 300 gram weight one for her to give additional warmth. Matilda went into winter with good weight and is getting 6# of senior feed daily plus hay. It's all about the hay in this arctic weather. And we are going through double the bales but I will not worry about that now. The minute they get their hay, the shaking stops even in below 10 degrees.

All the equines had frosting whiskers and clumps of ice on their nostrils this morning. Boone had frosted eyelashes. I have a 300gram blanket coming today for Boone who never wears a coat but he is going on twenty and has always had a thinner coat. Last winter did help him develop a slightly thicker coat. He is also notorious for ripping off blankets, so I hope he doesn't destroy it. I'll put it on at night in these frigid temps. A horse needs 1-2% of his body weight in hay, and he is getting that and probably double that...so all is well.

I gave Boone a rubdown while he ate hay this morning to invigorate the heat in his body. he seems to like it.

"It's better than flies, Boone," I told him.

So...it's cold. What are you going to do? It does get tiresome after a few days. After the initial onslaught of everyone sharing photos on Instagram of their temperature gauges you are faced with the reality of...

It's %4##@&%$$ cold.

I also brought old Sophie up to the front barn to be with Sir Tripod Goat and Opie. That barn is a tish warmer. She just seemed a bit...off....last night when I did feeding, went to lay down instead of walking around getting into trouble, her eyes seemed dopey. She has water, but I wondered if she had not been drinking. Animals actually tend to drink more in cold weather [in my experience] and I do take care to replenish buckets and chip ice-which is about 2" each morning. SO I took her out last night and she was not thrilled to walk on the cold path with me, but she seemed fine once we got to barn. She has a very good wool coat, and I am pleased I've put a lot of weight on her this year since she has separate quarters. I left them last night and aid,

"Think of it like a slumber party."

They chewed their cud and seemed unimpressed,

"Will their marshmallow treats later, and movies?" they asked.

The donkeys don't have a lot of room to roam in. Last year we plowed but in these temps they sort of hunker down. I was amused that they went out to the paddock, and clearly made a beeline for the barn.

Old Sophie joins Sir Tripod for the winter arctic freeze

The equines went out this morning and did an about face

Dear Universe: Why oh why did you make biting flies?

I have never, ever had to deal with biting flies and other insects like what we are faced with here in Maine. I spend a lot of time stringing together expletives when I'm working in the barns. The horse and Old Matilda have been effected the worst.

Last year, Matilda had trouble with the biting flies on her legs. I did my best with sprays, rub ons and such, but eventually had a vet out and we shaved her and gave her antibiotics since she had a slight infection. So this year, in my usual optimistic fashion, I set out to conquer Nature.

I did pretty well until this month. I invested in monthly fly predators-they come each month in the post and I sprinkle them on the major poop piles, and the fly eggs get eaten. I also bought lots of those stinky fly traps that are so gross-they smell like dead animals and attract the flies-and they were full up most of the summer. Next summer I'm trippling the number of those. But then this month arrived and the last hatch of biting flies has just been insane.

I had been keeping up on Matilda's legs-she is the only one of the equines who has issues, I blame it on the fact she is elderly, and she also came out of winter a bit thin which probably made her more of a target, and she is white haired which attracts flies more. While we have gotten her weight up to a good level, this past week I was losing the battle with the flies. I had been scraping off the crud, which is what the vet did last year, and wrapping her legs, and giving her a tablet the vet gave me last year. But it just wasn't helping. The good thing is there was no infection.

So I had my new vet out and we shaved her legs again, and put on these wild and crazy wrappings that are soaked in something, and we have given her a super shot they swear by, versus the pills which take longer to act. She was a real trooper when we worked on her, and Im sure it actually feels good when we get all that crud off.

She is looking pretty styling', I thought.

Next year, we'll be getting an industrial fan which the equines can stand in front of and flies can't fly in wind. I also had to invest in something from the vet to make Boone dopey when the farrier comes. He has never been a bad boy with the farrier but he ABHORS the biting flies, and I can't blame him. My farrier has been so patient, but I want him to be safe, as Boone tries to kick at the flies on his belly.

The vet did tell me the predators help alot too as time goes on, so to keep doing it, and I will. But, between you and me and all the ##+!!###hrumpf flies, I'm ready for them all to be...dead. Little terrorists is what they are.

The vet call was $550. Can you hear the barnyard going wild?

If you are able to make donations, it would be great, and helpful. I have been wanting to have this clinic out but because they are far away, the trip charge alone is $100 so I kept putting it off. But they are really good and I liked this vet a lot. I had her do an overview of our animals which made the bill high, but I need to have a good clinic on board as we go forward. I was spoiled in Oregon with my three vet clinics I worked with. But I was really happy to find a vet too that I connected with and I liked her a lot. Now we have them, and the new cat/dog vet I tried this month too is a keeper.

Caring for the old donkey

Old Matilda waiting to be trimmed

For the first time since I began caring for Matilda and the other donks, we have white line. You'd think that would have happened first in rainy Oregon, but it has happened here in Maine and my farrier said he is seeing a lot of it this year. I have a new farrier and I finally found one that really knows how to trim donkeys and I'm so happy I found him. It took me awhile to find the right one out West and I did after three tries, and now it has happened here in Maine.

The donkeys just weren't getting trimmed properly by the last two farriers, I knew there was too much toe being left and they looked unbalanced, and this also aggravated the situation, leaving all of them with white line. I'm really irritated, BUT, that is water under the bridge and just am grateful I finally have a good farrier.

So, instead of being trimmed two or three times a year like before [this was appropriate in Oregon where it was drier and they had more rocky land to run around on], I will probably have them trimmed each time he comes and does Boone, which is every seven weeks. It's $45 a donkey, so this adds up, but it is what is needed and I'm grateful we caught it now.

And I loved it when the farrier said, "I have to tell you-these are the best behaved donkeys I've ever worked on."

I promise my blog won't become one big donation plea for the 501[c][3]–I plan to continue sharing stories, mysteries, animal conversations, art and photos....and have some other things percolating for your entertainment [and mine]. But one immediate need is to build up the 501[c][3] fund, so I can pay for related items out of that account. I have found a great accountant and now have a clear understanding what I can and can't do.

My goal is to get a big buffer of bucks in that 501[c][3] account-like $5-10,000- that will cover hay, feed, vet care, medicines, special feeds, cat cottage food and heat, utilities, fencing work and new paddocks...and more. We also want to build a new small barn that will hopefully attach to the barn we built last year to allow for more animal room and better hay storage.

Visit the donation page to learn more and/or donate.

Mother Matilda: a conversation

"Animal Conversations" are a gift of my life and I want to share a conversation I had many years ago, when Mother Matilda arrived–some of you might recognize this from one of my books, "Misfits of Love" {Healing Conversations in the Barnyard}. It is Matilda's 24th birthday so if you have time to read this, it will celebrate her spirit. If you are able, consider also honoring her and our work here at the 2017 Fund Drive.
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Her job was to be a brood jenny even as she entered into her senior years. Living in neglect, she subsisted only on straw in a cold climate. Her fortunes changed after a donkey rescue found Matilda and eight other neglected herd mates. Eventually they connected with Apifera and she arrived after a day-long journey. She had the same name as my elderly mother—surely this detail was not lost on the universal forces in charge that brought her to me.


“I remember her ear tips as they drove away,” the old donkey said.

She was speaking about one of her many children.


“No matter where they took them, they came to the earth through me,” the donkey continued.

They can’t take that from her, I thought.

I put my arms around her neck and lay my head on her withers, looking back over her sagging spine. She didn’t move, except for ear motions to redirect a fly or acknowledge a fluttering hay stem.

“I never watched them get in the trailer,” she went on.

She reached over with her nose, touching an area of her back where scratching would be appreciated. I obliged.

“I could see their ear tips coming out of the trailer window as they drove off. They were pointed toward me,” Matilda said.

She scratched her knee by nibbling on it with her wiggling, giraffe-like lips.

To say the soul is not a physical entity could be disproven by looking into Matilda’s eyes. For there was a river of sentiment flowing from her glance into any viewer. I have seen it silence the outspoken, calm the over- energized, and touch the brokenhearted. Journeyers onto Apifera often write and share the more profound moments from their visits, which always include the simple phrasing,

“Matilda’s eyes.”

Arriving at Apifera, Matilda was placed in with the three resident mini donkeys. Her larger, white and brown spotted body must have seemed mythological to the gray minis who had never seen such a creature.
“She seems to have acquired spots somehow,” said Pino, the first donkey of Apifera, when he initially saw her.

“She’s very theatrical appearing,” said Paco, quite a serious thinker.

On the day of her arrival to Apifera, the always observant minis cautiously gathered around Matilda. I took note that the spacing between each mini appeared to be equidistant. I sensed this might be some kind of donkey ritual, of which I know they have many. I did not ask and they did not explain, nor did they share what was said in the huddle. It lasted a minute, if that, and then the little ones ran up and away to their favorite spot on Donkey Hill. Now their mini bodies were little gray spots with tails
prancing about, heads down in donkey play, but all the while they were looking back toward where Matilda stood, her sway back casting a shadow like that of a fertile mountain valley.

In the days to come, the minis treated her much like the Mother that she was. She groomed her little herd mates and they reciprocated, a charming equine behavior of acceptance. Matilda’s first weeks at Apifera were spent in carefree fashion, sunning and adjusting to her new heavenly diet of hay, grass, apples, and animal crackers. Old growth savannah oak gave her shade and at night she was free to dream deep in a century-old barn that had proven to be full of much motherly love itself.

“My purpose was to be a mother. I am old now. My children are scattered,” she said to me one day as I brought her berry branch clippings for a treat.
The conversation did not go past that, but as she chewed, I felt her searching for and then spotting the little clump of minis down near the stream.

Days turned into weeks, summer air became cool, with morning fog blanketing Old Barn. And one morning, the normal routine of the donkeys was diverted. I had gathered all the donkeys in a paddock and shut the gate behind me.

“What’s this?” the minis queried, speaking in ear twitches. “Is it shot day? Farrier day? So soon?”

Matilda’s soul streamed into me, questioning me with concerned eyes and active ear movements. The last time she was herded up like this, she was put in a trailer and after hours and hours, landed at Apifera.

I reassured her without words, gliding my hands up and down her back and neck, but I was soon interrupted by the cars coming up the drive. Matilda stood close to the minis and observed the strangers walking toward them.

They were all very polite and quiet, and carried nothing that raised suspicion—no vials of medicine, no syringes in chest pockets, no halters with long ropes.

Once in the donkey paddock, the people walked all around, slowly, watching, listening, and drawing things on paper tablets. Many seemed to gravitate to Matilda, who stood motionless.
“I am here, come closer,” the old donkey said with her eyes. “I will mother you.”

They began resting their hands on her in silence, gently rubbing her shoulders or her mane and temples. Matilda acknowledged each person’s space and then looked into their eyes, deeper and deeply. Some put their ears next to hers, others leaned on her body, running their hands on her
curved spine of age and neglect, recognizing it as a sculptural sensation.

“I felt compelled to get close to them,” Matilda told me later when everyone had left.

“They gazed on me like a Rubens painting of clouds,” she went on to tell me. “They shared the symphonies that play in my ears,” and she paused to eat some grass.

Her new purpose at Apifera was now sealed and she clearly understood her present and future task.

“I shall stand and be me, and love.”

She slightly bowed her head before me so I could use it like a head pillow. We spoke not a word while clouds blew over Donkey Hill.

{Excerpt from "Misfits of Love" {Healing Conversations in the Barnyard} by Katherine Dunn}

Today's donkey breakfast symphony

A video posted by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Nov 5, 2016 at 8:54am PDT

I spend time each morning with my many animals and one thing I love, and am comforted by, is their chewing, especially when the weather is chilly or rain and I'm in the barns with them. It's funny, because I am hyper sensitive to people chewing sounds, but animal sounds are different for me.

Old Matilda is today's guest chewer. It's a firm, loud chew, don't you think?

Conversation with Mother Matilda

"Animal Conversations" are a gift of my life  and I want to continue to share them with you, and explore the feelings and ideas that stem from them.  I hope you will find time to listen to these creatures too. To start out, I am posting a Conversation I had many years ago, when Mother Matilda arrived–some of you might have this one in the book.

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Her job was to be a brood jenny even as she entered into her senior years. Living in neglect, she subsisted only on straw in a cold climate. Her fortunes changed after a donkey rescue found Matilda and eight other neglected herd mates. Eventually they connected with Apifera and she arrived after a day-long journey. She had the same name as my elderly mother—surely this detail was not lost on the universal forces in charge that brought her to me.  {This Conversation appears in the book "Misfits of Love"}


“I remember her ear tips as they drove away,” the old donkey said.

She was speaking about one of her many children.

Old donkey comes to life

I've been working on some creatures with fabrics, wood and embellishments-in this case Old Mama Sugee donated some of her mane hair that I brushed out of her the other day. I had felted the head but then found covering it in antiqued, fading linen was pretty cool. I might add carved wood legs. We'll see. This is all moving towards doing more 3D work of creatures, including in clay and more wood-fabric ideas.

And of course it is sewn raggedy.

I see Old Matilda immediately in this creature. I think if you had met her, you would feel the same. have you met Matilda while on a visit to Apifera? If so, do you sense her here in these images?