05/14/2026
I want to be honest with you.
This work is breaking me open right now.
Yesterday, we said goodbye to someone weβve loved for years β a loss we saw coming but were never ready for. Today, a phone call from Iowa State brought more devastating news about a resident weβve been fighting for. Grief has a way of compounding. It doesnβt wait for you to finish mourning one loss before delivering the next.
And yet, yesterday morning, I sat in a courtroomβ trying to compel someone, anyone, to care that the University of Missouri Veterinary Hospital killed four of our lambs YEARS ago. Without our consent. Without consequence. Not a single one.
This is the architecture of the problem. The legal systems, the economic systems, the cultural systems β none of them were built with farmed animals in mind. They were built around them, to use them, to render their suffering invisible. And fighting within those systems while simultaneously grieving their victims is a particular kind of exhaustion that Iβm not sure has a name.
Writing an uplifting post, pretending itβs all rescued cows and green pastures, while the world drives past skaughter bound trucks on the highway and fills grocery carts without a second thought can make mourning one cow feel almost embarrassing. It isnβt. But can you understand why the dissonance feels that way?
We cannot rescue our way out of this. The math doesnβt work, and weβve always known it. What we are really doing here β what weβre hoping weβre doing β is demonstrating that these lives matter. That attention paid to one animal is not sentimental. It is moral practice.
If that message has reached you, we hope youβll carry it forward β not just in feeling, but in your choices.
πΈ: Jane, one of the few lucky ones to make it to sanctuary.
More on our two residents when we can find our way through the grief. Please be kind as we navigate.