Bless Ewe Sheep Company & Sanctuary

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Bless Ewe Sheep Company & Sanctuary A registered 501c3 nonprofit sanctuary, where sheep live out their lives in safety with love. Border Leicester & fiber sheep available for adoption.

Raw fleeces & yarn from the flock is also available.

Yesterday, we said goodbye to Stewie.I keep looking toward the gate, expecting to hear him bellow for me.I keep catching...
13/06/2026

Yesterday, we said goodbye to Stewie.

I keep looking toward the gate, expecting to hear him bellow for me.

I keep catching myself thinking I need to cut up an apple or grab a treat for him.

And then it hits me all over again.

Stewie is gone.

To many people, he was just a sheep. But if you knew Stewie, you know how impossible that sentence is.

He was a friend and a constant companion. He was an individual with opinions, preferences, and a personality that could fill a barn. He was smart, endlessly curious, sassy, stubborn, and entirely himself. He could make me laugh, make me roll my eyes, and make me rearrange my entire day without a second thought.

The bond we shared wasn’t less than the one people have with a beloved dog. It was simply different. Just as deep. Just as real.

In many ways, Stewie is the reason Bless Ewe Sheep Sanctuary exists.

He opened my eyes to who sheep are as individuals and to the depth of their intelligence, emotions, and capacity for connection. He changed the course of my life in ways I never could have imagined. Because of him, countless sheep found safety, love, and a place to call home.

This sanctuary carries his hoofprints everywhere.

For thirteen years, he has been part of nearly every single day of my life. He waited for me when I left and greeted me when I came home. He bumped my hand for scritches and called for me if he thought I was taking too long. His presence was so constant, so woven into the fabric of my days, that I honestly don’t know what this place looks like without him in it.

The last few months were hard. Severe arthritis slowly took his mobility. For over a month, we helped him stand several times a day because his legs could no longer do it alone.

I knew the day was coming.

Sadly, knowing would make absolutely no difference.

Yesterday was the day he could no longer stand. His legs buckled beneath him, unable to bear his own weight. We tried, oh how we tried. He was confused and upset, but he knew…and we made the call. The call that shattered my heart.

A few minutes before Dr. Pete arrived, Stewie ate his beloved apples, half a box of animal cookies, and his favorite frosted mini wheats. He still wanted treats. He still wanted to be here. He still had that stubborn spark that always made him, him.

Dr. Pete was the same veterinarian who helped save him when he was a lamb. Somehow it felt right that he was there at the end, too. He loved Stewie too, and his sadness was written all over his face.

Stewie was lying down. Joel knelt beside him, gently rubbing his back. I sat by his head, caressing his nose, and telling him over and over how much I loved him. Kaylie, Adyson and Marielle were near.

And then we let him rest.

I don’t know how to do tomorrow without him yet.

I don’t know how to walk out the door and not have him waiting for me. I don’t know how to go to the barn and not hear him calling. I don’t know how this place is supposed to feel like home when such a big piece of its heart is missing.

Maybe I’ll figure it out one day.

But not today.

09/06/2026

Here is a new ear worm for you! I will be humming this all day. 😂

Sorry it’s been a while since I have posted. As many of you know, I have been battling the doldrums a bit and have been ...
08/06/2026

Sorry it’s been a while since I have posted. As many of you know, I have been battling the doldrums a bit and have been completely buried under farm work and processing fleeces lately.

But I have some excellent news!

Last week Babette was running toward me with a giant rainbow arching over the farm like a banner of hope stretched across the sky. She couldn’t see it, of course, but somehow it felt fitting. A little lamb who navigates the world by courage, sound, and trust standing beneath a reminder that beautiful things exist even when we cannot see them.

Babette is finally out of my house and has moved to the barn full time. I had to draw the line when she tipped over my recliner.

And the biggest news of all…

She is drinking water!

One of our supporters (THANK YOU, ASHLEY!) sent Babette a water fountain that makes a gentle bubbling sound. Once she got over her initial suspicion and decided it wasn’t trying to eat her, she began drinking from it like a champion. The problem was that she couldn’t make the connection between the fountain and a regular bucket or trough.

Until today.

While she was playing outside, she found the water trough and started drinking. Adyson caught it on video and it nearly made me cry. Not even kidding.

That little fountain has been an absolute game changer.

Joel has already designed and built a bucket fountain for her stall that will be more durable for barn life. The stainless fountain was intended for indoor use, but it got us over a huge hurdle and proved exactly what Babette needed, at least for now.

I am just so happy with her progress. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how we were going to solve the water problem. Having a blind bottle baby has been one of the biggest learning experiences I have ever had.

Alice, our bottle baby from six years ago, was only partially blind and she was challenging enough. Babette has no eyesight at all. She navigates her world entirely through sound, memory, and determination.

The other sheep are still not always kind to her. They bump her, shove her, and generally tell her to go back to her mother. Babette cant see the social cues that are such an important part of sheep communication. It’s not all that different from humans. When you miss the signals, misunderstandings happen.

As she grows bigger and gains confidence, that will change.

For now, she has a wonderful support team. Stewie, Alice, and Amos are her adult buddies. Her twin sister Betsy and little Cinnamon keep close watch over her and rarely let her wander far.

Every day Babette learns something new. Every day she becomes a little braver, a little more independent, and a little more determined to prove that blindness will not define her life.

She may never see a rainbow, but she doesn’t need to. She hears the voices of the people who love her. She knows the sound of her friends nearby. She knows where the treats are hidden, where the sunshine feels warm, and now, where to find a drink of water.

Watching her discover the world one sound, one step, and one small victory at a time has been one of the greatest privileges of my life.

Sometimes miracles don’t arrive as grand dramatic moments. Sometimes they arrive as a blind little lamb finding a water trough on a summer afternoon.

Good job, Babette. We are all so very proud of you. ❤️🌈🐑

14/05/2026

Where do I begin?

It’s been so busy here and honestly… I have been fighting some pretty serious depression lately. I am trying to find joy in this stretch of beautiful weather we have had, but it got hot way too fast and instead of loving the sunshine I was dreading sweating like a longshoreman.

Alfalfa sticks to every nook and cranny when you sweat. You end up looking like a damp, itchy, green sausage rolled in alfalfa and regret.

Betsy has officially moved out to the barn permanently with Cinnamon, but Babette remains inside with me. Babette is completely blind and deeply attached to me. She is also refusing to drink water on her own and every attempt to convince her that water is not, in fact, an attempted drowning has failed spectacularly.

Pan, pail, bucket, trough… nope.

The difficult part is that lambs learn by watching other sheep. They watch their mothers drink. They watch the flock investigate things. Babette cannot do that. She cannot see the behavior to imitate it.

We are now trying a little bubbler in her water bowl in hopes curiosity will outweigh terror. So far she thinks the tiny bubbling fountain is a portal to hell.

If anyone has experience teaching a blind lamb to drink independently, I am absolutely open to suggestions.

I think all the losses have finally caught up with me. I still catch myself thinking I see Jim out in the pasture. Elmo weighs heavily on my heart along with so many others we have said goodbye to over these last months.

I am grateful beyond words that we are able to give these animals lifelong sanctuary. But the hard truth is that sanctuary work means loving aging animals through the end of their stories too. And sometimes that grief stacks up quietly until one day you realize you are carrying far more than you thought.

Now that the grass is growing, feeding pressure has eased a little, but spring also brings the annual parade of chores. Mowing pastures. Moving compost. Hours and hours on the tractor. Preparing for winter feed fundraising before summer has even really begun.

And now that shearing is finished, the fleece work begins.

Hours of skirting, photographing, weighing, labeling, writing posts, answering questions, packing boxes. I put so much effort into making sure every fleece is properly prepared and consistent for buyers. Every sheep has a story and I want their fleeces to reflect the care they received here.

But good lord… it is so much work.

There are only so many hours in a day and lately I feel every single one of them.

Still… I am not complaining. Truly. I am incredibly grateful for every sponsor, donor, supporter and fleece buyer who helps keep this sanctuary going. I know how lucky I am to live this life and care for these gentle creatures.

And sometimes, in the middle of exhaustion and heartbreak, something beautiful happens.

One of the brightest spots lately has been Betty Lou.

Betty Lou is the giant ewe we rescued last October after she was hogtied and shoved into the back of a hatchback at the auction. She later escaped and ran through suburbia before animal control called us for help.

When she arrived here, Betty Lou hated humans.

Kaylie? Fine. Me? Absolutely not.

Betty Lou regarded me as a deeply suspicious predator and possible war criminal.

But over the months, little by little, we kept showing up quietly and consistently. No force. No pressure. Just patience.

And now?

Now she lets me touch her. She leans into scratches. She relaxes.

That tiny little shift means everything.

Because it means she finally understands she is safe.

She no longer wakes up every day believing the world is trying to kill her. She has started allowing herself to rest. To trust. To just be a sheep.

And honestly… maybe there is a lesson in that for me too.

Maybe healing does not always look dramatic. Maybe sometimes it is just learning, little by little, that you are safe enough to unclench. Safe enough to rest. Safe enough to trust again.

And sometimes that has to be enough.

02/05/2026

A moment with Stewie brought to you by Frosted Mini-Wheats 😊

Elmo was born nine years ago and grew up alongside his brothers from another mother, Amos and Oliver. Three bottle babie...
02/05/2026

Elmo was born nine years ago and grew up alongside his brothers from another mother, Amos and Oliver. Three bottle babies, raised together, bonded from the very beginning.

Elmo was a special soul. Quiet. Kind. Gentle in a way that never asked for attention but always deserved it. He loved affection, but never needed to be the center of anything. He was happiest just being with his friends, living a peaceful routine, no drama… just being a sheep. And he was exceptionally good at it.

He had this way of leaning into me, pressing his face into my neck while I ran my hands over his soft little face. He would exhale, completely relaxed, just existing in that moment. Those are the moments that stay.

When he was just a wee lamb, he got very sick. The vet sent me home with antibiotics and a steroid. After the second dose, he had a terrifying reaction. He crashed hard. I gave epinephrine… nothing. I truly thought he had died in my arms.

I sat there for a long time, crying, with Amos and Oliver beside me. Eventually I laid him down and went upstairs to get ready to go back out and bury him.

When I came back down… that lamb I thought was gone had his head up and was looking at me like he had just woken from a deep sleep.

I will never forget that.

Another time he came in from pasture with a face so swollen he didn’t even look like himself. Lips, tongue, cheeks, all the way up to his eyes… like a balloon animal. Then the breathing started to get labored. Another dose of epinephrine… and a few hours later he was resting, swelling going down.

That was the day we learned Elmo was allergic to bees.

The silly sausage loved dandelion flowers. He just had to learn the hard way that sometimes those flowers come with consequences. He had one more reaction the following year, but thankfully nothing after that.

This winter, things started to change.

He was eating well but losing weight. Then a few weeks ago, I noticed him pulling away from his friends. That quiet little shift that always makes your stomach drop.

I brought him into the sick room so I could make sure he was getting enough nutrition and started him on pellets. But he kept declining. Then came the fever… treated for pneumonia… and for a moment, he rallied just enough to give me hope.

And then I found him down in his stall, seizing.

He couldn’t get up.

I knew.

Dr. Jason was there within thirty minutes. He examined him, and the jaundice was unmistakable. Elmo was tired. His body was done.

He slipped away peacefully with his head in my lap.

Dr. J did a quick necropsy and confirmed what we both suspected. Some kind of neoplastic process. Cancer.

We didn’t pursue further testing. It wouldn’t change anything for the flock. Sheep get cancer just like we do… we just don’t often see it, because most sheep are never given the chance to live out their full lives.

Elmo was.

He is buried now near Jim, who he adored, and his mother Violet.

And he will be missed… so very much.

It’s $10 Tuesday.And if I’m being honest… this one is hard to write.We had another devastating loss here at the sanctuar...
28/04/2026

It’s $10 Tuesday.

And if I’m being honest… this one is hard to write.

We had another devastating loss here at the sanctuary. It wasn’t Stewie… I know many of you will worry about him first. He is still here. Still bossy as ever.

I’m not ready to share the full story yet. That will come on another day, when I can do it justice.

But the reality of this life is that the work doesn’t pause for grief.

Shearing was just shy of $2000. Every sheep, every fleece, every year. It’s a huge undertaking, and while we are so grateful it’s done… it comes with a cost.

And then there are the endings.

The part no one wants to talk about. The part we promise every animal who comes here… that they will never face it alone.

Each euthanasia runs about $300.

When you care for an aging flock, those moments come more often than any of us would like. They come whether your heart is ready or not. In the middle of chores, feedings, shearing… life just keeps moving.

We don’t look away. We don’t delay it. We show up and make sure their final moments are peaceful, gentle, and filled with love.

That is part of what your support makes possible.

If you would like to help with the care of this flock… the everyday needs, the big expenses like shearing, and the quiet, hard goodbyes… we would be so grateful.

🐑 PayPal: paypal.me/BlessEweSheepCo
🐑 Venmo:
🐑 CashApp: $BlessEweSanctuary
🐑 Zelle: please message me for details

Every fleece has a story. And some of them end too soon.

Address


98022

Telephone

+12535906910

Website

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