Happily Ever Esther

by Steve Jenkins

  “You put this shifter here and this shifter here,” he explained. “This moves you forward and this moves you back.” He showed me how to start the tractor and shut it off. And then he left me to it. He didn’t even wait for me to try it—he was just gone. I can’t really complain; he’d gone above and beyond the call of duty. But I still felt as if I were on a commercial jet where the pilots had just gotten deathly ill, and suddenly I was being asked to land the thing. Better start your prayers now, passengers.

  The tractor has eighteen forward gears and six backward gears. Pretty wild, huh? So you have to pick your speed and your gear. I, of course, put it in the fastest gear and full-out drove from one end of the farm to the other, not realizing I was tearing up the lawn. I was bouncing like crazy (these things don’t have good suspension), and I drove around like an absolute fool.

  It had snowed a few inches the night before. Not enough that I would ever dream of getting a shovel and manually clearing our driveway had we still been in Georgetown, but on this particular day, I had a new toy at my disposal. And it just happened to have a blade on the back that looked perfect for removing snow. I decided to flex my farmer muscles and show Derek that I could clear a nine-hundred-foot driveway of a dusting of snow in under 3.5 minutes.

  Little did I know that the blade thingy has variable height settings, and the one I selected was not the one I should have chosen. In my excitement, I neglected to notice that most of what I was clearing off the driveway was gravel. I had removed almost the entire top layer, exposing the tops of big rocks, and had amassed a really nice eight-inch mound of gravel on the side of the driveway. Derek was working in the barn, so he was unaware of what I was doing, and at first I was also completely unaware that I was drastically reducing the driveway grade. Once I realized it, I knew that when Derek saw what I’d done, he wouldn’t be impressed.

  I tried to fix it by pulling the gravel back where it had been, but the wheels of our tractor were wider than the blade, so I couldn’t get all the gravel without driving in the ditch. I admitted defeat and prepared for the “What the hell were you doing?” speech that I knew was on its way.

  To this day we have a lovely little gravel berm the whole length of our driveway, as a reminder that I basically have no idea what the hell I’m doing out here. These are things that can be learned only through experience, which we did not have. We were clearly about to experience a lifetime’s worth of firsts.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Life on the farm is a bit of a contradiction. There’s so much to do at all times with the animals, yet it’s a slower life in general. We were used to having friends come over every night for a glass of wine and to hang out. Now it’s a huge effort to see our friends, and we don’t see them nearly as much as we used to or have much of a social life in general. For the previous couple of years life had been so exciting, the way everything was changing—one bombshell after the next—and a big part of that fun was having people to share it with. It was cool to open that bottle of wine, brace our friends for the newest thrill, and say, “You’re not going to believe who called today,” or “Guess what just happened?” Suddenly we had nobody there to tell, and we felt the emptiness deeply. I get very emotional about stuff like that. I thrive on people, especially people I like. And while I like Derek, he already knew everything we’d been through! He was there when it happened.

  Another big change was adjusting to the loss of convenience in our new life. When we lived in Georgetown, if we needed anything, Derek would walk the dogs to the grocery store and be home in ten minutes. At the farm, if we needed something from the grocery store, walking wasn’t an option. We needed to drive, and it would take at least an hour to get there and back. You don’t realize what a difference city living makes until you’re no longer there. We can’t even have pizza delivered here. If that isn’t one of the saddest things you’ve read today, you don’t have enough appreciation for pizza. We’re used to not having delivery now, but at first it really sucked.

  Also, it felt like my work life had changed overnight. Because we had come to the farm, I (by choice) didn’t have any real estate listings. I didn’t have any buyers, and for the first time I wasn’t looking for them. I’d wake up in the morning and not have clients to answer to, but I’d have a pig to take care of and a fence to build.

  The only shame in that fact was that I’d recently made new signs for my business. Formerly, my open house signs portrayed me wearing a kilt (I was “the kilted Realtor”). My new signs were big cutouts of Esther and me, and because I got so busy at the farm, they never got used. I had visions of people just loving my new signs as they’d done in the past. People used to steal my signs all the time, which to me seemed like payback, because I was a very naughty kid and totally would have stolen them if I’d seen them then. When I was a kid, we “borrowed” a life-sized cutout of Britney Spears from a local convenience store. We’d draw tattoos on Britney and do other potentially inappropriate things… as teenage boys will do to life-sized Britney Spears cutouts. I’d imagine what the kids were doing with my cutout signs and laugh. (I know I don’t look like Britney—she has much better hair!)

  Both Derek and I were experiencing drastic career changes. Derek was no longer doing magic; his work life went from pulling a rabbit out of a hat on a stage in a city to long days on the farm. For Derek, the biggest change was learning to be so hands-on with animals he’d never previously had to deal with. It was a bit intimidating for him. I was always the “pusher” for these things. The crazy ideas were always my ideas, and I’d dive in with both feet, without a second thought. But Derek came from a grounded, conservative family, and he was overwhelmed. His only previous experience with large animals was hunting them (I know, it’s awful, and he’d never consider doing that now), so this was a complete 180.

  As time went on and we started getting more helpers and volunteers, we were surrounded by people—that’s also not really Derek’s thing, so he had to adjust to that too. That’s another way in which we’re opposites. Derek loves to take a trip that’s “just us,” while I’m happy to travel in a group of ten. In one sense, coming to the farm took that away from me, because while we have people here all the time, it’s not the same as having your friends around. Our staff and volunteers are great, but they’re not people I’ve known forever, so it’s a different kind of thing.

  One of our first volunteers, Ruth, came to the farm about a month or two after we moved in. She had been a very vocal supporter while we lived in Georgetown, and we had conversed with her a few times on Facebook but never actually met until she asked if she could deliver a propane-fueled shower for Esther. Ruth had seen videos of Esther rolling in the mud on our driveway and knew the house was all carpet thanks to our posts about how “pretty” the house was.

  She lived about forty-five minutes from us, so it was easy to arrange a time for her to drop by with the shower. When she arrived, she was just a bundle of sunshine. She was so energetic and enthusiastic; her personality was infectious. We had a visit, and she offered to lend a hand in the mornings if we wanted. Until then, it was just Derek and me every day; we hadn’t brought in any real volunteers aside from friends and family for those first few weeks. The first public event (Get Dirty Day) was planned for the following spring, giving us the winter to do basic preparations before we officially opened. We’d had no intention of bringing on regular volunteers for a while.

  But Ruth was so great, and we were already getting the feeling that there wasn’t enough time in the day to keep up with what we wanted to get done. We needed help, so we jumped at her offer, and within a couple of weeks Ruth started coming early in the morning to help with breakfast and barn chores.

  At first, it was absolutely amazing. Ruth was usually at the farm before we had even woken up, because she was a morning person… and we definitely weren’t. Not that we slept until noon, but for us, 8 a.m. was bright and early. Most mornings, by the time we got to the barn, she already had breakfast going, an
d she’d be chopping produce or washing dishes. It was awesome. She became a real fixture at the farm, and it carried on for months. She had a heart of gold, and all she wanted to do was help, but we soon started seeing little glimpses of trouble.

  Ruth was a very sensitive person, and she was incredibly passionate about veganism. But she was relatively new to being vegan. As many of us make that transition and start to learn more about veganism, we become more passionate about speaking up. Ruth started taking that aspect to the extreme, putting stickers on meat products at the grocery store, or pouring fake blood on the display case. That was too aggressive for our style. She was known to be a regular volunteer for us, which meant that as far as we were concerned, her actions reflected on us.

  One day, she showed up at the farm in tears, saying she had pulled over a truck full of cows on the highway by signaling the driver. When he stopped, she got out and begged him to let her have the cows. I don’t know what she thought she was going to do if he said yes—show up at our place with a tractor-trailer full of spent dairy cows? I totally understood that feeling of helplessness she was describing; I had felt the same way when I saw those snouts peeking out at me on the very same highway.

  We live in an area where farming is a very common thing. We see trucks almost every day within minutes of our farm. It’s heartbreaking, but at the same time I know I can’t go pulling trucks over on one of North America’s busiest highways, asking drivers to free their cargo. It doesn’t work that way. But Ruth had trouble seeing that sometimes, and no matter how hard we tried to remind her to ask herself, What would Esther do? she just couldn’t get it under control.

  Her behavior aside, Ruth was very dedicated, and Derek and I knew her intentions were nothing but good. So we remained hopeful that we could work through her control issues, rein in her passion, and put her bundles of energy to good work.

  Two weeks after the move, we got our first “tall” animals, B.J. and Escalade. They were, respectively, a donkey and a horse who were best friends and needed a new home where they could remain together.

  Here’s how we got these two: a husband and a wife named Kim and Christine would regularly go out for long drives in the country, and one day they happened upon a horse and a donkey. This sounds like a fairy tale, but it isn’t. (You might say the happy ending of it is, but only for B.J. and Escalade.)

  In fact, Christine was suffering from a terminal illness, and the long drives the couple took through the country were little mental-health breaks. On one of these drives, they saw the horse and the donkey on a farm, so they stopped to say hello. On a subsequent drive, the couple brought along apples and carrots. This was the routine for a bit. Over time, they really got to know the horse and the donkey, and they started getting to know the owner better too. The farm wasn’t the nicest, and the owner was a little rough around the edges and seemed to have a bit of a drinking problem. When Christine and Kim dug a little deeper, talking with some of the farm owner’s neighbors, they learned there was some abuse going on. The owner and his friends would get drunk and yell at B.J. and Escalade. They’d drunkenly try to ride them and would generally torment them.

  Christine and Kim had known something was wrong. B.J. and Escalade didn’t look great: They were quite matted; it was clear they hadn’t been brushed in a while. B.J. was calm and very good-natured; he would let you pet and hug him without putting up much of a fuss. But Escalade was clearly damaged. He didn’t want any kind of touching. He’d take his carrots from a safe distance and thank you very much, that’s it. But the two animals would lie down together, and they were clearly best friends. It was sweet but sad, and Kim and Christine felt helpless.

  Luckily, the owner had grown tired of caring for the horse and the donkey entirely, so the next time the couple stopped by, he confided in them that he was putting the animals up for auction. The couple did not like the sound of that, nor the idea of the two being separated. Lots of people want donkeys, but horses are a dime a dozen. It was clear the animals and their bond would not have been protected in an auction situation.

  So Kim and Christine asked a friend who had a farm if she would take them, provided the couple came to the farm every week and did whatever was necessary to take care of B.J. and Escalade. Kim obviously planned to do most of the work because of Christine’s illness. Their friends agreed, and the original owner was just happy to get rid of the animals, so the couple arranged for a transport from his farm to the new one.

  During the transport, while helping Escalade onto the trailer, Kim lost his balance, tripped, and injured his leg. It didn’t seem like a huge deal at the time—but when he eventually went to see a doctor, he learned he had bone cancer. It was a terminal diagnosis.

  Of course, this was devastating news. Both Christine and Kim were facing the reality that their lives would end in the near future. Obviously, nothing else compared in importance to such an upsetting situation, but the issue of B.J. and Escalade did matter to them, and now they were scrambling to find someone else to help take care of the animals.

  Their story was unbelievably inspirational to us. We’d been inspired by all of Esther’s fans, of course, and I don’t want to suggest that’s been anything less than life-changing. But it was amazing how Christine and Kim continued to care so much for Escalade and B.J., even when they’d been dealt the worst news anyone could possibly hear. It was critically important to them that these animals have the best possible life—even as their own lives were ending. It encompassed everything Derek and I feel about animals—that their lives have worth, that their happiness is important, that we as humans have a responsibility to take care of our four-legged friends and do all we can to give them wonderful lives.

  The situation lit a fire in Derek and me. We had to build the fences and clean out the stalls, because we had two more animals to rescue. Christine and Kim were counting on us. So were B.J. and Escalade. There was no way we were going to let any of them down.

  The animals arrived from Brampton, which is only about forty-five minutes away, but they were hours late because it was hard to get them onto the trailer. Once they did arrive, it took us more than an hour to get Escalade off the trailer. B.J. was easy: he just waltzed right off and into the barn. But Escalade would freak out if anyone stepped onto the trailer. He didn’t even have a halter on at that time, so we just had to hope he’d follow us. He didn’t.

  Nobody was brave enough to hop onto the trailer, which would mean getting behind Escalade. It was up to Derek and me to lure him out. I was using carrots to tempt him to come closer, but that didn’t get him out. Then we had a realization: once we finally gave him space and left him alone, he would want to get out and be close to B.J. He could see and hear B.J. in the barn, and ultimately that was enough to lure Escalade to join him. When he finally stepped out of the trailer, he went straight to the barn and into one of the two stalls we had cleaned out for the pair. He was right next to B.J., and they sniffed each other over the wall. (We didn’t want them in the same stall, at least at first, in case they freaked out.)

  I just wanted to pet them and cuddle with them. I went into Escalade’s stall with some food, and he went nuts. He did not want me anywhere near him. We could touch B.J. a little bit, but Escalade wasn’t having it. He was calmer when we stepped back and left him in the company of his buddy; they spent that whole night facing each other in their respective stalls. It was obvious they had to be together. We’d been told we couldn’t separate them, but it hadn’t made sense to me until I saw them together. Even if it was just a wall between them where they could reach each other’s noses, it was still too far apart. These two are soul mates. Even now, if we take B.J. out to trim his hooves, Escalade will run around and scream the whole time until we bring B.J. back.

  We put them together in the same stall after a few days, which to them I’m sure was an eternity, and eventually moved them to the “old barn.” It’s attached to the big barn, but it doesn’t have any stalls, so it’s a much bigger space
. It also has a door to its own little fenced area outside, so they can come and go as they want.

  New animals always require attention, and with their distinct personalities there is always a learning curve. We had never been around such large animals, so it was very exciting for me. But Escalade was a wild horse, not a nice, friendly horse as we’d expected. He would spin in circles if you entered his stall and tried to touch him during those first few weeks. We had a farrier come to check his hooves, and he literally behaved like a wild horse such as you see in old westerns, jumping and neighing. I’d never seen anything like it, and he quickly showed us how serious it was to be working with such large animals. It was a huge wake-up call that we were quite possibly in over our heads.

  But never ones to give up, we spent hours just sitting in the barn with the donkey and the horse, trying to get them to trust us. B.J. came around fairly quickly and would even let us hug him, but Escalade was quite challenging. It took weeks just to be able to touch him, and it was months before I was finally able to give him a hug. It was a very quick one, but it was still a hug, and I was elated.

  As excited as I was the next morning, sipping on my first coffee of the day and reminiscing about my great accomplishment—the Escalade hug—I started to get a strange feeling that something wasn’t right. Namely, I hadn’t seen my other very large hug partner in quite a while. I’d let Esther out to pee awhile earlier, and after I snapped out of my dreamy Escalade haze, I realized I had no idea where Esther was. I walked outside in my housecoat and flannel pants to take a gander around the property and found a neighbor at the gate honking his horn.