My Gentle Barn (36 page)

One of the most touching stories was from a woman named Gwen who visited one Sunday from Arizona. She told me she’d been following the Gentle Barn on Facebook for months, looking at each and every post and drawing inspiration and courage from the animals and their miraculous healing. Reading my posts helped her get through each day, for she had been undergoing chemo and radiation for a cancer she wasn’t sure she would survive. “These animals have triumphed over so much hardship,” she told me. “If they could do it, I thought maybe I could too.” She had promised herself that if she beat the cancer, she’d come meet the animals who had inspired and encouraged her. And here she was standing before me, beaming.

Whenever we undertook a new rescue, I kept people in the loop through our Facebook page so they could experience each new development right along with us. When we did a rescue in Ohio to stop the mass euthanizing of a pound full of dogs—with Jay in the field and me coordinating from home—I used Facebook to receive applications, do home checks, find transporters, and place every last dog—more than sixty successful home placements done entirely through the Internet! When we rescued our next group of veal calves, this time we not only had round-the-clock volunteers staying with the calves, we also had thousands of people following the rescue online, reading about the daily challenges the calves were facing and the incremental signs of healing. When the calves recovered, we did not rejoice alone with our
volunteers this time; our global online community joined us in our relief and triumph.

The rescues inspired people personally, and they educated the public about how animals were being treated behind closed doors. When we intervened in an abuse case, our followers learned how badly some animals were mistreated. When we saved farm animals, people learned about factory farming and the atrocious abuses inherent in that system. There was never a need to preach. We simply let the animals’ stories speak for themselves, just as they always had. Only now it wasn’t just our live visitors hearing the stories; the animals and their tales were reaching a global audience through the Internet.

I began to see the effect of this wider reach when people shared how they had been touched and changed. Many spoke of shifting to a plant-based diet, some requesting suggestions for how to do it healthfully. Others shared about their own endeavors to help animals. One woman in England, who had been following us for some time, posted a comment that one of the neighboring farms where she lived had a little boy sheep who had just been born. She said the farmer had no use for him and was going to leave him in the pasture to die. “Is it possible to save a baby that young?” she wrote. “I want to take him in but have no idea what to do.” Touched by her desire to help, I talked her through the whole thing in Facebook messages—how to bottle-feed, when to start him on hay, how old he should be when she got him neutered.

“Because he’s a herd animal,” I wrote, “he’ll have the highest chance of survival and happiness if you have another sheep with him.”

So she went out and found another baby boy sheep, and with my guidance she raised the two of them. Periodically after that I would get a message from her: “Just so you know, my boys are big and strong and doing wonderfully. Thank you again for all your support.”

Our Facebook community was equally affected by the work we were doing with the at-risk and special-needs kids. I often posted after an inspiring day of working with a group, recounting the big and small
triumphs and sharing how the animals had softened and opened up even the toughest kids. People would write in that they were touched and inspired. Many said they understood firsthand the healing effect of animals. Some expressed the desire to do the same kind of work in their own town, and I encouraged them to go for it.

Alongside my posts about the animals, the rescues, and how things were going at the Barn, I used Facebook as a fund-raising tool; it was the perfect arena to request donations for newly rescued animals or to invite people to come out and visit on a Sunday. Early on I established a special ongoing posting, featuring one animal at a time—alphabetically by name—telling that animal’s story and inviting people to sponsor a member of our barnyard with a monthly donation.

Then one day I got a new idea. We had rescued a beautiful golden cow who didn’t yet have a name. I decided to ask our Facebook fans for help, and use it as a fund-raising opportunity. Instead of having the naming privilege go to the highest bidder—as we had done in our live naming auction—I decided to make it more accessible to lots of people by hosting a raffle online. On a morning early in November, I introduced the idea in a post, along with a photo of our unnamed cow:

I kept everyone in the loop about how the cow was doing and shared about her growing trust in us. On the day of the drawing we had received close to sixty donations, some of them higher than the requested
$20. We printed out all the names and cut the list apart so each name was on its own strip of paper. Jay took a picture of me pulling a strip out of the hat, and I posted that photo along with some words of gratitude:

In the spring of 2010, a year after our first veal-calf rescue, an anonymous donor gifted us with a second property expressly to allow us to continue rescuing cows. The fifteen-acre parcel was located just ten minutes up the road from us and was covered with grass just waiting to be grazed by our growing herd of cows. But we had to finish up a few last things to get the place ready. We sent out an e-mail asking for help painting the fences, and a dozen people signed on, with a staff member heading the project. The volunteers worked hard and gave every last fence post and rail a fresh coat.

At the end of the day, one of the volunteers, Marissa, asked for a tour of our main site. It was a weekday; generally we opened our main site to the public only on Sundays, or by prior arrangement. But we decided to follow our instinct on this one and gave Marissa a tour ourselves. We took her to both the upper and lower barnyards and introduced her to the animals, telling her some of their stories. We also told her about our at-risk youth program. And all through the tour she took pictures.

Before she left, Marissa expressed how touched and impressed she was by the work we were doing here. “I have a friend who’s a celebrity,” she said. “I’m going to tell her about you guys.”

Jay and I didn’t think much about it.
Who doesn’t “have a celebrity friend” in Los Angeles?
we thought. But Marissa’s friend turned out to be Portia de Rossi—an actual celebrity and an actual friend of Marissa’s.
She e-mailed Portia that night with pictures of the animals and raved about us and the work we were doing.

Three weeks later we got a call from the producers of
The Ellen DeGeneres Show
. They wanted to do a segment on us. Jay and I were beside ourselves. I couldn’t wipe the ridiculous idiot grin off my face for weeks. I kept stopping in the middle of whatever I was doing—mid-stir of the pigs’ breakfast or while I was brushing the cows—to let it sink in.
I can’t believe it. We’re going to be on
Ellen
!

“This is going to really put the Gentle Barn on the map,” I told Buddha, leaning into her embrace. “What a way to get our message out!”

The producers and directors visited on April 30 in preparation for the filming, and I gave them a guided tour (still wearing my idiot grin). The only time that grin fell was when they told us they’d only be interviewing me, not Jay.

“But Jay and I run this place together,” I said. “He’s done all the hard work right alongside me.”

“It’s better for the show to have only the founder,” one of the producers said. “Just to keep it simple.”

Although Jay didn’t show it, I knew him well enough to know he felt left out. But as disappointed as we both were, we were going to have to adjust to what worked for TV, and it wasn’t the last time we’d have to face the issue. Jay, however, was an incredibly good sport and was present and supportive throughout the entire thing.

The producers and directors were scheduled to come back with Portia and the whole film crew on May 3. The production crew arrived first, and we all went out to the driveway to wait for Portia. My stomach was filled with butterflies. I’d never really met a celebrity before and I didn’t know how to be with her. Should I shake her hand or give her a hug, or maybe just wave hi? I even asked the producer what he thought.

“Whatever feels right,” he said. “Whatever feels natural.”

As soon as Portia arrived, the butterflies vanished without a trace. Her sweet, authentic demeanor put me instantly at ease. We hugged hello as though we’d met before, and I relaxed into the experience. I gave Portia a tour of our place and introduced her to the various animals, and the film crew followed us around. Portia petted and fed pigs and sheep and chickens, got to experience Buddha’s hug, and asked me really good questions. The production crew followed us everywhere we went and captured our natural interaction on film.

Throughout the week surrounding the filming, I was posting and tweeting more than usual. Not only was I keeping our Facebook and Twitter family in the loop on the developments of the upcoming
Ellen
show, but I was simultaneously trying to drum up support for a dairy-cow rescue—sixty cows, half of them pregnant, who were going to be sent to slaughter because the dairy was going out of business. We wanted very much to take all sixty cows, but we needed to build a new barn on our second property in order to house that many cows in addition to those we already had. It would cost $100,000 to build it.

When Ellen and Portia learned of our mission, they started posting their own requests for people to help us, with a link to our website on theirs. Within a day the amount we had raised leapt to $10,000.

Three days after Portia and the film crew had been to the Gentle Barn, the producers called to let us know the date the segment was going to air. I let our Internet followers know that the Gentle Barn would be on the
Ellen
show on May 25, 2010. The segment itself was being edited from the footage they had taken during their visit; the video would be shown to the live audience—and ultimately to TV viewers—as part of Ellen’s show. The Friday before the taping, one of the producers called us.

“We got to see your world. Now we want to invite you to come see ours. We’d like to have you in the audience to watch the taping of the show.”

“We’d love to,” I said, the huge grin back on my face.

“Great. We’ll send out a car to get you Monday at one.”

I hung up the phone and yelled, “Oh my God, we get to be there!” I jumped up and down like a teenager, the dogs watching me with their heads cocked to the side. I had never actually seen the show—I never had time to watch TV—so I had no idea what to expect. But we were going to Hollywood! And I couldn’t wait to see what they’d put together from the footage they had taken on their visit.

“Can we come too?” Jesse asked.

“Yeah,” Molli said, “can we?”

“Sorry, guys, just the adults were invited. And besides, it’s a weekday; you have to go to school.”

“I wanted to ride in a limo,” Jesse said.

“Yeah,” said Cheyanne, even though she had no idea what a limo was.

“This is not one of those stretch limos,” I assured them. “It’s just like a regular car.”

An hour later the kids—now twelve, eleven, and four—had forgotten all about it and were swallowed up again in their own world of friends, video games, and bike riding.

Monday morning Jay and I got up early. We had a lot to do before we got ready. When I returned from driving the kids to school, I did my morning posting and tweeting to remind everyone the show would be airing the next day. Then I supervised the feeding in the barnyard and worked with the shy animals to further their rehabilitation and help them trust humans. I double-checked that all the hay bins and waters were clean. When I got back up to the house, Jay was just returning from our other property, where he’d been fixing a broken fence. The two of us had to scrape the dirt and manure off our boots, then clean them up with a damp cloth. This was a big deal; we had to be presentable. Finally I got in the shower to wash the barnyard out of my hair. As the steaming water poured over my head, I thought,
What on earth am I going to wear for the
Ellen
show?
My next thought was:
I
get to wonder what I’m going to wear for the
Ellen
show!
When I looked in my closet, I realized I had absolutely nothing appropriate. Most of my shirts had stains or holes chewed in them by the cows. So I jumped in the truck and made an emergency run to the closest clothing store to find a nice, western-style shirt. I got back just in time to cut the tags off, throw the shirt on, and go outside with Jay to greet the car.