Peter Gill

Lana’s first summer was upon her and she was now fully settled in her paddock along with the sheep. Things still startled her from time to time, but she was doing fine. In quick order she had found her place within the ‘flockherd’ and it was a joy to witness her jostle with the rams […]

The days were warming, Lana was getting stronger and more confident and the daily walks became walks to the paddock where we would leave her for increasing amounts of time until eventually she was spending a good proportion of the day mooching around in the company of the sheep and chickens. It was all becoming

Lana’s walks and time outside in the daytime were getting longer. We would now walk her round the perimeter of the whole sanctuary and let her stop and sniff, taste and examine the grass, foliage and ground that she came into contact with. She was no longer the frail two week old calf that we

The seizures weren’t Lana’s only torments. Her life was a daily catalogue of hills and mountains to climb. One morning I came in with her bottle and I was met with a bloodstained muzzle. Lana’s face, even without any eyes, epitomised dolefulness. Her ears drooped and her head sagged sadly as drops of bright red

The small calf learnt to suckle from the stiff rubber teat of its bottle quickly and began to show a slight improvement to her frailty, but she remained weak and vulnerable. Each day was another day to survive and although each morning was a victory, we both felt that the following twenty four hours would

Every morning that we walk down to the paddock and see our beautiful Lana waiting our call is a precious, cherished one. As soon as she hears our footfalls her large, unsteady head lifts slowly in anticipation and curiosity, no doubt her tummy rumbles in recognition that feed time is imminent. We call out to