The Cat and the Cripple
escape his ate. I he’d been trucked over to the veal arm he wasintended or, he would have been shoved into a narrow stall andchained by the neck. There he would have stayed, day ater day,and would not have stepped out o it again until he was slaugh-tered. In the six months leading up to that day, he would be ed aniron- poor, drug-laced liquid diet in order to create the pale, anemicesh that typifes veal. Such confnement and isolation is misery or any animal, but on top o that he would be suering rom painuldiarrhea caused by stress, bacteria, and anemia. This is the grimate o the veal cal, a by-product o the dairy industry. Tears o relie came to my eyes as I thanked the powers that be or leading him tous. One thing I knew or sure: Dylan would never end up on some-one’s ork.Olivia, a white goat about ten years old, glanced over at thenew baby with her trademark look o total indierence. Every sooten, her long, velvety ears would twitch with interest and her dark eyes would fx on Dylan, but then she’d walk a couple o eetaway and graze a bit, as i to say, “He isn’t
interesting. . . .”Olivia was a ellow resident o the pig barn who’d been with usor just a ew weeks. Her owners had abandoned her in a ricketybarn when their house burned down. Her hooves had grown solong they contorted her legs and made walking difcult and painul.She had spent weeks standing around alone, drinking rom a mud puddle and snifng in vain or something to eat. A compassionateneighbor was good enough to provide ood or her and reach out toa wildlie rehabber, who took one look at her and called us.Olivia was our very frst rescued goat, and when she arrived, shewas scared and very on guard. She didn’t want to be touched. She’dbutt me with her horns or snap at my hand i I reached out to her.