After $189, three weeks of waiting, 72 hours in a trailer with arthritic feet, Chevy is home.
My heart soars, my eyes well, and my soul sings that Chevy is safe.
He will never see a slaughterhouse. He will never wear a yoke, or a harness, or ... well, probably never wear anything!
Chevy's story started in 1996. Born to a farm in Pennsylvania to an Amish family, he was bred to work.
And work him, the Amish did.
No doubt as long as he plowed and pushed and loaded and ... they took good care of him. But when the time came that he feet hurt, and he started becoming arthritic, they dumped him in the slaughter house.
For $189, and a village of helpers, Chevy is safe.
As he unloaded off the trailer, my heart stopped. Memories of Susie Q last winter raced through my head. Chevy steadied his feet, took a step, then another and soon, he was in his stall eating hay.
I hope, he is now resting. Waiting for another day's sun to shine, another warm petting and love, waiting for some more pain medication.
I'm blessed. Really, really blessed.
Hoping he doesn't fall, doesn't stumble and that I can get him to his stall to have pain meds.
"Almost there, Chev, we're almost there" I kept whispering to him. Not sure who was calming who!
"Here we go, Chev. You're safe. You're home. You're loved."
Bute + hay + bedding + NO trailer = happy, loving Chev!