So I'm here

Today is my first day at the ranch. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous coming out here. The idea of being all *alone* on a rancyh for three months is sort of terrifying. And I was worried I’d be wasting my time. But then I got here.
Debbie, Dr. Deborah Wilson, picked me up and put my fears to rest because of her quiet, confident manner, and her absolute conviction. She’s a slim, white haired woman with distinguished cheekbones and chin. From her strict vegan diet to her bumper sticker that says “Beef: It’s what rots in your colon” to her refusal to turn any animal away and oh yeah—the fact that she single-handedly funds this place, under the umbrella of a charity network in Arizona—it’s enough to make you think that working here is worth it.
That said, it was interesting to hear about the animals, and quite another thing to tour the ranch. 120 goats in pens, and horses in big pens, and a mule, Ben, who’s been in some movie, and cows…and then the dogs of course. The yards are fenced in but the house I’m staying in is totally open. There are currently three dogs sleeping right outside my door, and at least 15 more in the living room down the hall. Then there are more in the backyard and some in the garage. On “this side of the road”—it’s a dirt road, and the other dog facilities are over on the other side—there are thirty-five dogs. The ones here are old, unadoptable for the most part. There’s Poncho, who’s a beautiful collie and is nine, whose owner died and the owner’s sister’s husband wouldn’t let her keep him. He came here with his bowls in a mahogany chest, and a portrait painted by some famous animal portrait artist—that’s hanging in the living room. There’s Ella, a 2 year old pitbull who was taken from her drug-addict, homeless owner when he was convicted of something and sent to jail. And then there are dozens of other dogs, in various states of health, living here as well.

Horse feeding time is at 5:30 so I’m off to bed so I can wake up with some energy.