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At Kindred Spirits Animal Sanctuary, animals live out their final days surrounded by comfort and love

Ben Swan | The New Mexican
September 23, 2006

"Death is a part of life around here. We cry and all hug, but mostly it’s good memories." - DEBORAH SCHILDKRAUT, Kindred Spirits board member

A low whimper can be heard as Ulla Pedersen leaves her portal to receive a guest. The whimper becomes louder the longer she stays away. "It’s Benedict. He doesn’t like to be alone," she tells the visitor, rushing back to cradle the dog in her arms. The mournful whine stops as Pedersen comforts the elderly dog by stroking his neck. "Benedict is having a hard time. He had a terrible seizure last night, and he just had another one a little while ago."

Benedict appears to be dying, his panting a sign of anxiety, pain or illness. The large shepherd mix, an affable dog who cries when he’s alone, was frail, despondent and arthritic when he arrived at Kindred Spirits Animal Sanctuary about a year ago. Nutritious food, physical therapy and a community of his own extended his lease on life.

"Once he felt safe and really loved, he started trying to walk," Pedersen says. "Now he gets up and walks short distances. He has a little trouble, but he gets around."

Every dog, horse and bird at the elder-care animal sanctuary and hospice south of Santa Fe has a story, and most stories belie the wagging tails and the contented neighs heard here.

Their tales come quickly from the gentle, caring Pedersen, who saw a need for end-care comfort for animals when she moved to the land in 1987 and quickly opened her home to creatures in need. Three years ago, Pedersen established the sanctuary as a nonprofit, and the 20 dogs, two horses and 90 poultry animals that now fill her rural acreage remain in a loving environment until their days end.

Pedersen and her volunteer staff will welcome visitors during an open house from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Saturday and next Sunday. The free event also features artwork by Ginny Tape and Mary Jo Halpin.

Throwaway mentality

Most of the animals at Kindred Spirits have ended up at the sanctuary under dire circumstances. Many were abandoned at animal shelters because they were old or ill, or their human companions had died or could no longer take care of them. The sanctuary rarely takes animals from private individuals; they are generally referred by veterinarians, shelters or other animal-welfare organizations.

Pedersen, who supports the sanctuary through donations, grants, her own income and the generosity of businesses and veterinarians, says despite the neglect and mistreatment many of the animals have suffered, they all have a resiliency that’s astounding. She says it’s one of the mysteries of animals that after so much abuse, they can turn a page and return to health.

Almost all the sanctuary animals undergo a dramatic change after they adjust to their new environment, says Deborah Schildkraut, a longtime volunteer and board member. Good nutrition and proper medication help, she says, but the animals also relax once they realize the sanctuary is home.

An animal behaviorist, Schildkraut says she became involved in the sanctuary when her daughter-in-law wanted her to evaluate the place as a possible project for her second-grade class. Petersen’s care and philosophy meshed perfectly with Schildkraut’s.

"I understand the importance in dealing with older dogs," says Schildkraut, who is involved in greyhound rescue. "It’s hard to adopt out older dogs, and people think if a dog is 4 or 5 years old, it’s an older dog, let alone 10, 11 or 12."

Elderly animals should stay at home with their human companions, but that’s not a reality in today’s throwaway society, with its emphasis on youth and neglect of the elderly, Pedersen, Schildkraut and volunteers stress. Schildkraut recalls when the owners of a rescued greyhound returned the dog because the couple had changed their living-room furniture and color scheme. They wanted a dog that complemented the decor.

"We said, ‘Thank you for bringing the dog back. However, you’re not getting another dog,’ " Schildkraut says. "If I hadn’t been involved with (the case), I’d have thought it was an urban legend."

Schildkraut and Pedersen hope someday the sanctuary will no longer be needed. It’s part of the sanctuary’s mission statement to make itself obsolete, which is why the group’s emphasis is on education and outreach.

"If everybody took care of their own animals at home, we wouldn’t need to be in this business," Schildkraut says. On-site workshops on death and dying, first-aid and caring for elderly animals help people grow, but changing attitudes toward senior companions is an uphill battle.

"It’s about making a lifelong commitment," Schildkraut says. "Animals aren’t disposable. I don’t think people realize what they’re saying to their children by doing things like that. There’s a value — across the spectrum of life, (aging) is just another phase. You can teach your children to ignore it or be fearful of it, and that’s a disservice. They really need to embrace this phase of their life just like any other."

Another goal at the sanctuary is reworking the animal-human relationship, Pedersen says. Sanctuary workers avoid words like "pet" and "owner." Changing the way people look at animals changes the paradigm.

"When it’s an ownership relationship, it brings with it all those pitfalls," Pedersen says, such as considering animals "stuff" that can be discarded. "We try to create a consciousness that this is a relationship that is to be respected and that brings with it a certain amount of responsibility."

‘A magical feel’

The sanctuary plays a vital role in the community, says Mike Dobesh, a veterinarian with Santa Fe’s Smith Veterinarian Hospital, where many of the sanctuary’s animals go for care.

"It’s unique in that they take the older animals with many medical problems who only have one or two years left and give them a high quality of life," he says. "It (the sanctuary) truly has a magical feel and the dogs get excellent care and are so happy."
Santa Feans love their animals, Dobesh notes, and generally look after their well-being. But sometimes owners die or become unable to care for their animals. When that happens, Pedersen and her volunteers help fill in the gaps.

Pedersen provides a role model for end-care of elderly animals, says Bill Hutchison, communications director of the Santa Fe Animal Shelter & Humane Society. The shelter turns to the sanctuary when it has an older dog or one with medical conditions that make it hard to place in a permanent home.

The sanctuary is part of the Companion Animal Alliance of New Mexico, a 12-member coalition that provides a unified voice for animal welfare. Members include the Santa Fe shelter, Española Animal Shelter, Felines & Friends and Santa Fe Animal Control.
The sanctuary is the only resource of its kind for elderly canines, Hutchison says.
"There’s no other organization that comes to mind in the state that cares for older animals," he says, adding he plans to volunteer at the open house. "It’s very cool what she does."

Healing homestead

As Pedersen guides a group to the stables where two horses munch their midday meal, a big, black dog comes up to nuzzle her. It’s Lorenzo, whom Pedersen calls the resident poet and animal mentor.

"His name, he told me, is Lorenzo de Santiago de Compostela," Pedersen says, recounting the legend of the black dog that sometimes accompanies travelers on the 500-mile pilgrimage in northern Spain. "Not everyone sees it, but if you do, it’s a special gift that’s involved in your journey."

Much like the black dog’s healing gift, the sanctuary is Pedersen’s calling, vocation and passion. A nurse and bereavement counselor, Pedersen grew up on a small farm on the Danish island of Fyn. There she listened to the animals on the farm — dogs, horses and poultry — and enjoyed the company of her grandparents who lived nearby.

"I’ve always had such an affinity for the elderly," Pedersen says. "It’s a treasuring of that gentle wisdom that comes with aging and understanding. They see the whole picture better, more contemplative. I’ve always been drawn to a more contemplative way of the world."

The stables were recently enlarged to accommodate two more horses, Pedersen says. Right now, she has only enough resources to support Bo, who has been with her for 21 years, and Loki.

"Bo was so crippled (when he arrived), he couldn’t even put his head to the ground and eat his hay," Pedersen says. "So he’s had a lot of rehabilitation."

Sanctuary animals live family style with no cages, only protective areas. Cats aren’t part of the mix, but Schildkraft says she hopes other people are providing places for elder felines.

The 4-acre grounds are filled with comfortable chairs and other sitting areas for contemplation. Many memorials and altars bear flowers and photos of animals. There’s a newly constructed rose garden memorial wall, and Buddhist prayer flags flutter in the breeze near the poultry area. In the henhouse infirmary, colorful posters and magazine covers adorn the wall.

They’re for the birds’ enjoyment, Pedersen says, along with the volunteers’. The poultry have two separate spaces, both covered with a large netting to thwart predators. One area is for new arrivals or birds that aren’t socialized or are older or timid. Such birds don’t do well in the big yard, Pedersen says.

It’s noon, so Pedersen is scattering donated greens, and the birds are happy for the visit. Peacocks, chickens, ducks and even a turkey cluck for their share of salad. A huge spreading juniper dominates the yard — at night it’s a roosting spot for the population.

The smaller creatures

At the main house, volunteer Gudrun Hoerig has been comforting Benedict, who seems to be improving. Hoerig, a volunteer for more than a year, said the sanctuary intimidated her at first. She worried it would be too sad and she’d want to take all the dogs home. But the friend who encouraged her to visit told her it was a wonderful place and the dogs weren’t available for adoption.

"And that was the beginning," Hoerig says. "I came here, and I thought, ‘Oh my, what a wonderful place. It’s so beautiful and all the animals are happy.’"

Hoerig, who lives near Abiquiú with two dogs and a cat, also volunteers at the Española Animal Shelter. She remembers one abandoned dog that was left at the shelter’s drop box. The dog was shaking, and his fur was so matted he had to be shaved down to the skin.

That dog, Bishop Pudding II, an elderly Pekingese, found a permanent home at the sanctuary. "I was so happy when I saw him," Hoerig says. "And now he is so adorable."

That continuity of care, plus being around animals that seem so grateful, makes work at the shelter fulfilling, said Hoerig, who is one of 14 volunteers.

The smaller dogs own the main house at the sanctuary, although Pedersen maintains separate quarters of her own.

Tico is one of the oldest residents. At 22, the teacup-sized Chihuahua has no teeth and his tongue hangs out most of the time. But he’s still quite macho, Schildkraut says.

In a hospice room to one side, tiny Elfie rests in a playpen. The dog was picked up almost two years ago in November, wandering in freezing sleet and rain near Chimayó. No one called for him at the Española shelter, so he eventually came to the sanctuary.

"He was just skin and bones," Pedersen says. "He still is, but he’s doing better. It took a long time for his digestive system to get used to food. We had to feed him literally a teaspoon at a time because he couldn’t digest it, and little by little, he came around."

The long goodbye

While death might be a constant reality at the sanctuary, it’s not the focus. Most sanctuary animals die naturally, but euthanasia is an option when medicine fails.
"Death is a part of life around here," Schildkraut says. "That’s really what it is. We don’t all freak out about it. We cry and all hug, but mostly it’s good memories. It’s like with Benedict. If he gets put down today, that will be sad, but you know, we’re glad we knew Benedict."

Animals often die soon after arriving at the sanctuary, but dying is a slow process for some. Pedersen says she spends a lot of time with the animals, reassuring them in their final hours.

"I always talk to them and sit with them and listen quietly to what they have to tell me," Pedersen says. "It’s through dreams, impressions and what I have learned to trust. I always give them permission to go or to stay. I keep reassuring them of that."

Being thankful always is a part of the goodbye ritual, Pedersen says, and it’s often accompanied by a sense of the presence of what she refers to as the great spirit.
"There’s a wonderful sense of awe," Pedersen says, "and the thankfulness around it. Being on that threshold is part of the magic."

Helping an animal through death is an excellent preparation for other deaths in our own lives, she says. The trust that one builds with an animal can help him or her make that transition.

"It’s not only helping them to the door, but through the door," she says.