In Southwestern Virginia there are no sanctuaries (this seemed to be true at the time), only Humane Societies who each kill fifty to one hundred animals per week. So after hearing about the Cohen’s I called to arrange a visit somewhat reluctantly, as I wasn’t sure it would fit the criteria for my project. Dr. Cohen gave me directions to their farm in Forest, Virginia, and a polite warning that a few dogs may come out to bark when I arrived. So early one Saturday morning I ventured out a country road to their house which is surrounded by an array of fencing like a maze. Most of the seventeen dogs came to greet me, and the Cohens, with coffee in hand, introduced themselves over the barking and jumping. Thus began my three hours at the Cohen’s farm, the most difficult sanctuary to photograph, but in many ways the most amazing and certainly overwhelming in its tribute to animals.
The seventeen dogs were of all sizes; three or four of the miniature variety were the heads of the greeting committee and lickers of my camera lense. Among the largest were two wolf hybrids, one male, and one female, kept in separate pens because of their aggression towards each other. The Great Dane joined the male wolf in the growling, snarling and barking, but Dr. Cohen reassured me that he was only “playing the role and is really quite friendly.” The other dogs included a rare Italian breed, similar to the Great Pyranese only larger. He lived much of his life on a sheep farm in Pennsylvania tied to a three-foot chain. The Cohens politely offered to provide him a new home. Frank, a fourteen-year-old yellow lab is a retired guide dog. He lived his first year at the Cohen’s until his training began, then for ten years he lived and worked with a blind woman in New York City. When he became too old and arthritic to fully function as a working dog, the Cohens were asked if they would like to take him back. Of course, they jumped at the offer. Frank now lives a leisurely life sleeping in the grassy yard, respected by the other dogs, and able to maintain his dignity despite his unsteady gait.
Dr. and Mrs. Cohen led me through the garage to a storage room occupied by more dogs and out to the backyard which provided a view of the outbuildings and barns, fields, and more fencing. The large back porch and swimming pool were enclosed in high fencing with the entire area dedicated to the twelve cats, all but one rescued from dumpsters. Dr. Cohen constructed tunnels to allow them to move in and out of the house, though construction of a “sun room,” a.k.a., “cat room” was starting the following week.
From here we made our way to the rabbit cages, one for the six or more females, and one for the two giant males. These beautiful bunnies were being raised for their meat until the “farmer” claims he grew tired of killing them. The other animals are permanent residences at the farm, but the bunnies are adoptable, to excellent homes only.
Frank, the lab settled in a patch of shade overlooking the horse barn while one of the wolves maneuvered over the six-foot fence to the pasture where Charlotte the pig awaited breakfast. We passed through the gate trying to keep the three little dogs out, but they squeezed under in line behind us. They tormented Charlotte a bit with barking and nudging but as Dr. Cohen rubbed her enormous belly she slowly wobbled over, eyes half closed. She seems to not have a care in the world. This enormous pink pig with an unexplained stub for a tail was the victim of divorce, but her former owners found a wonderful home for her here. The horses watched from their stalls, impatiently awaiting breakfast. There are eight in all, one small quarter horse amongst seven giant Belgians. Betty is the oldest, in her twenties, and the first one to arrive at the farm. Jerry and Ken are the working team, though when Jerry first arrived he had a paralyzed vocal cord which made him unable to take a full breath. He was driven to a North Carolina veterinary hospital where his cord was repaired; he is now in perfect health and easily recognizable with one blue and one brown eye. Dwarfed by the Belgians are Tony and Donna, the white mules, and Julio, the rescued donkey from the West, with mates Bruno, Sally, and Jeanette. The Cohens rushed about me with buckets of feed and for a few moments there was chaos with the horses moving into their stalls, pushing the mules out of the way; the donkeys rushed to the door; Donna peed in the middle of it all, and in my immobility I am sneezed on by Ken. I cannot offer to help because I was too consumed with the sights, smells, sounds, and confusion, and annoyed by the batteries of my digital camera which kept dying.
Adjacent to the horse barn is the barn for all of the other animals –llamas, sheep, goats, pigs, birds, and a turkey. The turkey seems to be Dr. Cohen’s favorite. Jeremy was in a truck with a hundred others, heading to slaughter, when at sixty miles per hour, he and one other fell off. The other died; Jeremy barely survived. The veterinarian and family friend who helped rescue him offered him to the Cohens, and again, they could not refuse to house Jeremy’s hearty spirit. Dr. Cohen says when he arrived he paid no attention to the goats, pigs, birds, dogs, sheep, and llamas. In fact, as I watched him move about the barn with multiple legs and tails of all the larger critters flying by, he strutted about with his head moving to his own rhythm, gobbling from time to time and spreading his feathers. He is the icon for calm, cool, and collected. The goats on the other hand were hungry and frantic. The three pot-bellied pigs were excited too, snorting and clamoring about with noses to the ground. When breakfast was served from shaken buckets of feed grunts of contentedness are the only sounds. Moments later when it is all gone the goats move to the pig’s stall and pigs to the goats to check for left overs. Jeremy pecks at his bowl, taking his time. The Flemish Giant Geese squeal until their feed is thrown at their webbed feet. There is a nice pond on the farm down the hillside away from the barns, but all attempts to get these water birds to relocate have failed. They seem drawn to the chaos of the pigs, goats, and sheep, and happy to waddle in the puddle of water Dr. Cohen created for them by the self-waterer.
Just as I am thinking I’ve seen all of the animals, Dr. Cohen tells me I have to walk down the pasture a ways to meet Ben, the 2600 pound Dutch Belted Cow. The weight doesn’t register until I see Ben with Dr. Cohen standing next to him, his head hardly meeting the giant shoulder of the cow. While the other animals were franticly awaiting breakfast, Ben was relaxed and more eager for me to rub his forehead and massage his thick neck. We stroll gently toward his outdoor stall where he can eat his breakfast in peace. These moments with Ben make the thought of rib eyes and fillets even more unbearable.
It is true that the fate of all of these animals, were it not for the Cohens, would be death, disease, or confinement. They share in a private moment that they are overwhelmed every day by the amount of time, money, and effort it takes to care for everyone. I too am overwhelmed by the commitment they have made to better the lives of so many in need. After good-byes I pull out of the driveway escorted for a short ways by the greeting dogs. I pass a pasture where the mules and a few horses are munching contentedly on hay bails. But further down where the road straightens I catch a flash of color and the camouflage suit of a man. As I pass I see he has a turkey by his feet and the wings flap violently until the man stomps on its neck. I turn the next corner before I can see the man throw the limp bird into the back of his truck. So what I see instead, in my mind, is Jeremy, flashing his feathers, strutting around the barnyard, and the Cohen’s watching from the fence, smiling. I am confident, that despite the Cohen’s occasional angst, there are more occasions of joy, like watching Jeremy, or Charlotte, eyes half-closed, enjoying a belly rub, or Bartello, the black llama, seemingly smiling with his white front teeth bucking out between his lips. One can’t help but smile when knowing that people like the Cohens exist in this world.
Notes: At the time of going to the Cohen’s (originally for the project), sometime in 2002, I had my first digital camera. Since then, however, the pictures have been lost or corrupted. The horses above are 2 of the only ones I can find on my computer. The other is Charlotte w/Dr. Cohen and one of the fiesty dogs in the background, and this was photographed from my scrapbook. I’m so sorry that I can’t show you Jeremy the turkey or Ben the enormous cow, both of whom are now deceased.
Thanks again for reading, and check back soon for the update!
