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Articles - Freddy (aka Fred)

Owning an animal sanctuary evokes many and varied responses in people from, “You want your brains tested,” (hmm, that’s one I might agree with!) through to, “Aren’t you lucky,” (that’s the one that I hear most and think that maybe it‘s their brains that want testing! - that was until I watched some visitors just a few days ago)

I Got a phone call last Sunday and the anonymous voice on the end of the phone asked if they could pop down to see the animals in the afternoon. All pretty routine stuff, always done by appointment (we aren’t open for the public to just walk in. I’ll explain that bit later) and we agreed that they could do the ‘tour’.

As arranged the lovely group of mother, grown-up daughter and family friend arrived on queue and I set about showing them round. The weather was beautiful, the company good and all was well for, what was for me at least, a pretty average day. On going through the gate into the field something changed. I can’t say what and it wasn’t sinister, more like they had stepped into a different dimension and their surprise was palpable. They weren’t in their world anymore, they were in ours.

Our party was joined, almost immediately, by Freddy. He just came up to greet the strangers and thought he’d be polite in helping me introduce his ‘family’. The visitors tentatively reached out to him.
“He’s a sweetie,” I said as they nervously stared at the, very much, unknown quantity. They gave him a gentle rub and he just keeled over in front of them, legs in the air, inviting a tummy rub.
It eased the moment and all threat was gone. You could see relief wash over them as the century that had appeared to be on guard duty was now their new best friend.

We carried on with our walk, the visitors, Freddy and I and their delight grew with each animal that they encountered. All of the animals run free, here, which I why all visitors are escorted. It’s not the animals that we can’t trust - it’s the humans!

Our visitors met the cows, hand-reared because they were ripped from their mothers at just a few days old to sustain the dairy industry and due to be shot and fed to the fox hounds. And then Fred asked for a hug and they gave him one and he fell on the floor with delight and everybody laughed. They met the sheep, also largely hand-reared because they are so over bred as to be not able to sustain their own young. And then Fred asked for a tummy-tickle and they gave him one and he fell on the floor with delight and everybody laughed. Then they met the pigs, the singly most brilliant animals that you are likely to ever meet, clean, clever and highly sociable yet destined to be brutally slaughtered. And Fred asked for a cuddle and they gave him one and he fell on the floor with delight and everybody laughed. Then they met the fowl, rescued from the cruel regime of battery farming, their short existence spent in a prison cell followed by death. And Fred asked for a stroke and they gave him one and, yet again, he fell on the floor with delight and everybody laughed. By now our visitors were lying beside him, cameras were coming out and everybody was having a good time.

Fred was the perfect ambassador. Freddy said everything that I wanted to but couldn’t quite put into words. Fred is a large white pig. Fred is a huge, large white pig. Our visitors met Lee-Roy, the 3-legged fallow deer fawn that was snared at 2 weeks old so severely as to break his hind leg and they loved him. They met our pack of great, big dogs that Lee-Roy loves so dearly and they were surprised by the relationship and they loved it.

But I got the feeling that the one abiding memory that they will carry with them from their visit to F.R.I.E.N.D. will be Freddy, the pig that loved them so and yet people dismissed his very life, heart and soul as nothing more than a meal.