Indraloka Animal Sanctuary

The emaciated little pig struggled to breathe as blood poured from his snout, and yet his eyes were filled with hope. Under filth-encrusted sores and protruding bones, he glowed with such sweet purity that I had to turn away, my heart seared.

We named him Jeremiah, “God will lift him up.”

The humane police officer heroically rescued him from a living nightmare on Thursday night, but we did not know if she had gotten to him in time.  The vets warned us that the damage might be too great.  Jeremiah might not survive.

Wiping tears away that first night, I approached him with a bowl of fresh water.  Our eyes met, his holding a spark of gratitude and trust.  He sucked down the water thirstily, ate as much as his strength would allow, and allowed us to help him into a soft bed of hay.  We piled blankets on top of him and slipped a soft pillow under his head, then just sat with him as he fell into a deep sleep, grunting contentedly.

But our fight for his survival had only just begun, and he got worse before he got better.

The last several days have been a blur of vet visits, medicines, feeding his broken body by hand and even by syringe when necessary, and prayers for his survival.  Long-term pneumonia left his airways so scarred that blood and mucus spewed from his nose as he battled for air.  Painful ulcers on his feet and legs from being forced to live in his own filth caused his legs to swell unnaturally.

And yet, throughout all of it, his eyes held mine kindly and steadily.  Jeremiah’s purity remained wrenching in its deep sweetness even as he fought for his life.

This morning, I entered the barn at dawn to find him sitting up and alert, breathing normally.   His legs are still sore, but no longer grotesquely swollen.  He ate and drank with only minimal assistance, and smiled broadly as I sang to him.

Jeremiah has a long way to go, with a lot of healing yet to be done, but I believe he is going to live.  Welcome home, dear boy.  You have been lifted up.