Broken Shovels Farm Sanctuary

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Thornton, CO
Broken Shovels Farm Sanctuary

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Providing sanctuary for abused, neglected, unwanted farm animals and a safe place to share their love

In 2009, I embarked on a journey during a remodeling closure of the library where I worked. A 20 year vegetarian, I was curious as to how the small dairy industry operated and took on dairy industry internships that would carry me through the year-long closure. In doing so, I uncovered astonishing abuse and systems of power and exploitation that shocked me to my core. That year turned into 3 years, and I stayed on as an intern in desperate need to protect the animals that had become my companions and family as best I could. Eventually leaving, unable to witness anymore, I fled with 24 birds and 16 slaughter-bound goats from the dairy and returned to Denver to make a home for my human and non-human family. I had an idea that I could both expose and change the industry by producing dairy products free from the things that had horrified me; slaughter, artificial insemination, separation of mother and child, breakup of families and lack of responsible vet care, costs weighed not by the prognosis of the individual suffering but the cost-effectiveness of what the sufferer could repay. I opened a slaughter-free dairy and took out all of the things I found morally reprehensible about the industry in which I had worked. I was successful in showing the ills of the dairy industry to many of my followers and customers, and marginally successful, financially, enough so to begin taking in other species of abused/neglected/slaughterbound farm animals. Within the first couple years, there were many enlightening moments that drew me further and further from a dairy and found many cracks in my ideas that I could change the industry from within. Having a clearer view of long-termed relationships and animal families, it was no longer a satisfactory answer to breed goats to produce milk and eventually rehome their children, even into pet homes, and feel that I was doing my best good. More research into the environmental impact of animal agriculture and its effect on world hunger led me to veganism. In 2014, my staff and I went vegan and began to immerse ourselves in vegan philosophy. Realizing that running a dairy of any kind was no longer within the scope of my ethics nor compatible with being a farm animal sanctuary, we have closed the dairy and have opened Broken Shovels Farm Sanctuary, to truly spread our greatest influence of kindness to human and non-human people.

10/31/2026

Our hay arrives TOMORROW, a full week early. We just got the news, and we’re scrambling to fund the semi load. We still need $4,000 to unlock our $10,000 match.

For Six Dollar Saturday, would you give $6 toward keeping a promise we made almost ten years ago?

These two are part of that promise. A Boy Named Sue and his sister, Sammi.

People sometimes ask why we have so many goats. The answer begins before we were a sanctuary, when we were a dairy. Producing milk meant breeding our female goats every year. In 2016, we decided to end that cycle and turn toward the life we believed they deserved.

We thought we had taken every precaution to stop breeding. But one little boy with an undescended testicle left us with an unexpected final generation: thirty surprise babies.

Sue and Sammi announced themselves when their tiny mother, Beatrice, suddenly went into labor during evening chores on a cold February night.

They grew up never knowing the dairy life. Never watching friends leave. Never wondering who would still be there tomorrow.

They grew up under the loving care of both their mother, Beatrice, and their grandmother, Kelly, who not only helped raise them but helped feed the four hungry mouths Bea struggled to keep up with. They grew up surrounded by the extended family that means so much to goats, with the consistency, love and stability we wanted for every animal here.

Their mother and grandmother are gone now, but Sue and Sammi, along with siblings Stevie and Sacha, still have each other. Nearly eleven years after that surprising little beginning, they are still side by side.

Somehow, even our youngest generation is growing old.

The babies we remember scooping into our arms now need the extra attention that comes with aging: chopped hay, soaked feed, and a little more help to keep enjoying their lives.

This is what a lifetime promise looks like as the years pass. Knowing someone from their first breath into their old age. Learning what they need as those needs change. Making sure they can grow older beside someone they love.

I knew in my heart that becoming a sanctuary was right. I could not have imagined how hard we would have to work, year after year, to fund that promise. But I look at these two, still together, still home, and I can see everything we hoped to give them.

Tomorrow, another semi truck of hay arrives to help us keep giving it.

Please give $6 today, or whatever you can, to help us close that last $4,000 gap and unlock the $10,000 match. If you can’t give, sharing this post can help us reach someone who can.

We promised they could stay. You help us keep that promise.

*see the babies on the day they were born in comments!

10/30/2026

An update on our popsicle baby…

Frosty has some very firm opinions about being a baby rat.

Of the 15 baby rats I’ve rehabilitated this year, every one has been a distinct little individual. Different ways of playing, different preferences, different personalities unfolding as they grow. You learn the work, but you still have to learn each baby.

Frosty arrived so deeply chilled that I could barely detect her breathing. Slowly warmed against my chest, she began coming back to us. And once she did, she started making her preferences known.

Almost from day one, she rejected the ni**le. I tried the familiar routines that had worked for the others, but she would take a few drops and push it away. Emphatically. Usually, the challenge comes weeks later, convincing a baby that there is a whole world of food beyond their beloved milk and ni**le.

Frosty wanted to skip ahead.

Before her eyes were even open, I offered her a rat block to see what she would do. She went straight to work on it. So I began figuring out how to meet her nutritional needs in a form she would accept: softened blocks, finely ground block dust, different slurries and textures, while carefully watching her hydration, digestion, and weight.

She is now eating enthusiastically and growing. This is the earliest transition away from milk I’ve experienced, and certainly one of the more unexpected challenges.

This isn’t a feeding guide. It’s the story of learning one particular baby, whose preferences required me to pay attention and adapt.

That is something these little lives keep teaching us. Good care takes knowledge, patience, and the willingness to keep listening to the individual in front of you.

Even when she weighs 31 grams and has decided she knows what’s for dinner.

10/29/2026

Several pallets of feed = a whole lot of full bellies! 💚

A big thank-you to Cargill for donating feed that will benefit multiple species here at Broken Shovels, and to Kelly and Nate for bringing it out! Feeding this many mouths is no small task, and this generous donation helps stretch our feed budget while keeping our residents well fed. We’re so grateful for the support.

10/28/2026

For almost five years, Clyde the sheep had friends. That might sound like a small thing to build a remembrance around, but for Clyde, it was a whole new world.

He came to us all the way from Michigan, where he had been found with a badly broken leg, hanging uselessly. Neighbors reported that he had lived that way for more than a year. Beneath seven pounds of filthy, matted wool was an incredibly thin sheep who had spent much of his life alone, without other sheep for company.

It is difficult to imagine how long a year must feel when you are hurting, and there is no one beside you.

As soon as Clyde arrived, we were able to get his damaged leg amputated, finally freeing him from the pain he had carried for so long. And with that relief came the chance to discover what life could feel like when every movement no longer hurt.

Middle-aged already, and now on three legs, Clyde wanted to play. That is something we will always remember: how readily he reached for joy when it finally became available to him. After so much pain and loneliness, there was still a playful sheep waiting for his chance.

Watching him discover his new life felt like witnessing a rebirth. There were friends everywhere. There was care for his body and company for his days. There was a place for him, and time to settle into it.

He found his closest companions in the group we affectionately called the VFW hall: our old bachelor goats. Clyde fit right in. Sweet, quiet, and unassuming, he was content among his friends. But when he did have something to say, his big, booming voice made sure everyone heard him.

Who can know all that he carried from the years before he came here, but we know that he became someone who wanted to play. Someone with favorite companions and whose days held comfort, interest, and belonging.

Clyde arrived with a substantial callus on his chest, likely from long periods off his feet and the effort of getting up with his injured leg. Life on three legs meant that area continued to need special attention. Each year, we sheared him ourselves so we could take our time, work carefully around it, and keep him comfortable.

Over the last couple of weeks, he began slowing down, seeking more privacy, and showing less interest in food. We learned that the area on his chest had become cancerous, quietly taking his energy and vigor. And so we said goodbye to our dear boy.

Almost five years will always feel too short to those of us who loved him. But the measure of those years is also in what Clyde was able to do with them: play, make friends, rest comfortably, grow older in company, and come to expect kindness.

He had enough time for happiness to become familiar. Enough time for this place, and everyone in it, to become home.

What an extraordinary thing, that his life could change so completely. That a sheep who had endured so much could travel all that way and find a second life waiting for him, one full of the companionship and joy he should have had all along.

We grieve Clyde, and we are deeply grateful. For the unlikely road that brought him here. For the years we could give him. For the sight of him among his old friends, quietly living a life that once might have seemed impossible.

Thank you for almost five years, sweet Clyde. We are so glad you got to have them. We are so glad we got to share them with you.

10/25/2026

Last night, a young wild pigeon I had been caring for over the past couple of weeks died after a struggle with a virus specific to pigeons. This morning, I felt her absence in the place where her care had been. There was no next meal to prepare for her, no next small sign of improvement to look for. Those little routines leave such an emptiness when they end.

And then, in the middle of opening the sanctuary, I found someone else.

A baby rat, eyes still closed, who appeared to have been dropped while being moved. She was so cold that she felt almost frozen. We call them popsicle babies. It was difficult to detect even a faint breath.

But we have a saying: nobody’s dead until they’re warm and dead. So I tucked her into my bra and kept opening the sanctuary.

Slowly, the little icicle began to warm against my chest. And then, ever so slightly, I felt movement. Soon there was squirming. There were tiny chirps. And there, against the same chest that was carrying so much sadness over one small life, was another small life asking to stay.

Once she was warm and crawling around, I could offer her a little rehydration before her first meal. Right now, she is tucked safely in my bathroom, waiting for the next one.

She could so easily have been overlooked while we fed the ducks. A tiny body on the ground. Someone we never knew enough about to miss.

And I know there are people who would ask: What is one rat?

But I would ask: What does your life mean to you?

What makes it precious? Is it the joy you feel? The people you love? The comfort of being somewhere safe? Is it all the things you have yet to experience, or the way you move through this world as someone who has never existed before and will never exist again?

I cannot know exactly how this little rat experiences her life. But I could feel her seeking warmth. I could hear her asking for something. Her life matters to her, even before her eyes have opened to see it.

Here at the sanctuary, we get to know so many lives the world might otherwise pass over. And when those lives end, we carry the grief of knowing someone whose absence may go unnoticed almost everywhere else.

And that is what brought us together for our Día de los Mu***os event today. When we celebrate the dead, we celebrate the lives they lived. We remember the joy they felt, the relationships they formed, the little habits that made them unmistakably themselves. We remember who they were before we had to learn how to live without them.

For those of us who care for animals, so many of those memories live in ordinary moments. A familiar voice calling for breakfast. Someone settling against us, trusting us enough to fall asleep. The face we looked for every morning, and still find ourselves looking for after they are gone.

Today, we gave those memories a place. We all brought our loved ones into the stories we told and the love we shared with one another. Whether you were remembering an animal or a human being, whether your loss was understood by everyone around you or you had to carry it almost alone, there was room for your love here.

Thank you all for being here today whether near or far, to remember, to celebrate, and to honor the lives that have meant so much to us. As promised, here is the baby I told you about this morning. I am happy to report she’s doing well and most importantly, she’s warm, fed, loved and not alone. With a story to be told.

10/23/2026

There is so much to be proud of here.

Our posts have been a little gloomy lately, and the truth is, so have we. So many members of our aging herd and flock are reaching the far edges of their lifespans, and the goodbyes are more difficult than we could have ever known. The drought has sent hay prices soaring in ways that often feel unsustainable and out of control. We are shortstaffed, tired, and carrying grief alongside all the work that still needs doing.

But underneath that exhaustion is a commitment that hasn’t diminished. And there are moments like this one, where we can see exactly what all those years of learning and caring have made possible.

Little Dink is a longtime survivor of congestive heart failure, made possible with multiple medications and treatments that give him a normal, happy life. But age and poor circulation make it harder for his legs to shed their old scales, so several times a week, he receives a soak and a gentle scrub to keep him comfortable. The reddish water is from iodine. The sleepy face is his contribution to spa day.

Over the years, we’ve worked hard to expand the care we can provide right here at home. Fluids, tube feeding, oxygen support, and so many other treatments now happen among familiar voices, with the people who know these animals best. For care we can safely manage here, that means less time away from home, less stress from transport, and thousands of dollars saved in hospitalization costs each year.

We are deeply proud of that. Proud that getting older here can mean more attention, more accommodation, more chances to feel good. Proud of the skills we’ve learned and the small comforts those skills allow us to offer.

Providing that care now costs us more than $1,000 each month in medications and medical supplies alone. Today’s Five Dollar Friday is a chance to help sustain this part of sanctuary life: the daily treatments, the stocked shelves, the patient work of helping someone feel better.

Would you give $5 toward that care today?

There is a particular joy in being able to offer an old rooster exactly what he needs, then sit beside him while he closes his eyes and soaks next to the person and the hen he loves. Your support helps us keep making room for moments like this. ❤️

10/23/2026

If you’ve had Momma Jah’s food, you already know. Intensely delicious and deeply comforting, it’s the kind of food you keep thinking about long after your plate is empty. If you haven’t tried it yet, you’re going to wonder how you’ve been missing out for this long.

We’ve been enjoying her food for some time, and tomorrow we finally get to welcome Momma Jah’s to the sanctuary for the very first time! We are so excited to share something we love with all of you.

Look at this menu: smoky East Coast chili with sweet, buttery cornbread, pumpkin baked mac and cheese, BBQ tofu burnt ends, chili mac, elote, and hot apple c***r with cinnamon and star anise. All plant based, and exactly the kind of comfort food we want to gather around on an autumn day.

Our Día de los Mu***os gathering is a time to remember, to honor those we miss, and to find comfort in being together. Sharing a beautiful meal feels like such a lovely part of that.

Join us tomorrow, Saturday, October 24, from 11–1 at Broken Shovels Farm Sanctuary. Come hungry. We’re so looking forward to sharing this day with you. 🧡

10/22/2026

There is a particular kind of persistent sadness that comes with caring for animals the world has learned to overlook.

We feel it while fundraising, trying to explain why keeping them fed deserves support. We feel it in the advertising all around us, in everyday conversations, in jokes whose punchlines are the very animals we spent the morning trying to comfort or keep alive. We feel it when we have to push for medical care that might be offered more readily if the patient were a dog or a cat.

Over time, it wears on you to hear lives you know so intimately spoken of as though there is no one inside them.

And as our rescue work has grown to include rats, mice, pigeons, starlings, and sparrows, we have found ourselves caring for animals whose very existence is often treated as a problem. We sit beside them and watch them build communities, choose companions, seek comfort, and find things to be happy about. We witness pain and grief in bodies people have been taught to recoil from.

The distance between what we witness and how the world regards them can be difficult to carry.

Even buying hay brings us up against it. We struggle to afford the same food purchased by industries raising animals just like ours, whose lives will end as another generation takes their place. Here, we are trying to give someone another winter, another spring, more years beside a friend. Their growing old is something we work toward every day.

I don’t say this to make the human caretakers the victims. The consequences of being considered disposable fall most heavily on the animals themselves. But caring for them means continually confronting those judgments while trying to build a different life for them.

There are three of us who live here, and these animals fill our days and our thoughts. Who needs help? Who seems lonely? What could make someone more comfortable, more content, more able to enjoy being alive? We spend our lives attending to individuals whose individuality is so often dismissed, even by many of the people we love.

But our love is not what makes them worthy.

An unloved dog still matters. We understand that a dog living without kindness deserves care, even if no one has ever learned their favorite game or offered them a name. That same worth belongs to a frightened mouse, a pigeon on a sidewalk, a cow we will never meet.

They matter because they matter. Their lives are their own, whether anyone ever takes the time to know them.

That is why our Día de los Mu***os for the animals this Saturday means so much to us. It gives us a place to honor lives rarely granted remembrance, and to share the stories of those we have lost. It also makes room for anyone whose grief has been dismissed, whose love has been misunderstood, or whose loved one has been met with judgment where there should have been compassion. Anyone who has had to defend why someone mattered while trying to survive losing them.

If you have carried that kind of loneliness, you are welcome here. Whoever you are remembering deserves to be remembered as a whole being, with a life that mattered and people who miss them.

For a little while, we can gather with people who understand why we tried so hard, why we still remember, and why an absence that goes unnoticed by much of the world has changed our whole lives.

And when people join us in our grief, we hope they begin to see what we see: someone where they may have been taught to see something. Someone with a life of their own, whose absence has left a space no one else can fill. Our grief makes visible how much there was to lose.

We hope to see you here this Saturday. Bring your own love and grief, too. There is room here for the lives you are still carrying.

10/22/2026

Last year, as Yohualli Ehecatl Mitotiliztli offered a beautiful ceremony for our animals, the buffaloes stood at attention, seemingly mesmerized. These enormous, curious beings grew still, watching and listening together. It was one of those moments that stays with you.

I thought about Yama, our first water buffalo, and his brother, Brahma.

They came to us as two sick little boys. With care, both recovered and began the lives we had hoped for them: safe, loved, and together. But Brahma carried scarring in his lungs from his early illness. When he developed pneumonia, that damage made it impossible for him to recover, despite a week of hospitalization and every effort to save him.

Yama lost his brother while they were still young. We lost the future we had imagined for them together.

We cannot know exactly how other animals understand death. But they know one another. They remember companionship, familiar voices, the comfort of a particular body beside their own. They experience the joy of being with someone they love, and the grief of that someone’s absence.

Watching the buffaloes during last year’s ceremony, I wouldn’t presume to know what they were thinking. But I know we were standing among beings whose lives, like ours, have been shaped by love and loss. There was something profoundly moving about gathering in that shared space and honoring those who were missing.

This Saturday, Yohualli Ehecatl Mitotiliztli will return to Broken Shovels for our Día de los Mu***os gathering and another beautiful ceremony honoring our animals.

If you have experienced loss, if you carry someone’s memory through your days, we hope you’ll join us. There is room here for your grief, for your love, and for the joy of remembering someone who mattered.

Saturday, October 24 • 11 a.m.–1 p.m.
Broken Shovels Farm Sanctuary

Please reserve your tickets and come share this meaningful day with us.

10/21/2026

BROKEN SHOVELS IS HIRING!!

Sanctuary Animal Care Technician
Broken Shovels Farm Sanctuary | Henderson, Colorado
Entry-level position | 7:00 AM–3:30 PM

Do people describe you as scrappy? Tough? Strong-willed? Someone with gumption, who works hard, pays attention, and finds a way through a difficult job?

Are you also gentle? Patient with someone who is frightened? Able to be firm without being rough, and persistent without losing your kindness?

We’re looking for someone who brings those qualities together.

Broken Shovels Farm Sanctuary is hiring an animal care technician to work with both mammals and birds. This is an entry-level position with the opportunity to build substantial skills in animal husbandry, large-animal care, and avian medical support. For someone who wants to make animal care their life’s work, there is room here to learn deeply and take on increasing responsibility.

We can teach you our care routines. We need you to bring the determination to master them.

The work includes feeding and watering, cleaning enclosures and hospital spaces, moving feed and bedding, observing animals closely, maintaining care records, and assisting with medications and supportive care as trained and directed.

It is physical work. You will lift, carry, push, scrub, bend, and spend much of your shift on your feet, outdoors in changing weather. Some tasks are repetitive. Some are messy. Some require patience long after your first attempt has failed. You need the strength and stamina to do this work safely and thoroughly, and the judgment to ask for help when a task requires it.

Attention to detail is essential here because someone’s well-being depends on it.

We need someone who notices the bird who hasn’t approached breakfast, the water container that looks full but isn’t working, the subtle change in an animal’s posture or behavior. Someone who follows every step of a care protocol, checks their work, and speaks up when something seems wrong. Someone who finishes a job completely, including the small details that are easy to overlook.

You should be comfortable working independently, receiving direct feedback, and putting what you learn into practice. We value questions, honesty, and accountability. If you make a mistake, we need you to tell us promptly so we can address it together.

As your competence grows, training may include medication administration, recognizing signs of illness, supportive feeding, wound care, and assisting with veterinary procedures. Our goal is to help the right person develop practical capabilities comparable to many duties performed in large-animal and avian veterinary technician roles. This is hands-on training and professional growth; it does not confer a veterinary technician credential.

We are looking for someone who wants to become exceptionally good at this work. Someone whose compassion has muscle behind it. Someone who can be tired, dirty, and facing a difficult task, and still give the animal in front of them careful, gentle attention.

To apply, tell us why this work fits you. Include your relevant work or volunteer experience, your availability, and an example of a difficult responsibility you followed through on. Experience in physical work, caregiving, farming, or other demanding roles is welcome, even if you are new to professional animal care. Email to [email protected]

If you have the grit to do the work and the heart to do it well, we want to hear from you.

*approximately 30 hours a week, must work weekends, $18-20/hr DOE

Address

8640 Dahila Street
Thornton, CO
80640

Website

http://www.brokenshovels.com/

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