Seven years ago, Hopi came from Spain. He was afraid, suspicious, mostly afraid of people. What he had been through shows in how carefully he moves, how he looks first before coming closer. Without the sanctuary, he probably would not have lived much longer.
Now Hopi walks out every morning when the chickens go outside. He follows them without hurrying, sniffs here and there, and leaves them in peace. It has become a ritual, something he knows, something that is safe. The chickens know him, and he knows them.
He wanders past the horses. Amigo, our oldest horse, has known him for years. They are used to each other, part of the same day. Hopi does not need to be afraid. He does not need to be on guard.
At ten o'clock he finds his favorite spot: a sunny corner behind the shed where it is warm and where he can see everything. There he lies until lunch, his ears half up, ready for what comes. Sometimes someone passes by and pets him. He allows it. Not always, but more and more often.
Hopi is home.