Animal Kingdom : Destination: England : In A Nation Obsessed With All Creatures Great and Small, A Tour of Sanctuaries For Bird and Beast In The English Countryside

It all began with a secondhand copy of “Down Among the Donkeys,” a memoir whose intriguing title caught my eye in an outdoor London bookstall. Picking up the memoir, I quickly became immersed in Elizabeth Svendsen’s lively narrative of her lifelong passion for donkeys, which led eventually to her founding a sanctuary near Sidmouth, Devon, a small coastal resort in England’s beguiling West Country. I knew little about donkeys, but I was suddenly curious. A donkey sanctuary? What would it be like?

Since my husband, James, and I were about to leave London for Cornwall, one of the southwestern counties that form the West Country, I consulted my map. The Donkey Sanctuary was not only directly on our route, but it was also within a few hours’ drive of the Tamar Otter Sanctuary at North Petherwin, Cornwall, and the Cornish Seal Sanctuary at Gweek. We had a tempting opportunity to witness in action one of the most famous obsessions of the English, their love of animals.

Anyone who travels in England quickly learns how most people feel about animals. When I walk into a crowded pub or even a fancy restaurant, I always look carefully at my feet, lest I tread on the protruding paws or gently waving tail of someone’s golden retriever or Jack Russell terrier. As we drive through the countryside, I relish the signs advertising whatAmericans prosaically call a cattery. The English dream up much more alluring labels: The Firs: Cat Hotel, or Cats’ Holiday Home, for example. Daring or poignant rescues by the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals appear in daily newspapers as often as dispatches from a battlefront--which the countryside sometimes resembles, given the current furor to repeal blood sports such as fox-hunting.

My husband and I have always cherished our pets (currently two cats, as yet deprived of visits to a Cats’ Holiday Home), and we find this English passion quite congenial. Although James, who often brings a needed dose of reality to our travels, wondered whether we might not be wasting time at some sort of children’s tourist attraction (perhaps a carnival-like place that offered donkey rides), he too was curious.

When we arrived at the Donkey Sanctuary on a damp, cool morning last July. What surprised me first was its splendid location. Occupying the former Slade House Farm, the sanctuary nestles among sloping fields that run down to the sea. Some donkeys drift over green pastures, while others are tended in barns and in special-care facilities. The buildings are spacious and well kept, gardens (donated by benefactors) edge the walkways, and roses even grow over an arbor that leads to the public toilets.

Stopping at the well-stocked information center, we quickly began to learn about donkeys, both in England and abroad (the sanctuary sets up clinics and mobile treatment centers in many other countries). When treated well, Svendsen promises, donkeys are devoted and affectionate pets. So, walking through a pen that held geriatric donkeys, I paid dutiful attention to an inviting sign--”Donkeys love a cuddle”--and managed my first tentative donkey squeeze.

Since a soaking rain was falling that morning, we only walked by a few of the pastures. They held donkeys of all sizes and colors--smooth, shaggy, white, brown, black, piebald--but did not seem at all crowded. This relative scarcity of donkeys is deceptive. When Svendsen began caring for donkeys--”Why donkeys?” she writes, “I must be asked this by almost everyone I meet and even now I can’t really give them a straightforward answer”--she could not have known what lay ahead.

Since its start as an organized charity in 1973, the sanctuary has now taken in more than 6,000 donkeys, guaranteeing them veterinary care and attention for the rest of their lives. Only about 630 are housed on the 236 acres of Slade House Farm. With a full-time staff of 160, the sanctuary has gradually expanded to nine farms with more than 1,300 acres.

Other donkey havens exist in England, but according to a recent newsletter of the Donkey Sanctuary, this is the largest charity in the United Kingdom dealing specifically with donkeys and mules. It is also probably the best known. We did not personally meet Svendsen (who holds an honorary degree in veterinary medicine, as well as a royal M.B.E., Mistress of the British Empire), but from pictures, videos and publications, not to mention the book that had first caught my attention, we could see she had the gift of conveying her enthusiasm to a wide public.

Some of the Sidmouth sanctuary’s most important work takes place indoors, not just in its fully equipped hospital but also in the facilities of the Slade Centre. There, for the past 18 years, handicapped children have been encouraged to make friends with specially trained donkeys. The Slade Centre has a riding ring, a cheerful playroom and an outdoor play area with brightly colored equipment for these children. Up to 200 of them can come to the center each week.

Impressed by the scope and determination of Svendsen’s enterprise, I found myself lingering in the sanctuary’s gift shop to browse among its many offspring, including children’s books about donkeys by Svendsen, and her second illustrated memoir, “For the Love of Donkeys” (1992). The shop also sells many donkey souvenirs, such as calendars, stationery, coloring books, postcards, Christmas cards, prints and posters. Like the rest of the sanctuary, the shop is a heartfelt celebration of donkeys.

Finding the Tamar Otter Park requires a certain amount of sleuthing. I first noticed its general location when I was studying a tourist map of Cornwall. On a minor road near North Petherwin, a village northeast of Launceston, Cornwall, the otter park is tucked away in a tranquil, wooded valley, next to a stream called Bolesbridge Water. Compact and modest, with only a few structures--three breeding enclosures for British otters, two for Asian short-clawed otters, plus a tidy visitors center with tearoom--the park is a branch of the larger Otter Trust, a registered charity, at Earsham in Suffolk.

Since the British otter has declined in numbers as the result of modern farming methods and loss of habitat, the Otter Trust hopes to breed enough otters to reintroduce them into the wild in different parts of England. According to the trust, otters still thrive in the wild in Devon and Cornwall and a few other places, but a traveler rarely sees these elusive and enchanting creatures. In more than a dozen trips to the West Country, James and I had yet to glimpse a single one.

It does not take long to tour the otter park, but its size has some advantages. Because the pens are relatively small, we could watch otters from a few feet away. Three European otters, all siblings then a year old, frolicked in the water, rolled on the grass under the bright warm sun, tussled and slid over each other, and finally fell asleep in a heap. But we cherished most our visit to the interior enclosure for British otters, where, standing in a darkened porch, we were able to look down through a glass top and quietly observe, only inches away, a sleeping mother otter curled protectively around her weeks-old kit.

Besides otters, the North Petherwin sanctuary protects several small marshy lakes filled with waterfowl. Screaming peacocks, pheasants and wallabies wander the grounds. After duly admiring two peacocks in full display, we left the main cleared area for a long walk into Wild Wood. This section of the park covers about 20 acres of unspoiled woodland, including an abandoned quarry whose walls are now a damp, vine-hung jungle.

Lurking in the dappled shadows along the path were small herds of Chinese water deer, muntjac (or barking deer) and fallow deer. We also passed several aviaries for breeding British owls (an introduction that prepared us for a later adventure). Although now accustomed to being surrounded by wildlife, I was nevertheless startled to look up a hillside at three immobile badgers, which, I knew, are ordinarily shy nocturnal animals. It took me several minutes to realize they were carefully painted replicas, placed in the underbrush to indicate the location of a badger set.

If the Tamar Otter Park is modest and appealing, the Cornish Seal Sanctuary at Gweek is almost glitzy. Widely advertised as a tourist attraction, the Gweek sanctuary, in a tiny village about six miles from Helston, near the tip of England’s southwest peninsula, is Europe’s largest rescue center for seals. Its site is spectacular, along the wooded banks of an unspoiled country, the Helston River, a haven for yachts and sailboats.

The Seal Sanctuary proved even harder for us to find than the otter park. Although we carefully followed all the signs, they seemed to lead us in circles. The notice of “Gweek, 5 miles,” would be followed every half a mile by another sign, also blithely promising “Gweek, 5 miles,” or, more disheartening, “Gweek, 6 miles.” Now part of our family lingo is the line, “Just as easy to get to as Gweek!” But we kept trying--backing up, returning to the last crossroads, muttering and trying yet another route--and we finally arrived.

After viewing an interpretive center, which included displays about marine life and an audiovisual show, we walked first to the seal hospital. At the time, its gleaming tile cubicles were almost deserted because in midsummer seal pups can’t be rescued for release onto crowded beaches. Usually as many as 30 pups are taken in each year, treated and freed, if possible. Those which are severely disabled are provided permanent homes.

Following a shady walk along the estuary, we soon arrived at the most popular part of the sanctuary, the outdoor pools that overlook a broad sweep of the Helston and rolling green fields beyond. Divided into nursery, rehabilitation, convalescent and resident sections, the pools are filled with gray seals and enormous sea lions. On the afternoon we visited, several large school parties of excited children were crowding against the fence to watch the antics of the creatures as they awaited their feeding.

*

Although its many visitors, ice-cream stalls, tourist tram and bustling souvenir shop give the seal sanctuary the air of an amusement park, the place is clearly run with intense devotion. The keeper who provided a running commentary as she tossed fish to the seals and sea lions mentioned, for example, that Rocky, a resident who is blind from inoperable cataracts, was so lonely that the sanctuary searched worldwide and eventually imported two appropriate female companions, Ursa and Papper, all the way from Cape Cod, Mass.

Bulletin boards, which advertise donors who sponsor specific animals, provide other evidence of such concern. In front of one pen, a sign explains: “Magnus is our largest male, and he is also the most disagreeable. . . . Jenny is our steadiest and strongest female and therefore seemed the ideal gray seal to keep Magnus company.” Both Magnus and Jenny remained soundly asleep, eyes closed and flippers up, despite all the hubbub around them, perhaps attesting to the success of this careful matchmaking. Other signs explained the seals and sea lions’ histories, ailments and current statuses.

After leaving the Seal Sanctuary, we thought we had completed our tour of these modern British arks. But several days later, on a side road not far from the town of Bodmin, we noticed a tacked-up sign directing us to “Screech Owl Sanctuary.” Turning down a narrow, rough drive, we quickly found ourselves at Rew Farm, now a haven for owls started in 1991. But the place turned out not to be a sanctuary for screech owls, which is a North American subspecies of owl, but named after the farm’s owners, Tom and Carolyn Screech.

Registered as a charitable trust in 1993, the owl sanctuary was an informal, homespun affair, with volunteers and a handful of somewhat makeshift cages (the sanctuary has since moved to larger quarters at Trewin Farm, Gossmoor, St. Columb, not far from Bodmin). Three large owls were tethered on a bit of lawn. But passion was present here too. Clive Stuckey, a young man donating his time to the sanctuary, showed us around (we were the only visitors) and introduced us to the owls, such as Charlie, a “rather crotchety” European eagle owl.

As he talked, a little eight-inch Athene Noctua owl, a special pet of Stuckey’s, clung to his sweater. We also met, among others, Indiana, a Bengal eagle owl; Rupert, a rare Siberian eagle owl; and Donald, a gray-faced tawny owl from Scotland, which somehow smuggled himself into a helicopter there, landed at Culdrose Royal Air Force Base in Cornwall, hit a rotor blade and broke his leg, a fracture so severe he can never hunt in the wild again.

According to Stuckey, the sanctuary routinely deals with tawny owls that are missing a leg, an eye or part of a wing. They are injured, he explained, because they hunt by sound. Diving upon their prey while honing in on just the right frequency, they are temporarily blind and can’t hear approaching cars. Neighbors also bring disabled jackdaws, crows, pigeons and even buzzards to the farm for help.

Besides collecting unusual owls and tending injured ones, the Screech Owl Sanctuary has the beginnings of a breeding program. Another volunteer, John Payne, took us into a shed so we could glimpse several 3-week-old barn owls hatched in an incubator. It was hard to imagine these tiny cream-colored balls of fluff would someday become as impressive as, say, Charlie, who moments before had spread his wings for us in a whirring flash of elegant power.

When we reluctantly left the Screech Owl Sanctuary that afternoon, I hoped I would remember the incredibly soft plumage of a tame owl I’d been allowed to stroke. I knew I would not forget the devoted work and single-minded focus of all the sanctuaries, havens of preservation in a world too prone to wanton destruction.

A visit to a Dorset refuge for the elegant swan. L11

(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX / INFOGRAPHIC)

GUIDEBOOK

Sanctuaries in the West Country

Getting there: Although it would be possible to visit these animal sanctuaries by a combination of public transport and taxi or walking (train or bus to the nearest large town, then either taxi or a local bus), I recommend a rental car for anyone on a schedule. Buses to small towns such as Gweek are intermittent, and taxis are expensive.

The West Country is a leisurely day’s drive from London. We usually rent a car at Gatwick Airport; all the major rental companies operate out of Gatwick or Heathrow, although we usually use one of the lesser-known companies, such as Holiday Autos (800-422-7737) or Foremost Eurocar (800-272-3299). But shop around, since rates can vary by hundreds of dollars.

Animal sanctuaries: The Donkey Sanctuary, Slade House Farm, Sidmouth, Devon (from the United States, telephone 011-44-395-578222) is open every day of the year, 9 a.m. to dusk. Admission is free. A picnic area is available in the parking lot; a kiosk there sells ice cream, drinks and snacks in season.

The Tamar Otter Park (tel. 011-44-156-678-5646), North Petherwin, five miles northwest of Launceston, Cornwall (take the B3254 road to Bude) is open daily 10:30 a.m. to 6 p.m. from April 1 to Oct. 1. Admission is about $7 for adults. Light lunches and refreshments are available in the tearoom.

The Cornish Seal Sanctuary at Gweek, Cornwall (tel. 011-44-326-221-361), is open from 9 a.m. every day (except Christmas). Admission is about $8.50 for adults; $6.50 seniors. A cafeteria serves snacks; a barbecue offers burgers and hot dogs.

The Screech Owl Sanctuary Trust (tel. 011-44-1726-860-182) at Trewin Farm, Gossmoor, St. Columb, near Indian Queens, Cornwall, is open 10 a.m.-6 p.m. seven days a week. Free admission (but donations are welcome).

For more information: Contact the British Tourist Authority, 551 5th Ave., Suite 701, New York, NY 10176, (800) GO2 BRITAIN.