When I founded AVA — Animal Voice Advocacy — the vision was clear: to build a global network of vetted animal nonprofits and stand behind them. To represent domestic, farm, and wild animal organizations. To raise awareness. To raise funds. To amplify voices that cannot speak for themselves.
But vision from a desk and understanding from the dirt are two different things.
So I went to Australia.
Not as a tourist.
Not as a visitor.
But as a worker.
Our days ran from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., with a single hour for lunch. The rest was labor. Sweeping the visitor areas. Raking pathways. Pouring fresh water for animals roaming free. Cleaning enclosures. Removing waste. Replacing bedding. Preparing specialized diets for species with very different needs and making the rounds to feed all of the animals.
It was physical. Repetitive. Necessary.
The sanctuary housed animals who could not return to the wild — each there because of injury, human interference, or circumstance beyond their control. Survival for them depended on quiet consistency. Clean water. Correct food. Safe shelter. Daily attention.
And slowly, in that rhythm, something shifted in me.
Gundy: The Blind Wombat Who Taught Me Trust
Gundy stole my heart almost immediately.
A blind wombat navigating the world through sound and memory, he learned to recognize my voice over time. When I came near, he would follow the sound of me speaking. One day while I was in his enclosure feeding him, he settled himself directly on my feet.
I stood there, barely breathing.
In that small gesture, I felt something sacred — a vulnerable animal choosing closeness. Gundy cannot see the world around him, yet he moves through it with quiet resilience. His trust was not automatic. It was formed through repetition and gentleness.
Advocacy stopped being theoretical in those moments.
It became personal.
Gonkey: The Goat Who Survived the Unthinkable
Then there was Gonkey.
The name makes you smile — part goat, part donkey in size. He is massive, but his spirit is gentle.
Gonkey had been bitten by a red-bellied snake — a bite that easily should have taken his life. Instead, through round-the-clock care from the rangers, and caregivers he survived. Medications. Monitoring. Sleepless nights. Commitment.
I visited him often.
He would lean into me softly, affectionate and mild-mannered, as though he understood he had been given another chance. Standing beside him, I couldn’t stop thinking about the invisible work that saved him. The hours no one applauds. The exhaustion no one sees.
Love, when practiced daily, looks like vigilance.
Gonkey is alive because someone cared enough to refuse to give up.
Banksii: The Koala Who Made Me Wait
And then there was Banksii.
Two to three years old. Raised in captivity. Comfortable around humans — but not immediately comfortable with me.
And that mattered.
For nearly two weeks, I showed up gently. Soft voice. Slow movement. No expectation. Trust, especially in the animal world, cannot be rushed.
Just before I was scheduled to leave, something changed. Banksii leaned in. He nuzzled my face. And then, what I can only describe as a koala kiss.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t staged. It was quiet and deeply real.
Trust earned slowly feels sacred when it is finally given.
Life Amongst the Wild
At night, I stayed in a small cabin on the sanctuary grounds. The animals who roamed freely would come to visit me. The Kangaroos would often lie across my deck, and I would carefully step around them to get inside. Every evening before bed, I said goodnight.
I adjusted my path for them.
And in doing so, I realized how often animals are forced to adjust theirs for us.
The experience was sensory — the smell of eucalyptus and earthy grass, the weight of feed buckets, the sounds of wildlife settling at dusk. But more than that, it was humbling. Animals are profoundly vulnerable. They rely on humans for safety, health, stability, and sometimes even joy.
The rangers and caretakers give everything to this work. It is not glamorous. It is repetitive and exhausting. And it is fueled entirely by love. I cannot imagine doing that job without being called to it.
This trip did not change my mission with AVA — it deepened it.
If we are going to represent sanctuaries and animal nonprofits around the world, we must understand what their days look like. We must honor the labor. We must see the sacredness in the ordinary acts of care — the refilled water bucket, the cleaned enclosure, the patient waiting for trust.
Australia is half a world away from Minnesota.
But the commitment I felt there has no borders.
I will go back.
To Gundy
To Gonkey.
To Bankskii. To the quiet work that reminds me why advocacy begins not with strategy — but with proximity.
And sometimes, with kneeling in the dirt.