At The Gentle Barn in Santa Clarita, visitors can talk to the animals

As Ellie Laks left a Los Angeles petting zoo in 1999, she was moved by the pleading look of an ailing goat. “I asked the owner if I could have her,” says Laks. “They said, ‘no.’ So I asked if I could buy her. They said ‘no.’”

Laks came back every day for the next 12 days, paying admission so she could spend the day with her furry friend. Before leaving each day, she’d ask, “Can I take this goat?” Annoyed by the young woman’s persistence, the owner eventually relented.

This marked the start of her life’s mission, a dream she’d fostered since childhood: to provide a sanctuary for wounded and abused animals.

Once she brought Mary home, the goat was healthy in just four weeks. “She was bouncing around like a goat is supposed to,” Laks remembers. High on the success of this rescue, Laks returned to the petting zoo and ended up taking every crippled or elderly animal that had been relegated to the back lot. In the half-acre backyard of her Tarzana home, Laks tended to two dozen animals. She knew her work wasn’t done and that if she was to continue, she’d need more land.

Laks founded the nonprofit The Gentle Barn Foundation and moved it to a six-acre property in Santa Clarita in 2003. The property is open to visitors on Sundays and features large horse and cow pastures, a red and white barnyard for smaller animals, an organic vegetable garden, shade trees and a panoramic view of the mountains.

Where some people see ingredients for dinner, Laks and her staff— including a volunteer whom she later married—view the animals as friends. “My cows are as smart as my dog; they just moo instead of bark,” Ellie Laks says

Along with room to roam, the animals enjoy massages, supplements and even acupuncture. It’s a stunning turn of destiny for these creatures, most of which were headed for slaughter before Laks intervened.

John Lewis Thunderheart, a cow born in 2020 on a slaughterhouse floor, is one of The Gentle Barn’s residents. Laks doesn’t like to use terms like steer or bull because the meat and dairy industry uses those to attribute an economic value to them. “To us they are family, and we call them all cows,” she explains.

“We have relationships with some of the slaughterhouses in L.A.,” says Laks. “I spoke with the owner and he wouldn’t give me the mother, but he offered the calf.” She brought the calf home. She treated his pneumonia and fever with medication and a nebulizer and bottle-fed him. “He lived in my home for nine months,” says Laks. “I slept with him and even ate hay so he could learn by watching me.”

On one of their daily walks through the cow barn on the property, what Laks calls a “play date,” John Lewis Thunderheart had such a great time that he declined to return home with Laks. He wanted to be with his own kind. “That was his choice,” she says, adding that John Lewis still lives with them on the property and will for the rest of his life.

If Laks sounds like she’s reminiscing about a son, it’s because her love for these animals runs deep. Where some people see ingredients for dinner, Laks and her staff—including a volunteer whom she later married—view the animals as friends. “My cows are as smart as my dog; they just moo instead of bark,” Laks says.

As a vegan, Laks is careful not to impose her beliefs on visitors. “A vast majority of our visitors are meat eaters,” Laks says. “We invite them to hug the cows, rub the tummies of our pigs, pet the chickens and cuddle the turkeys. Once people have a chance to really connect with these animals, they can decide for themselves.”

People can find comfort from “cow hug therapy,” a therapeutic experience for those suffering from grief, loneliness or depression. Guests are invited to build confidence and learn body language through “equine therapy,” experience joy and connection with “barnyard therapy” or develop reading skills through the barn’s literacy program.

It’s a moo-ving experience, you might say.

• To sponsor the animals or donate to The Gentle Barn, visit GentleBarn.org.