Resolve- and that's not the type that dissolves in a glass of water! I only wish it said that the over-the-counter remedy did indeed work for mental resolve, rather than just the aftermath of a little self-induced over-indulgence.

I suspect it’s the same for most charities - certainly within the UK and probably elsewhere too: those who sit at the helm tie themselves in knots, spending countless hours trying to determine what the future holds for their organisation, and how best to combat any likely negative thrusts that could jeopardise (or worse) its future sustainability. Be they charity or corporate, the problems and stresses are much the same. Apart from one very major and significant factor, and that is as follows: In the corporate world, more business and more work are not only indicators for success, but also a flag that as turnover rises, so too should profit (unless, of course, there is a total ignoramus in charge!).
But, in the charitable sector- particularly in a charity such as ours- the more we aspire to raise our profile and, therefore, the more patients we treat, the more our costs escalate. As far as I am aware, though; however many times you wave a bill in front of a terrified badger, or any patient for that matter, I have never known a cheque to be forthcoming! Thank God our wildlife has not been introduced to 'plastic money’ or they would be in an even worse state than we are!!
 
So, the more work a charity undertakes; the worse off they actually are. It’s a vicious circle, because to counter this problem an even more aggressive profile-raising strategy must be employed in order to generate funds, thus, the circle continues to speed up. At the end of the day, it’s all down to being in the right place at the right time- a situation many of us seek and few achieve.
 
So back to my entry point. I'm sure that all too often our resolve falters for a few moments (but never much longer). Passion and belief must be our fuel, our hope and our goal; only then can that unbalancing moment pass. For some unknown reason, whenever we stumble inadvertently into these darker times, there always follows a blinding flash of light that turns any negativity back into the positive flame that drives us forward. I had one of my 'flashes' tonight. (I assure you it was not brought about by any form of medication or alcoholic beverage.)

Over the past months, with the doom and gloom of the disastrous economic financial climate (that I regrettably feel will prevail for up to 2 more years, and that's not said negatively but as a realist), I can only work using my own corporate past to guide me. Charities have been the first to be financially hit and will likely be the last to recover. By at least trying to run a charity using corporate strategies, in this economic ice age, the charity is, surely, given its best chance at survival, and, as unpopular as it is bound to make you through the ranks; this ‘corporate approach’ is the only sure way of doing all you can to ensure you are there when the economy finally breaks free of this extremely tough period.

So, (as always, I digress- nothing new there!), the past 6 months have been somewhat challenging here, to say the least, for a myriad of reasons, and, yes; the old resolve has faltered badly. I should, therefore, have been expecting it when, some 28 hours ago, we got an RTA deer brought in to us from a local vet, who thought it may have a broken pelvis- this, sadly, is pretty much the death toll for deer. But when our latest patient arrived, neither Steve nor I were totally convinced of the expert’s diagnosis, despite being fully prepared to be the harbinger of death. Instead we put the deer in a warm and dark confined pen overnight, in the tiniest of hope that we would be proved right.

On inspection this morning, the deer was up and appeared very stable on all four legs. Not only that; when the door was opened, there was no doubt at all as to the state of its pelvis, as it shot past us like a bullet, in a bid for freedom. Containing this now reinvigorated spirit to transport it to a larger enclosure took all of our combined strength- but the move was necessary; we had to be sure that it was strong and stable enough to go back to the wild. The big problem being that, if we were right, then the task of catching it up yet again for release would be a recipe for major bruising, severe pain and probable agony- not for the deer, I hasten to add, but for the mad fools who would be tasked with its delivery back to its rightful place in the wild. Smugly, I can say I am seldom wrong, but in this case I wish had been.
 
We waited until dark- fewer cars on roads, a quieter and less stressful release for the deer- and then two of us went to check on the state of the deer. Suffice it to say, we can both show you the plethora of bruises that evidence this statement. I bet, if I’d had the time to notice, the deer would have had a smug expression on her face.

A battle of wills and pride prevailed as we set about containing the deer for the short journey to the release site. Cutting a long story short, the journey itself was a total reversal of the capture. Once in the vehicle and on the move, the deer was positively angelic; it sat up, looking around, with its huge velvet ears acting like radars to pick up the local sounds. (I very seldom try to tie or contain a deer on this release journey, as it only causes the animal huge levels of stress, gets it very overheated and dangerously prone to fatal shock).

So it was that our passenger just sat there looking around with its beautiful chocolate brown eyes, as if enjoying the ride. We arrived at the site, opened the door and lay the deer on the ground in a vast field, surrounded by woodland and then... nothing. No movement, no desperation to leave us. It just sat. Eventually, I helped it up and… it just stood there, occasionally looking back at us, now standing a few feet behind, waiting quietly. It was as though its brain could not quite comprehend that it was free, that it was quite this easy... Still, it stood. After some ten minutes, by which stage I had tapped it, none too gently, on the bum a few times to try to encourage it to make a bid for freedom, when it did just that; walking a few steps, then trotting a few, before bounding out into the darkness of the evening.
 
And that's why any faltering of my resolve never lasts too long. Even after 30 years, the moment of release, of freedom, for any animal, is beyond magical for me. After 30 years, I still shed a few tears every single time, and am rarely able to speak for a few minutes after the animal goes, because of the huge lump in my throat. And, do you know what? After about 50 yards, they always glance back, as if to say; ‘Thank you’. I know they're not, but each and every one of those glances will stay in my soul for ever.
 
Thank you, wild creatures, for letting us have the huge privilege of putting you back where you belong; my heartfelt gratitude and my love will be with you for all time.
 
I WILL make sure the charity survives these bleak times, if only because every release melts my heart, and I live for the next time I am allowed to be so privileged.