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Cleaning of litter trays alternates with bashing kilims out of the caravan half door and returning greetings to Franky and Amber , two of our rescued horses and Maria , Wifi, Snarly Suzy and The Wibbling Ninny , rescued dogs that sleep under the caravan. 

Cleaning is a big part of routine work at LIFE. I do two cat-filled caravans and a wagon once drawn by a beloved giant Haflinger before heading to the ruins of my Bulgarian house which burned down 16 years ago. Only a summer kitchen in a dog-filled courtyard remains. 

En route I'm bounced at by  posses of dogs beyond a gate dividing the 4000 decare yard. It was small for 17 horses in a close knit mini herd with couples stalled at night so last year we sent the 7 most ready to a sanctuary in Italy where those already trained work as trail riding horses to support rescues there still in need. 

A storage barn next to the courtyard has a section for abandoned kittens. There are 10 there at present and around 18 adult cats depending who's in. Lots of smelly cleaning  and scrumptious cuddling of  delicate tinies ensues before front and back yard gates are opened to admit volunteers camping up the hill at our Haven (when we're lucky enough to have them ) and paid local poo pickers.  

Amber, rescued as a mistreated foal,  follows me around during morning chores. She's sensitive to well-being and we're mutually supportive if one of us isn't feeling  right. She has query ulcers which we're treating conservatively with a soothing supplement ; I have an exasperating prolapse due to a not necessarily misspent youth straining while dragging mangrove wood and shark on a desert island but that's  another story..

There are 40 plus cats to see to and I feed 12 of our 50 odd resident rescued dogs before help arrives. The number varies due to temporary cases here to be spayed or treated for tick - borne disease . Plus we sometimes find dogs tied to gates in the night, complete with litters. 

Phone calls start anytime from 6 a m -  reports of abandoned animals;  demands for dog or cat food if we've spayed a family pet; pleas for help with a horse that's apparently been stabbed and so on.  I make notes, put the most urgent cases on a today-do list  jotted between a biscuit wrapper to remind me to get more biscuits and a deworming paste wrapper to remind me to deworm Roma -owned horses on the way to the vet. 

Stan, a former horse guard and one of our current volunteers swoops in by bicycle at around 7.30 from digs up a long hill with a  friend of the Foundation who's helped us for over a decade. Often I've a shovel of dog poo in my hands when we call out morning greetings and I tell him if there's anything urgent for his immediate attention such as a large escaped dog that needs to be got out of a neighbours ' vineyard before the neighbor wakes or a stable door that needs rapid repair to prevent a girl fight among competing lead mares. 

Nidelcho, once a homeless man for whom we built a mud brick hovel, is next to stride through our iron gates and dispose of bags of rubbish I suspended from fences earlier. Stan leads horses out to graze while Ivan our best dog boy starts a long kennel maid session and let's out a pack of puppies to romp under all of our feet. Vasco , Ivan's brother, fills a score of large water bottles from the single tap which serves the property and I lug a dozen into the kitchen to heat for washing and my bucket bath later in the day. 

By 8.30 dogs are being walked while it's still cool and I'm on the road either collecting dogs or cats for spay ops or dropping crates for others to be picked up tomorrow. Often there are rescues with health problems for the vet too although to keep  bills down we treat those we can at home. After over 15 years in rescue and rehabilitation I know what's needed in the meds cupboard and we use locally available herbs too:  antiseptic tetra (sumac)  tea to rinse wounds; camomile wash for sticky eyes, plantain leaves over open sores. 

Major Outreach sessions happen in Roma areas when we have enough volunteers. Alone most days with a local driver I can only administer first aid to dogs and horses and note what further attention is needed or scoop up urgent cases for an immediate  vet visit. 

Late morning frequently finds me restocking small animal foods in a large village where the Foundation receives a discount on dog and cat kibbles. There's a useful secondhand shop there for cat, dog and horses blankets in winter and sheets in summer for shade or to be torn into cleaning rags.  While I'm out it's all go at LIFE 's homesite and Haven with dogs  bounding after balls thrown by volunteers ( when we're lucky enough to have them)  and Ivan dishing up kibble. Vasco poo- picks and there's a daily meds round organized before I leave as consistency in treatments particularly for tick-borne disease cases is vital. There are drops to put in horses' eyes and homemade turmeric pastes to administer topically or by mouth.  Water for dogs and horses is hosed into giant bidons and hand hauled from a well. Boys with buckets and barrows raise dust,  sweat and sluice sticky heads under the yard tap, as I do. 

Stan,  our longest staying volunteer this year, often schools or rides  before lunch break as it's too hot later. He's to be seen at the Haven putting pretty wee Haflinger Pegas over home made cavaletti or long reining Polly, a young rescue, towards eventual cart work.  Or  he may take Arap out led by constant consort Annie for a canter up a hill to build muscle or harness Boshko to haul water from a spring. While that's happening Ivan  walks as many dogs as he can as well as poo picking and scouring algae from big basins serving as water bowls. After 8 hours on the go I flop into my caravan with a sandwich during  staff lunch break revived by a strong  coffee  at 2 p.m. 

There's another cat cleaning round for me  while the lads again clean pens and replenish water receptacles  ready for when the horses come in. There's  repetition in their work but they generally go about it stoically and Ivan  occasionally  warbles in a slightly startling falsetto. Different packs of dogs follow him in the afternoon than those in the morning, the aim being to ensure every dog in our care has some  exercise every day. In high summer, volunteers are free in the roasting afternoons though often they'll take dogs with them to bathe in the river or bask on the banks. 

At 3.30 p.m. Ivan goes to the Haven to poo pick the dog pens and free play areas again  and any dogs on supplements receive them with a tea time snack. LIFE has no reserve funds at present for dog -specific treats when the  quality contents of gifts boxes sent from far away Denmark and Finland run out , so dried bread serves. The dogs leap as happily for this because it's the routine attention that helps them feel secure and loved as well as the snack itself.

After ' 8 hours the local lads' working day ends. I do an inspection round before they're  paid,: , checking pen gates are properly closed and only dogs I can lift left loose. A spinal problem left me annoyingly unable to re take any strain on leads so we do all possible to avoid bigger dogs needing to be returned to pens at night when I'm alone with over 100 resident rescues - many of them vulnerable cats. Nidelcho fetches the coffee I heat at 4.30 a.m. from the local shop  before he leaves at 4.40 p.m. , bringing  cardboard boxes back for cats and to flatten for flooring in caravans. 

While the local lads' basic help is essential I'm relieved to be alone with the animals again because it's  when we're alone that the most satisfying communication occurs. With no humans distracting attention from them I'm more open to the dogs'  , cats ' and horses' more subtle signals and they can read me more easily too. . As water heats for my evening wash 

I sweep the courtyard in the ruins of the old Bulgarian house I lived in for 18 months  before fire ended that brief experiment in  expat living. It had 7 rooms but I don't miss what was in them except the space; no lives  were lost . Maria Mallinois,  who's being trained  and 4 other dogs dance round me as I sweep. I hear the voice of an old woman scold them affectionately as she wields her broom. Plums I'd once have made into jam  mingle with dust and dog doings. These days a rinsed handful of the best go to mare Annie through the window of what once was a shower room , is now a bucket bath and loo room. The bucket bath , taken while supper cooks on a single gas ring, is delightful. I first read a description of this ablution method in the diary of a man who sailed to the South Seas before I was born and lived on a tiny island for 40 years. I was writing a book about that. The bath is head to toe involving two receptacles and changes of water lined up ahead-  hot and cold no less. On the island where that man and his wife lived I received a bar of soap for Christmas, white soap, a serious luxury out there and I gave the giver an envelope containing a few bandaids, another hard-to-get treat unwrapped with pleasure from a banana leaf. But I digress. Here at LIFE, a maverick rescue and recovery set up on the edge of a typical Bulgarian village where villagers still preserve everything that grows as a way of life not a lifestyle choice, my day ends with a final round of the Foundation 's charges. From the top end of the bottom property there are 14 pens containing between 1 and 6 dogs each and 3 more round the back plus the courtyard core group. 17 dogs at the Haven up a hill were checked earlier by Ivan or a volunteer. It's a lot, too many , and there are requests daily to take more, and more cats. I don't answer the phone after 7 .30 p.m.;  I'm up at 4.00 in the morning again and a quiet time is needed before sleep. Evening exchanges are with horses, a nicker echoed here, a soft pressure on a shoulder there. Passing by amicably suffices to reconfirm the solidarity of a relationship, no talk needed. The contents of my crockery bucket are inspected with interest but no jostling. It's quiet time for the 4 leggeds too, end of the day's battles whether lost or won.

 I lie down beside many cats, bull Bernie's bell tinkling reassuringly close by as he chews the day's cud. I'll collate notes jotted before dawn, chewing on a midnight biscuit if I must get up to see what's making dogs bark. The silent hours are  bliss and cherished as reverently as tiny blind Marcel in his special place beside my heart.