The Wahkiakum County Eagle - Established as The Skamokawa Eagle in 1891

A German émigré who settled on the outskirts of Skamokawa four years ago is living the dream.

Ursula Petralia worked in offices for 40 years in Texas, Oklahoma and Missouri so that one day she could live on 80 acres in an old farmhouse and provide refuge for abandoned animals.

It started with dogs, which soon became a kind of love affair with Anatolian Sheep Dogs, beasts born to protect and big enough to take down a wolf or a bear. They can and they do. Just not at Ursula’s house. These huge sweet dogs would rather close their eyes and hold down the floor, but any slight noise, any sudden move and they are on their feet in an instant. Two, a father and son, have been adopted and are waiting for their new owners to take them home.

“I wish I were one of Ursula’s dogs,” said Kim Anderson, of Puget Island.

“It breaks my heart to see these two go, especially Grizzy. The purpose is to find them a good home. It’s very hard,” said Petralia.

“When they first came…it’s a sad story. They lived on a farm; they were very well taken care of; there were lots of other animals. [The wife] had cancer and didn’t tell her husband. She died. Her husband went into a clinical depression, where he didn’t take of himself, didn’t take care of the animals.

“Finally the neighbors realized something was really wrong. By this time [the dogs] were almost dead. They were skin and bones. They were nearly starved to death. They are perfectly fine now.”

So there are the rescue dogs.

The number of cats wandering the property is inexact, though Petralia recently had 21 neutered. There are eight cows and a new calf, two goats and a self-shearing sheep. Five happy pigs play in their pen. There are two ducks and a goose with identity issues. She has quail, chickens, turkeys and a Golden Polish chicken named Vaclav Havel.

She’s been learning as she goes along with the help of one of her neighbors.

“Any problems I have I can call Tom Bosch day or night. no expertise about cows whatsoever. I asked him before I ever agreed to take these cows, would they help me? And I explained what the situation would be. Tom said yes. He said he would cut hay for me, he’s keeping his eye on the cows, and every once in a while he stops by and says it would be a good idea to start doing x, y, z, or move them from this pasture to that pasture.”

The cows came from Pasado’s Safe Haven.

“The agreement I have, I can’t sell them, I just take care of them, Petralia said. “They were a skittish lot. I was a little bit worried, some of them have horns. I just worked with them everyday. At first I didn’t go anywhere near, then I started walking along the fence. And now I go out there with bread and they eat out of my hand. I stand out there and shout and they come running across the field.”

She calls any of the animals and they call back, their feet moving in her direction.

When she took her beloved Belgian Shepherd to the Humane Society to be cremated, a volunteer shared what she believed to be good news that sad day. Some other dog was waiting to take her place.

“So we found Max, my first Anatolian. It took about three months for that dog to come out of his depression. He was a wonderful dog. I’d never heard of an Anatolian. Then I found out that there were a lot of Anatolians looking for homes. They are very stubborn and they know what they are going to do. A lot of people just can’t handle it. They eat a lot, they need a lot of care.”

Soon she got involved with the National Anatolian Shepherd Rescue Network.

“…what is amazing about these dogs. They are from Turkey originally. They’ll dig themselves a hole. They’ll just lie in a hole and all you can see is a head. But they are constantly watching. Even when they are sleeping their ears are finely tuned. They go from 0 to 40 miles in split seconds. They are bred to kill wolves, coyotes, bears. They basically like their territory. They will patrol their territory. The rest of the time they are like dead,” said Petralia.

“But they always know what’s going on,” said Anderson.

“They are not aggressive with other dogs, because they had to work together. That’s how they were bred. Shepherds didn’t have one Anatolian, they had five or six because they had large territory to cover, so the dogs had to work together,” continued Petralia.

“My dogs, I treat them like dogs. They have a job, they’re dogs. None of them have skin problems, none of them have allergies. They’re all fixed. There are no unfixed dogs, no unfixed cats.”

She laughed. “The chickens aren’t fixed.”

The dogs bark and she says, “thank you.”

Talk turns to goats.

“The goats got in the greenhouse. They tore up the water system and a couple beds,” said Anderson, who had just come from there.

“You never know with goats. Goats used to run around here all over the place. But they chewed up the water lines. Rhododendrons are supposed to kill them. Well they chewed up all the rhododendrons, it didn’t kill them, it killed the trees. They chewed up all the young trees we planted. They chewed up all the pine trees I planted,” said Petralia.

The stories just keep coming.

“There is always something funny,” said Anderson. She starts talking about the dogs.

“When we first started coming out here, this one wouldn’t even come close, now as soon as we open the gate, he’s up in our business.

“We took that one on a hike last weekend. He jumped this creek we came across. I had him on a lead rope, I was in the middle of creek trying to walk across. He jumped from this cliff to that cliff. He looked like a unicorn flying. It was like this slow-motioned leap. And it was huge. I bet he jumped 10 to 12 feet. Like it was no big deal to him.”

“He didn’t want to get his feet wet,” said Petralia.

“That was so funny,” continued Anderson. “He never pulled me on that rope. He made sure to go back as far as he could without pulling me and jumped as far as he could without pulling me. I thought for sure when he landed I was going in.”

That was the flying dog, they decided.

Then there was Libby, who is gone now.

“Libby would find eggs and she would pick up the eggs and drop them at the door until she had an accident and she bit down too hard. That was the last egg I ever saw,” said Petralia.

One dog, who shall remain nameless, is an inveterate clown. He has been banished from the house. He likes to swim in the pond, roll in cow pies and paint the walls. In that order.

Anderson, her husband Erik and their kids spend many of their spare hours at Petralia’s place, making repairs, spending time with Petralia and the animals.

“This place is magical,” she said. “I think it’s really good for Masen. When he’s here he’s in charge of chickens.”

She went on, “She lives like Erik and I dream of living. We don’t look at it as coming here working or helping her. It’s just magical. It’s serenity. She’s so easy and calm and collected and intelligent. She teaches us so much just about life, not even as much about the animals. How to approach things, whether its with the animals or work or home or life.

“Just a busybody, all around busybody,” said Petralia, with a self-deprecating grin.

She had to have a background check to do what she is doing. She sends out an open invitation, “Got a problem with my place? Stop. Blow your horn. I’ll come out. Talk to me. Anybody who wants to know? You are welcome. Come and visit and bring something. Even more welcome.

“Basically my philosophy is that I’ve got all this land. I’m an immigrant. I’m from Germany. And had I stayed in Germany I would not be living like this. Nowhere but in America can something like this happen. So I feel I am extraordinarily lucky and I’ve got to give back. Young people need a leg up in this country nowadays. Here I’ve got all this land. My property taxes aren’t going to change if somebody uses the land to grow a cow, to grow a calf, to grow a goat, to grow a lettuce. So have people come and use it. So in that way I feel like I am giving back a little bit.”