Carol McAlice Currie

Statesman Journal

According to the National Bison Association, there are 500,000 head of bison in the United States; 3,500 of them free roaming at Yellowstone National Park.

Wanted: an animal lover with a big heart. And an even bigger barn, preferably in Salem.

Lisa Miller, who has owned Helen Keller, a blind American bison since the remarkably fleet-of-foot beast was just four days old, needs to find her "sister" a new place to live.

Miller first convinced Paul Drake, former owner of Grandkid Acres in Sublimity not to euthanize the now 14-year-old humped and bearded bison when it was born at his amateur zoo in Sublimity more than a decade ago.

"They were going to destroy her because she was blind. But I cried long and hard enough over her that Paul gave in and let me keep her," Miller said.

Now she's keening over the bison once again. But she's wailing because she can no keep her animal who has become a fixture on Sunnyview Road in northeast Salem.

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Grazing along the sloped land dotted with Queen Anne's Lace and the jagged leaves of dandelions and grass, Helen tramples her way to the fence when humans approach. There's a jaunt to her gait if she suspects she might snag a fruit snack — she is crazy in love with watermelon rind, Miller notes.



The red-coated critter has become a quiet celebrity, beloved by neighbors and strangers alike. While she slurps somewhat noisily from one of two bathtubs filled with stagnant water, children riding to Canyonview Camps shout "Buffalo!" through the open windows as their orange bus lumbers past.

Other passers-by pull to the side of the road near Helen's fence, where the land has been flattened by a steady stream of traffic. Adults approach cautiously, while kids race to the fence, eager to take pictures and selfies of what they probably know is the largest land mammal in North America.

"Everyone loves the buffalo," said neighbor Jan Frink, who admits she knows it's a bison but still calls it a buffalo. She has lived kitty-corner from the pasture for 40 years, and enjoys having the famous neighbor. "We see people stop to feed her apples and take pictures of her all the time. It's constant."

The coarse-coated and bearded beast also is a landmark for many who live in the area. They often give directions by adding "we're about a half mile east of the buffalo."

It's a life Miller has obviously loved as she bends, best as she can, to scratch the belly of the approximately 1,100-pound bison after Helen dropped to the ground and rolled on her side. Serious injuries Miller sustained in a car accident in 2011 continue to debilitate her. The driver of the car carried only the minimum insurance required by the state, she said, and it was "gone in a heartbeat."

She and her husband, Victor Miller have been carrying a large share of her medical costs since then, and she requires spinal infusions every eight days just to walk. She doesn't want to move from her gray home with fuchsia trim, but she's installed new windows and is painting interior rooms in case it comes to that.

Caring for Helen, though, is her biggest concern. Though she deeply loves her "sis," the animal, which is not considered domesticated, has become too much of a financial and physical burden.

Miller said it was hard to admit to herself that she can no longer give Helen the life she has known for more than a decade. Previously, Jack's IGA Foodliner delivered produce to her that it couldn't sell, but the store has gone out of business, making it physically more difficult to get fresh food for the animal. Additionally, the floor of their small barn has rotted through and the Millers can't afford to replace it. With no shelter to retreat to, Helen must stand unprotected when the lower part of the pasture floods, as it typically does in the winter.

"I know I can't give her the attention she needs because of my injuries, and now we can't give her adequate shelter. It's just not fair to her, said Miller, stroking the bison's muzzle while she makes simpering sounds.

"I know it's time for me to stop being selfish and do the right thing and get her a new home, but she's just a really, really big lap dog to me. She's so amazing, I can't stand what's going on," said Miller, who looks away from the bison to brush back tears.

It's a scene that has been playing out with increasing frequency. She was in Helen's pasture keening and stroking the docile animal one afternoon last week when Bonnie Graham and her granddaughter, Madison Steffen, 14, happened to drive by.

Madison insisted that her grandmother stop the car when Miller waved to them, but once Graham, who runs Savin' Juice Medical Dog Rescue, which finds new homes for dogs with health needs one at a time, saw Miller's huge tears, she knew she was going to help.

"She was choking back sobs as she told me she was trying to spend as much time with her as she could. You can see she's in pain when she walks, and that just making it from her house to the pasture was painful. So when she said something about a slaughterhouse because Helen was blind and no one would want a blind bison, I said to her 'I've never done a buffalo before, but I'll try.' "

Within hours of posting Helen's story on Facebook, Graham attracted the attention of a bison owner in Canby who said he'd be interested in taking Helen. She also heard from Scott Beckstead, the senior Oregon director of the Humane Society of the United States.

Beckstead, who lives in Sutherlin in Douglas County, also shared the story on social media, and said he had some leads on people who might be willing to get involved in relocating the bison.

"I can put her in touch with some folks on the way to the coast, or in Southern Oregon who might be able to relocate her," Beckstead said.

Most of the help he could arrange is not local, however, and Miller said that's the problem.

She fears that since Helen's only known her voice since birth, and has been able to make her way back to her barn by Miller's playing of classical and easy-listening music, that moving her far from home might add mental anguish to the physical distress of relocation.

"She's blind, not deaf, but she's definitely got selective hearing," Miller said. "If I ask her to do something, she'll turn a deaf ear, but if I tell her I've got a No. 6 Jimmy John's vegetarian sandwich with no sauce, she'll come running. It's a trust we've had since I bottle fed her when she was a baby. I would really like her to go someplace local so I can go see her regularly and talk to her and comfort her. I can't make it to places like Sutherlin or Canby. I want her to go where she can be loved and get the attention she deserves, but I think it would be best for her, and me, if it can be someplace close where I can visit her."

ccurrie@statesmanjournal.com; (503) 399-6746 or follow on Twitter at @CATMCurrie