These stories include Bigfoot, Moth Man, and until last summer, Glen: a long-horned creature roaming through a New York state park! Glen wasn’t easy to spot. He was an expert at hiding—even with his giant horns. Hikers reported seeing flashes of white as Glen darted through the woods. Others caught glimpses of him on the outskirts of town.

But unlike mythical creatures, Glen was real. He was cautious, curious, and shy—and he was in desperate need of help.

We don’t know for sure how Glen made it to the park, or just how long he had been on the run. But the park wasn’t his natural habitat. It’s a tourist spot with wine trails, a racetrack, and a state park—home to deer, birds, and chipmunks. Not goats.

Glen came from somewhere else.

Glen may have the horns of a wild animal, but he’s crossed with a domestic breed. While we can’t confirm his history, he may have been bred for captive hunting or some other form of exploitation. People breed animals to control them—to make them who and what they want them to be. But despite everything, animals retain many of their natural instincts. Glen, for one, knew the safest place would be upon the park’s highest hills. There’s no taming a heart that yearns to roam free.

But Glen couldn’t be out on his own like this—he lacked proper care and shelter and was at risk of predation. And Glen could also be a danger to others, too, if he got scared and charged someone or stepped into traffic. So, in July, local authorities set up a pen in the park to try and catch the rogue goat. They permitted Farm Sanctuary to lead in the pursuit and agreed to give us custody if we could secure him.

The mission would stretch out for more than two months.

Mario Ramirez, Director of Sanctuary Environment and Transport, recalls spotting Glen on our team’s first day scouting the park.

“The park representative took us to a location Glen was going,” he explained. “It was in the middle of the woods that was really difficult for humans to traverse—but not so much for a goat.”

So they watched from a distance, learning Glen’s mannerisms—the way he walked, the paths he took—and they started planning how to best reach Glen without endangering him or our rescue team.

We set up our first corral near the park staff’s temporary pen created to lure in Glen. The team traded shifts over the next few days, with staff covertly watching, from dawn to dusk. After three days—three 14-hour days—crouched in the woods and without a Glen sighting, we decided to try a different approach.

Glen didn’t want to be where people were. And he wouldn’t come back to his safe spots if they didn’t feel safe. After tracking fresh hoofprints to the park’s bathroom stalls—where Glen would go to hide from the rain—we moved our corral to try and secure him there.

The team put out cameras to give Glen some space and watch his activities remotely. They put food in the corral to try and lure him in and engineered different traps to close him in if he came through. He didn’t.

We later learned that parkgoers had spotted Glen and likely scared him away while checking out the pen. Others set things back by shutting the pen’s gates without permission. Weeks went by before we’d see Glen again.

The team took down the corral and began strategizing for Plan C.

To find Glen, we had to think like Glen. The team followed Glen’s tracks high up into the park, looking for another place he might be hiding. Once they found Glen in his new safe space, it was time to try and gain his trust.

“One of the most rewarding parts of this rescue was watching Glen slowly learn to trust people,” said Facilities Assistant Drew Staherski. “His only human interaction for months had been people chasing and trying to catch him. I tried to show him that we were there to help him.”

As it often goes, the way to Glen’s heart was through his stomach. The team laid out some feed and treats—just enough to draw in Glen and help him get used to us. At first, that attracted local wildlife as well, so we had to modify our approach to avoid disrupting their natural feeding patterns.

And Glen went bananas for … bananas!

“I started out by letting him know I was there, making my way down the steep ridge to his hideout, leaving a snack for him, and retreating away so he would feel safe to eat,” Drew explained. “Over the course of a week or so, he got used to the routine. He would see me coming, walk away and wait for me to leave the food, and then he would come back and snack with his tail wagging. I was able to slowly inch closer and closer to him while he would eat until one day, he was actually close enough that he sniffed my shoe!”

The team set up a new corral in this spot—rubbing banana peels along its walls and nearby trees to attract Glen to the scent. Then we installed a mobile camera and gave Glen some space. If he approached the corral, we’d get a ping on our phones.

There were some sleepless nights. Mario would wake up to the occasional ding when the camera caught sight of Glen approaching the corral. Then, in the early hours of September 5th, Glen entered the pen twice. He was starting to trust that this could be a safe space. It was time for us to make our move.

Mario awoke long before dawn to map out the day’s plan. He’d need two teams: one on park duty and one back at Farm Sanctuary to complete all the other daily work on our list—from cleaning barns and mending fences to prepping a space for Glen. After sending out the marching orders, Mario went back to the park—and he waited.

An hour passed, then two. Then five and then six. It started to rain, and mosquitos swarmed Mario’s face. But patience won out—soon, the long-horned goat emerged from the mist.

Glen entered the pen, and Mario’s adrenaline kicked in. “It was like a dream,” Mario recalled. “I was shaking like a leaf.” But his hands were firm as he tugged the rope attached to Glen’s corral. A pulley system shut the gate. Glen was inside!

But we weren’t home-free yet.

The rest of our rescue team arrived within the hour. Since we couldn’t drive our trailer up the park’s trails to Glen, we had to walk him down with us, using a method we call “Pac-Man”: The team held the walls of Glen’s corral around him as we walked in sync with Glen inside. We had to move slowly: Glen appeared calm, but that could change at any moment.

“We didn’t know his behavior at this point,” Mario said, “and those horns could be dangerous for us. We had to keep Glen and our staff and interns safe at the same time.”

And so, we let him lead the way. We walked when Glen walked. We paused when Glen paused. At times, the team also had to stop to clear a path through the woods, sweeping back sticks and brush so no one would trip.

“We had amazing communication and stayed really calm,” Mario said. “It wasn’t more than an hour and a half from when the team showed up, got Glen into the trailer, and finally got to hug it out before the ride home.”

There’s a twinkle in his eye when he speaks of his team. “With patience, teamwork, and trust, Glen was able to find Sanctuary,” Mario said. “There are long hours [in rescue work] but it is and will always be about the animals.”

Glen was cautious at first, but curious and kind too. He approached carefully yet eagerly for his bananas, even accepting a few gentle pats on the nose. We had to take a break from treats at one point because bananas were all that he would eat!

But Glen really started to feel at home when he finally met other goats. Once his quarantine ended and his health checks came back clear, we moved him to a pen adjacent to a group of goats living on our West Campus. (We didn’t know if he’d ever been around goats before, or if this new group would overwhelm him—so staying nearby and getting used to their activity would hopefully help him adjust.) Glen went nose to nose with some new friends through the gate adjoining their barn stalls. And on one chilly but sunny October day, we opened the gate and let him explore!

Hal, the leader of the group, gave him an introductory sniff. Glen kept a little bit of distance at first and went off on his own to graze his new pasture. Soon, the others ambled over to meet the new guy. Autumn reared up for a few headbutts, which Glen returned in kind. There were few excited clashes but soon all mellowed out, and Glen was accepted as part of the herd.

While Glen is still a bit shy around people, he loves his new friends—especially sisters Ingrid and Marilyn, who take turns snuggling at his side. He is safe, calm, and at ease in his new home, family, and life in freedom.

Glen’s life is meaningful because he’s alive—and not just because his horns look cool. He only looks the way he does because people bred him to be this way. It’s important to note that standing out from the pack doesn’t make one worthy of more kindness and care—Glen is just as worthy as anyone else to a life of his own making.