Nashville Scene Article
Piccolo Farms Is Home to Pigs, Chickens, a 40-Year-Old Tortoise and More
Bonnie and Jeff Glueck offer animals sanctuary in Whites Creek
ERICA CICCARONE, SEP 10, 2020
Just past the cottage where Bonnie and Jeff Glueck live on the nine-acre lot of Piccolo Farms, regal turkeys consort with placid pigs, a naked-neck rooster forages alongside a 40-year-old tortoise, and a half-dozen tiny chicks scamper underfoot of inquisitive goats.
“I can’t take it,” I exclaim as Bonnie closes the gate behind me. “I need a moment to absorb.”
A blind quarter horse named Buddy shakes his mane beneath a shade cloth, and three miniature horses — Rio, Fabio and Dr. Dre — playfully chase each other nearby. A goat playground sits out in the field. It’s empty at the moment, but its many levels and bridges promise hours of enrichment.
“It’s a magical place of sanctuary where everyone gets to hang out together,” Bonnie says.
“Everyone gets to choose where they sleep and who they want to sleep with. We don’t lock anybody up. We leave the coops open and the barns open, even in the winter time. Here comes Zeena.”
Zeena is a 4-month-old great Pyrenees, a guard dog in training under the watchful eye of Zeke, an adult great Pyrenees and a capable farm manager who has not lost a single animal to predators and recently won a battle with a red-tailed hawk. Doug and Felicia, a pair of ducks in a long-term relationship, scurry past, quacking.
“We have a Montessori approach to the farm,” says Bonnie, “a ‘live and let live’ kind of mantra. So many of the animals weren’t treated well or were abandoned, so when they come here, we just really want them to live how they want to live.”
I sense a presence behind me and turn. Maple, a male rooster, acts as the welcoming committee, and he won’t leave my side for the duration of the tour — including when Bonnie hands me a white Silkie hen who feels more fluff than feather. Her name is Magic. As Maple gets more comfortable with the farm’s latest visitors, his bright-red face fades to blue-gray — “like a mood ring,” Bonnie says.
It all started in East Nashville on Holly Street, when the Gluecks took in a trio of goats who were retired from a local goat-yoga business. Word quickly got out — the phone started ringing, and other animals began showing up at their home. Among the adoptees was Tank, an African sulcata tortoise with an appetite for apples, whose owner had died. The couple realized they needed to make a decision: Either start saying no, or go all the way.
The Whites Creek farm offers a sunny pasture, a dry horse run that suits Buddy — who has Cushing’s disease and cannot eat fresh grass — a spacious barn, and several colorful chicken coops and hog houses. At the top of the hill, a small herd of sheep lollygags in the shade of some nearby bamboo. One ewe, Pearl, was brought to the farm as an infant, her umbilical cord still wet. They had to raise her in the house, sleeping with Bonnie in bed. Two others were rescued from the slaughter line of a Dickson farm.
Among the mingling critters are 14 turkeys, 22 goats, 11 hogs, four sheep and a Chinese crested dog named Skeeter. And the chickens? Bonnie estimates that there are at least 50.
The Gluecks don’t play favorites, but it seems clear that Jeff is sweet on the hogs. Among the passel is a pair in temporary residence because their home was destroyed by the March tornado, along with Brick, a 400-pounder who arrived as a baby with a serious injury. She was the runt of the litter, and her mother had bitten a chunk out of her forehead.
“Pigs are, by far, probably the greatest need from a rescue perspective across the community,” Jeff says. “People go to Rural King and see little potbellies … and then they’ll realize that this is about as small as they get.” He points to Captain, a big boy who is grunting in his sleep. “That’s a very powerful animal that can smell all the food in the fridge, that has the strength and intelligence to rip the door off. People get themselves into situations where it’s not sustainable, and that’s when they call us. Part of our mission is to expand because [pigs] are natural rooters and natural foragers, and the more space we can give them to forage, the better off they will be.”
The Gluecks both work regular full-time jobs — Bonnie in banking and Jeff in sales. They’ve set up a cot in the barn for when Bonnie is on night duty. They offer tours to help pay expenses, and they get monthly support via Patreon. Recently, they started offering a new option called Nourish that invites single visitors to spend two hours on the farm on Sundays. The Gluecks want to encourage people to connect with nature, animals and themselves.
For me, the show-stealer is a 2-month-old Oxford Sandy and Black pig named Twinkie. She was rescued a week before my visit when the Gluecks received a call that she was spotted at Hartman Park in Bordeaux. She’s reddish-brown with black spots and perky ears. She lies down for a quick belly rub and then prances off to a mud puddle. A few minutes later, she gives my knee a muddy snout stamp. This does not deter goat Draper from nibbling on my shorts. Before long, Twinkie will weigh 400 pounds.
I’d willingly stay at the farm all day, but the Gluecks need to tend to their day jobs before heading to Metro Animal Care and Control to pick up a new pig. There’s no sign of the flow of animals ebbing, but the Gluecks seem content.
“It’s just one of those things,” says Bonnie, “where if you open your heart, it comes and comes.”
