In the quiet heart of Mallorca, far from the superyachts of Puerto Andratx and the luxury beach clubs of Palma, a sanctuary has been carved out of hardship, grit, and a refusal to look away. Rancho Fino, run by Stacey van Tichelt and her husband Sten, isn’t just a rescue for abandoned and disabled animals; it’s a lifeline for Mallorca’s forgotten creatures. And it’s a story born out of pain.
Stacey’s journey didn’t begin in a field surrounded by donkeys and pigs. It began in Holland, where she spent much of her childhood in hospitals. Born with severe hip dysplasia, Stacey was subjected to experimental treatments as a toddler, becoming one of only sixty children worldwide to receive synthetic growth hormones. What doctors missed in those early years, however, was the condition of her hips. By the time they realised the extent of the damage, Stacey was already suffering immense pain and mobility issues. Surgery became a way of life. By the age of twelve, she was undergoing invasive hip operations. By her early twenties, she had received four hip replacements. She was often in a wheelchair and was often told to give up. She never did.
After encouraging her then-boyfriend to follow his dreams and take a job in Magalluf, Stacey found herself alone in rainy Holland, healing from surgery, and wondering what her next chapter could be. It was winter. It was bleak. And so, she made a radical decision: to follow him.
Magalluf, however, was not her ideal place to live. But Mallorca slowly revealed itself to her. Not just the beaches or tourist hotspots, but the real Mallorca: the campo, the villages, the rural heart of the island. She started working. Any job that paid: cooking, babysitting, cleaning boats, despite two broken spinal discs and constant pain. And then, she met her first horse.
The accidental rescue that changed everything
It wasn’t planned. “I sort of accidentally rescued him,” she shrugs. “But I made him a promise: you will never be alone again. If we move, we move together.” That was the beginning of Rancho Fino. More animals followed. A pony. A donkey. Dogs, pigs, ducks, goats, chickens. Injured, starved, discarded animals. “People think of Mallorca as paradise,” she says. “But there’s a shadow side. Horses left to starve in empty fields. Dogs on chains in abandoned fincas. Nobody sees it unless they’re looking.”
She explains how many of the animals come from inherited rural properties. “Abuelo (Grandad) would have had a donkey at the property, and when he dies, the finca goes to the grandkids. They want to keep the tradition but can’t afford the upkeep and don’t know how to care for the animal. So the donkey stays, but it doesn’t get fed. The house falls apart. Nobody lives there full-time. And the animals suffer.”
But there’s been a new shift, too – and Stacey has noticed it sharply since the pandemic. “These days, we’re seeing a different kind of abandonment,” she says. “A lot of foreigners adopted animals during lockdown, it was a romantic idea, the dream of rural life in Mallorca. But once reality sets in, that commitment can vanish just as quickly. Training is too hard, too expensive, and rehoming has become almost normalised. We’re seeing a wave of ‘adopt to abandon’ behaviour, even animals arriving from Germany and the UK in terrible states. It’s heartbreaking.”
She’s particularly concerned by how easily people seem to give up. “A baby arrives, and the dog has to go. The horse is too old or too much work, so it’s left behind when someone moves off the island. People talk about it with ‘great pain in their hearts’ but don’t seem to care where the animal ends up and often, that’s here.”
No easy cases allowed
Even more troubling is the rise in abuse cases. “We’re seeing more animals with signs of trauma,” Stacey says quietly. “And yes, some of it is sexual abuse. It’s happening more than anyone wants to believe. It’s the darkest part of this work – and we still have to find a way to keep going.”
The authorities, she says, are slowly becoming more cooperative. But much of the work still falls to private sanctuaries like hers. And it’s relentless. Rancho Fino is currently home to more than 150 animals, almost all of them with “special needs”. “We don’t take the easy ones,” she says. “We take the undateables.” Undateables is a term she uses with love. “I looked around one day and realised we’re all the undateables here. Me included.”
Despite the pain, the surgeries, and the long days of physical labour, Stacey refuses to stop. “I’m on my second pair of new hips, and they’re wearing out,” she admits. “But what do I do? Look away?” There’s a clear thread connecting Stacey’s history to the lives she rescues. Having lived through pain, surgeries, isolation, and low expectations, she identifies with the animals others have written off. She understands what it means to be considered a burden and refuses to treat any life that way.
What it really costs to save lives
The couple work full-time hours outside the sanctuary. They do gardening, house maintenance, pool care, and painting. Then they come home to hours more work taking care of the animals: feeding, cleaning, medicating, fixing fences, hauling hay.
A typical day starts before sunrise. Each morning, Stacey checks every enclosure, lays out hay, fills water buckets, and administers medications. There’s always something urgent: a fence to fix, a sick animal to treat, or a new emergency via WhatsApp. “My morning feeding round takes four and a half hours,” she says. “Then I go to my paid work.”
Stacey’s husband, Sten, is deeply involved in both the sanctuary and the couple’s external work. Together, they manage garden maintenance, property management, and animal care, often putting in 50 hours a week outside Rancho Fino just to pay the bills. At home, he helps with feeding, repairs, and the constant stream of physical tasks that keep the sanctuary running.
Running the sanctuary costs them, in every sense of the word. Every month, they face a funding shortfall of 5,000 to 6,000 euros. And every month, they cover it themselves. “Everything we own goes into Rancho Fino. Everything. We wear donated clothes. I don’t remember the last time I bought something new.”
“People think rescuing animals is cuddling puppies and living the dream. They don’t see the cold showers you have to take because you haven’t got electricity, the roofless winter because you couldn’t afford to repair the roof of your home, the donkey with cancer, or the baby goat dying in your arms.” Her honesty is brutal. And moving.
Many of the animals at Rancho Fino arrive malnourished and traumatised. Some have never known human kindness. Yet over time, they begin to trust. They follow Stacey through the fields, respond to her voice, and settle in ways that suggest a deep sense of safety. The bond is visible, hard-earned, but unmistakable.
Stacey has started sharing more on social media now and telling the world what they are doing. “For years, I just did the work. I didn’t tell anyone. But now the animals, Sten and I, need help, and we need it right now. We are facing bankruptcy unless we can secure regular financial help from sponsors.”
So what can we do?
Donations are essential. Regular monthly donors – even a euro or two – make a huge difference. Corporate sponsorships help, too. Rancho Fino is a registered charity, and donations are tax-deductible. And there’s something else, go to the open days and see with your own eyes the progress they are making.
“When you see where your euro went – when you see the new piece of fencing we have put up, the new shelters we have had donated to us, the animals themselves – it makes sense. You become part of the Rancho Fino family.” She hosts these open days, calçotadas, and tea-and-cake mornings with the support of local businesses and friends. “I don’t care if I come out with zero profit. If I break even, it’s worth it. Because you saw it. You were here. You met them.”
This isn’t a glossy Instagram rescue. This is real. It’s muddy boots, wonky fences, and horses who will never be ridden again. And it’s a woman who knows what it means to be discarded. To be told she can’t. And who has made it her life’s mission to say yes to those who can’t speak for themselves. Stacey doesn’t ask for praise, but she does need our support.
To donate, visit www.https://www.ranchofinomallorca.com or follow them on Instagram @ranchofinomallorcarescue to find out how you can help keep the sanctuary alive. Because if not you, then who?