Woman Rescued and Raised a Bigfoot Infant for 10 Years—Years Later, It Returned to Save Her in a Remarkable Sasquatch Story of Gratitude and Friendship

The Heart of the Forest: My Ten Years with Bigfoot

Chapter 1: The Stranger in the Yard

I never believed in Bigfoot until the day I found one dying in my backyard. What happened next changed my life forever, and I’m still trying to make sense of it all these years later. This is the true story of how I raised a Bigfoot infant for ten years—and how that same Bigfoot came back to save my life when I needed it most.

It was early March 2003, and I was living alone in a small cabin outside Forks, Washington. The nearest neighbor was three miles down a logging road, and I liked it that way. I worked from home, doing bookkeeping for local businesses, so the isolation suited me fine.

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That morning started like any other. I made coffee, let my two dogs out into the fenced backyard, and sat down at my kitchen table to sort through invoices. About twenty minutes later, both dogs started barking like crazy. This wasn’t their usual bark when they spotted a deer or raccoon. This was different—frantic, almost scared.

I walked to the back door and looked out through the glass. Both dogs were at the far corner of the yard near the woodpile, barking and whimpering at something I couldn’t see. I grabbed my jacket and went outside to investigate.

The temperature had dropped overnight, and frost still covered the grass in patches. My breath came out in white puffs as I crossed the yard, calling the dogs back, but they wouldn’t budge. They just kept barking and whimpering, their tails tucked between their legs.

When I got closer, I saw what had them so worked up. Lying in a heap between two stacks of firewood was what looked like a small ape covered in dark brown fur. My first thought was bear cub, but the face was all wrong. The features were almost human, but not quite. The nose was flatter than a bear’s, the eyes were positioned differently, and the hands looked oddly human.

The Bigfoot infant was maybe three feet tall, curled up on its side, shivering violently. I stood there frozen, my mind trying to process what I was seeing. This couldn’t be real. Bigfoot weren’t real. Everyone knew that. They were just stories, legends, hoaxes. But here was something lying in my yard that looked exactly like the creatures people claimed to see.

Chapter 2: The Choice

My heart pounded as I tried to figure out what to do. I knelt down slowly, not wanting to startle the infant. It didn’t move or open its eyes. Its breathing was shallow and ragged, and I could see what looked like dried blood matted in the fur along its shoulder and neck. Something had attacked this Bigfoot infant, and from the looks of it, the attack had been recent and vicious. The wounds were deep, probably from claws—a cougar, maybe, or possibly even a bear defending its territory.

I reached out carefully and touched the infant’s arm. The skin underneath the thick fur was ice cold. This Bigfoot infant was dying right here in my backyard.

My first instinct was to call someone. But who? Animal control? They’d probably think I was crazy or drunk. The police? Even if they believed me, what would they do? Take the Bigfoot infant away to some government facility or research lab. I imagined this helpless creature being poked and prodded by scientists, locked in a cage, studied like an experiment.

Looking at this small, dying Bigfoot infant shivering in the cold, I knew I couldn’t let that happen. Something about the face, even unconscious, seemed too aware, too intelligent to be just an animal. This Bigfoot deserved better than to die alone in the cold or spend its life in captivity.

I made a decision right then that would change everything. I pulled off my jacket and wrapped it around the infant as gently as I could. It made a small whimpering sound but didn’t wake up. I carefully lifted it in my arms. It was heavier than I expected, probably sixty or seventy pounds. But I managed to carry it into the house. The dogs followed, still whining nervously.

Chapter 3: Nurse and Guardian

Inside, I laid the Bigfoot infant on the couch and covered it with blankets. I turned up the heat and started examining the wounds. There were deep gashes on the shoulder that looked like claw marks. The wounds had stopped bleeding but looked infected. I spent the next hour cleaning the injuries with warm water and antibiotic ointment, working as carefully as I could while the infant slept.

Its face was the most striking thing. The features were definitely not quite human, but not quite ape either. The nose was flatter, the brow ridge more pronounced, but the eyes—when briefly opened—were intelligent and aware. Dark brown eyes that seemed to look right through me. The hands were small, with opposable thumbs and fingernails, not claws. The fur was thick and coarse, darker on the back and lighter on the chest and belly.

For three days, the infant barely moved. I set up a makeshift bed in the spare bedroom, piling blankets and pillows to make it comfortable. Every few hours, I checked on it, cleaning the wounds and trying to get it to drink water.

On the morning of the fourth day, I walked into the room and found the Bigfoot infant sitting up, watching me with those dark, intelligent eyes. I froze in the doorway, suddenly aware that I had a wild animal in my house—a wild animal I knew nothing about.

The Bigfoot infant stared at me for a long moment and made a soft cooing sound. Not aggressive—almost curious. I took a step forward, holding out a bowl of warm broth I’d made from chicken stock. The infant sniffed the air, then reached out slowly and took the bowl, drinking it down in seconds.

Chapter 4: Raising a Legend

Over the next week, the Bigfoot infant got stronger. The wounds started healing, and it began moving around the room more. I brought food several times a day, trying different things to see what it would eat. Fruits and vegetables mostly, since I wasn’t sure what Bigfoot ate and didn’t want to risk making it sick. Apples seemed to be a favorite—the infant would eat four or five in one sitting, core, seeds, stem, and all.

Cooked food seemed to confuse it at first, like it couldn’t understand why food would be hot. I started keeping detailed notes about what it ate, how much, and what seemed to help it heal faster. I was figuring this out as I went along, making my best guesses based on watching its reactions.

By the second week, the Bigfoot infant was strong enough to stand and walk around. I kept the spare bedroom door closed, worried about what might happen if it got loose in the house. But every time I opened the door to bring food or check the wounds, it would make that same soft cooing sound and reach out toward me. There was something almost gentle about this Bigfoot infant, despite its wild nature.

Three weeks after finding it, I made another decision. I opened the bedroom door and let it explore the house. It moved cautiously at first, sniffing everything, touching the furniture with careful fingers. The dogs had finally stopped barking and just watched from a safe distance as the Bigfoot infant wandered through the living room.

The television confused it at first. When I turned it on, it jumped back, then slowly approached the screen, touching it with one finger like it was trying to grab the images. Books were another source of wonder. It would sit for hours, flipping through pages, studying the pictures with intense concentration.

Chapter 5: The Secret Life

I started spending more time with the Bigfoot infant, sitting on the floor and just being present. It would come sit next to me, sometimes resting its head on my shoulder. There was an innocence to this Bigfoot that broke my heart. Something had killed its mother—I was sure of that now. This infant had been left alone to die in the cold, and somehow it had ended up in my backyard.

As the weeks turned into months, the Bigfoot became part of my daily routine. I’d wake up and find it curled up on the couch or sometimes on the floor next to my bed. I’d make breakfast, and it would sit at the table eating fruit and watching me with those intelligent eyes. Sometimes it would try to help, handing me things or attempting to copy what I was doing.

The Bigfoot learned to open the refrigerator within a month. By the end of the first year, it had grown considerably, and the changes were remarkable to witness. What started as a three-foot-tall creature was now almost five feet tall and probably weighed close to two hundred pounds of solid muscle.

The spare bedroom was no longer big enough, so I converted the basement into proper living quarters. I carried down a large mattress that took me three trips to move, but the Bigfoot picked up with one hand. I added shelves with books and items it seemed interested in, mostly picture books about animals and nature. I put in a small TV with a DVD player so it could watch movies when I was working.

The Bigfoot spent most of the day down there, though it still came upstairs for meals and to spend time with me in the evenings. We’d sit on the couch together and watch nature documentaries about gorillas and chimpanzees. The Bigfoot seemed particularly interested in shows about forests and mountains, watching intently whenever the program showed dense wilderness.

Chapter 6: Bonding and Communication

Communication developed slowly between us over the months. The Bigfoot couldn’t speak, at least not in any language I understood. But it made various sounds that seemed to have specific meanings—low grunts for yes, higher chirps for no, a rumbling sound deep in its chest when happy or content, a sharp bark when alarmed or upset.

I started to recognize these sounds and respond accordingly, and the Bigfoot seemed to understand that I was trying to communicate back. It learned to understand some of my words too—simple commands like “come,” “stay,” “eat,” “sleep.” The Bigfoot’s intelligence was remarkable and sometimes startling. I watched it figure out how to unlock doors, operate light switches, and even use the bathroom properly after seeing me demonstrate a few times.

This wasn’t just an animal acting on instinct. The Bigfoot was thinking, reasoning, learning from experience. It made me wonder what other abilities it might have that I hadn’t discovered yet.

The biggest challenge during these years was keeping the Bigfoot hidden from the outside world. I stopped having visitors entirely, made excuses when people wanted to stop by. Delivery drivers left packages on the porch without knocking. I did all my shopping at odd hours, couldn’t risk someone seeing massive amounts of food in my cart. I closed all the curtains in every room during daylight hours and warned the Bigfoot to stay away from windows.

Chapter 7: The Years Pass

Year two brought new challenges and deeper connections. The Bigfoot was now well over six feet tall and growing taller every month. It had to duck low to get through doorways. The strength of this Bigfoot was incredible and sometimes frightening to witness. It could lift the entire couch with just one hand, move the massive firewood pile that had taken me days to stack in less than an hour, snap thick branches like toothpicks, and bend metal without any apparent strain.

But despite this tremendous physical strength, the Bigfoot remained remarkably gentle with me, always moving carefully, always conscious not to accidentally hurt me with a careless movement or too strong a grip. It had learned to modulate its strength, picking up eggs without breaking them and turning doorknobs without ripping them off.

We developed comfortable routines. Every morning, the Bigfoot would come upstairs around 7:00 when it heard me moving in the kitchen. We’d have breakfast together. I’d cook eggs and toast for myself while the Bigfoot ate massive amounts of fruit and raw vegetables.

Going outside was risky, but absolutely necessary. The Bigfoot needed space to move and exercise. I’d take it out late at night, usually around two or three in the morning. We’d walk the property line in darkness, me stumbling along with a small flashlight while the Bigfoot moved with perfect confidence. It would run and climb trees with incredible agility, moving through the forest like it was part of the forest itself.

Chapter 8: The Cost of Secrecy

By the third year, I’d fallen into a rhythm that felt sustainable if isolating. Friends stopped calling. Family visits became rare and awkward. I told everyone I was dealing with health issues and needed privacy. It wasn’t entirely a lie. The stress of keeping this secret was wearing me down.

The Bigfoot seemed to sense my stress. It would sit with me during these episodes, making soft cooing sounds, gently touching my shoulder or resting its massive hand on my head. There was a kindness to this Bigfoot that defied explanation. I’d saved its life, yes, but the Bigfoot seemed to understand that I needed saving too.

The Bigfoot continued growing, now standing close to seven feet tall. I had to buy the biggest clothes I could find just to cover it when we went outside at night. Oversized sweatpants and hoodies became the solution, though they looked ridiculous stretched over the Bigfoot’s massive frame. Food costs skyrocketed. The Bigfoot ate constantly, consuming twenty or thirty pounds of fruits and vegetables a day. I grew what I could in a large garden behind the house, and the Bigfoot helped with planting and harvesting.

Time passed in a blur of routine. The Bigfoot reached full size somewhere during year four, standing close to eight feet tall and weighing perhaps five or six hundred pounds. As its features matured, the face looked older, wiser somehow. The fur developed a silvery tint around the muzzle and temples. The Bigfoot moved with confidence now, no longer the frightened infant I’d found dying in my yard.

Chapter 9: The Decline

By year six, I’d started having health problems—fatigue and occasional chest pain. I ignored it, too focused on caring for the Bigfoot to worry about myself. The Bigfoot noticed, though. It would watch me with concern when I moved slowly or held my chest. It started doing more around the house, bringing firewood inside without being asked, carrying heavy items, even attempting to cook by copying what it had seen me do.

The chest pains got progressively worse during year seven, and I finally couldn’t ignore them anymore. I drove myself to a doctor in the next town over. The news was about as bad as I’d feared—serious heart problems, likely hereditary, made significantly worse by years of chronic stress and anxiety.

The doctor prescribed expensive medication and told me to reduce stress immediately. I almost laughed at the absurdity. How could I possibly reduce stress while hiding an eight-foot Bigfoot in my basement? But I took the medication and tried to relax more, letting the Bigfoot take on even more tasks.

At night, the Bigfoot would sleep at the foot of my bed instead of in the basement, lying on the floor like a massive guardian. I’d wake up sometimes in the dark and see its eyes reflecting moonlight, always watching, always alert. When I sat down to rest, the Bigfoot would bring me water or fruit, checking to make sure I was comfortable.

Chapter 10: Preparing for Goodbye

My health continued declining through year eight. The medication helped but couldn’t stop the progression. I was tired all the time, and the Bigfoot took over most of the physical work. I started making plans for what would happen after my death. I wrote out detailed instructions about the Bigfoot’s care and feeding in a notebook, set aside money in a special account, and tried my best to prepare the Bigfoot emotionally for being alone again.

I’d leave it in the basement for longer and longer periods, trying to encourage independence. I’d go outside for walks without it, forcing it to spend time alone in the house. But the Bigfoot would wait by the door for my return, clearly distressed by these separations.

I started talking to it about leaving. I’d sit the Bigfoot down and explain in simple terms that I wouldn’t be here forever, that it needed to be ready to live alone again. The Bigfoot would make distressed sounds and shake its head, not wanting to understand. But I persisted, because I had to.

Chapter 11: The Last Gift

One morning, I woke up to find the Bigfoot sitting at the foot of my bed, holding something carefully in its massive hands. It was a small carved piece of wood, roughly shaped like a heart with smooth edges. The Bigfoot must have made it using sharp rocks out in the forest, spending many hours carefully crafting this simple but meaningful gift.

The Bigfoot placed it gently in my hand and made the soft cooing sound it had made as an infant when we first bonded. I cried then, understanding that this was its way of saying goodbye and thank you at the same time.

Chapter 12: The Farewell

I made it to year ten, though barely. Most days, I couldn’t get out of bed. The Bigfoot handled everything, bringing food, keeping the house running in its own way. Spring arrived, and with it a strange restlessness in the Bigfoot. It would stand at the windows, staring out at the forest, making sounds I’d never heard before—long, mournful calls that echoed through the house. I realized it was calling to others of its kind, looking for family.

On a warm April morning, I made a decision. I called the Bigfoot to my bedside and explained that it was time to go. Time to return to the wild, to find its own kind. The Bigfoot resisted, shaking its head, making distressed sounds. But I persisted. I told it that I’d be okay, that it had given me ten wonderful years, that I wanted it to have a real life.

That night, we sat together one last time. I ran my hands through its thick fur, feeling the warmth of its skin. The Bigfoot held my hand gently, careful not to hurt me. We stayed like that for hours, neither wanting the moment to end. When dawn broke, the Bigfoot stood and walked to the door. It turned back once, meeting my eyes, and disappeared into the forest.

Chapter 13: Saved in Return

The days after the Bigfoot left were the loneliest of my life. The house felt empty without it. My health continued deteriorating. I could barely move without help. I arranged for a home health aide to come three times a week, though I sent them away more often than not.

Three weeks after the Bigfoot left, I had a massive heart attack. I was alone in the house when it happened, lying in bed around three in the afternoon when the pain struck. I couldn’t reach the phone. I remember thinking this was it—this was how I died, alone in an empty house with no one to hear me scream.

I don’t know how long I was unconscious. When awareness started creeping back, the first thing I noticed was that the pain was still there. But something was different now. I wasn’t alone anymore. I could hear sounds—heavy breathing close to my face, movement in the room, the floor creaking under massive weight.

I forced my eyes open and saw a massive dark shape leaning over me, blocking out the ceiling light. For a confused moment, I thought I was hallucinating. But then the shape moved and I recognized the familiar silhouette—the Bigfoot had come back.

Chapter 14: The Rescue

The Bigfoot was in my bedroom, making urgent, distressed sounds, its huge hands carefully touching my face. The Bigfoot had somehow known I was in trouble. From wherever it had been in the forest, it had sensed or known that I was dying—and had come back to help me, risking exposure and capture to save my life the way I’d once saved its.

I tried to speak, but couldn’t form words. The Bigfoot seemed to understand. It disappeared from the room, and I heard crashing sounds from the kitchen. It returned moments later with my phone, holding it out to me like an offering. My hands were shaking too badly to dial, fingers fumbling uselessly at the screen.

The Bigfoot watched my attempts with growing agitation, then took the phone back and started pressing buttons. After several attempts, I heard a voice: “911, what’s your emergency?” The Bigfoot had somehow managed to call for help. I managed to gasp out my address and the words “heart attack” before dropping the phone.

The Bigfoot picked up the phone and held it close to my face so I could hear the dispatcher saying help was on the way. Then the Bigfoot did something even more remarkable. It carefully lifted me in its arms and carried me to the front door, laying me gently on the porch where I’d be visible from the road.

I could hear sirens in the distance. The Bigfoot heard them too and made an anguished sound. The Bigfoot knew it needed to leave before the ambulance arrived, but also didn’t want to abandon me. I forced out one word: “Go.” The Bigfoot leaned down and pressed its forehead against mine for just a moment. Then it ran, disappearing into the trees just as the ambulance came around the bend in the driveway.

Chapter 15: The Secret Kept

The paramedics never saw it. They found me on the porch and assumed I’d somehow gotten there myself. I spent two weeks in the hospital recovering. The doctors called it a miracle that I’d gotten help so quickly. I didn’t correct them or try to explain what had really happened.

When I finally came home, the house felt different. Sometimes at night, I’d hear sounds outside—footsteps too heavy to be human, branches breaking, the familiar calls the Bigfoot used to make. I’d look out the window and catch glimpses of a massive shadow moving through the trees. The Bigfoot never came inside again, but every morning I’d find things on my porch—fresh-picked berries in summer, firewood in fall, once a deer carcass professionally butchered. The Bigfoot was still caring for me, just from a distance.

Chapter 16: The Next Generation

One year after the heart attack, the regular gifts on my porch stopped appearing. The sounds in the forest at night went quiet. For weeks, I saw no sign of the Bigfoot. I worried constantly that something terrible had happened, or maybe the Bigfoot had finally found others of its kind and moved on.

Then one morning, I woke up just after dawn to a sound on my porch. Heavy footsteps and silence. I opened the front door carefully. A small Bigfoot infant, maybe a year old, was wrapped carefully in soft leaves and moss. The infant was sleeping peacefully. Next to the infant was the carved wooden heart I’d given the adult Bigfoot years ago. A message carved in wood—a request that words couldn’t convey.

I looked out at the forest, knowing the Bigfoot was watching. I picked up the infant carefully, feeling the warmth of its small body. The infant made a soft cooing sound, the same sound its parent had made all those years ago. I carried the infant inside, already mentally preparing a space in the spare room, already planning how to keep this new secret safe.

As I settled the infant on a pile of blankets, I heard a sound from outside—a long, mournful call that echoed through the trees. The Bigfoot saying goodbye, or thank you, or maybe just expressing the complicated emotions that came with giving up a child. I went to the window and saw a massive dark shape standing at the edge of the forest. The Bigfoot raised one hand in what might have been a wave. Then it turned and disappeared into the wilderness.

Chapter 17: The Legacy

It’s been three months since the infant arrived. The infant is healthy and growing fast, just like its parent did. I’m feeding it fruits and vegetables, keeping it warm and safe, teaching it to trust me. The cycle has started again.

Sometimes at night, I hear sounds in the forest—the adult Bigfoot checking on its infant, making sure everything is okay. I leave the curtains open so the Bigfoot can see inside if it wants. It can see that the infant is safe and cared for.

I don’t know how long I have left or what will happen when I’m gone, but for now, I’m exactly where I need to be. People ask me sometimes why I live alone so far from town. Why I never remarried after my husband died years ago. Why I’m content with such an isolated life. I can’t tell them the truth. Can’t explain that I’m not really alone. That I have family out there in the forest—a Bigfoot I raised from an infant, and now its child.

Chapter 18: The Bond Endures

I look at the infant sleeping peacefully and think about everything that’s happened. How I found a dying Bigfoot infant in my backyard ten years ago. How I raised that Bigfoot despite the risks and sacrifices. How that same Bigfoot came back to save my life when I needed it most. And now how I’m being given the chance to do it all again with the next generation.

Some people spend their whole lives searching for meaning or purpose. I found mine in the most unexpected way possible—by showing kindness to a creature that wasn’t supposed to exist, by opening my heart to something the world said was just a myth. And by learning that love and loyalty aren’t limited to humans. That family can take many forms.

The infant stirs in its sleep and makes a small sound. I go to check on it, adjusting the blankets, making sure it’s comfortable. The infant opens its eyes and looks at me with that same intelligent gaze its parent had—trust and curiosity mixed together. I smile and touch the infant’s face gently. This is my life now, my secret, my gift, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about it.

Outside my window, the forest is dark and quiet. But I know the adult Bigfoot is out there somewhere, living its life, maybe watching over us both. The Bigfoot that I saved and that saved me in return. The Bigfoot that trusted me enough to share its child. That trust is the most precious thing I’ve ever been given, more valuable than any wealth or fame, more meaningful than any conventional success.

Epilogue: The Heart Remains

I settle into my chair with a cup of tea and watch the infant sleep. Tomorrow I’ll start teaching it the same things I taught its parent—how to be safe in a world that wouldn’t understand, how to hide and survive, how to trust but also be cautious. All the lessons learned over ten years of raising a Bigfoot.

And someday, when I’m gone and my time on this earth has ended, this infant Bigfoot will grow up and remember me. Maybe it will have its own infant someday, and the cycle will continue into another generation. Maybe somewhere down the line there will be a whole family of Bigfoot that know humans aren’t always enemies to be feared. That some of us can be trusted and relied upon. That love and kindness can bridge any divide between species.

That would be a legacy worth leaving behind—better than money or property or any material possessions. The knowledge that I made a real difference in the world. That I saved lives and formed connections that will echo through generations of Bigfoot yet to come. That I proved kindness matters and compassion is never wasted, even when no one else will ever know about it.

The infant makes that familiar cooing sound again, pulling me from my thoughts. I walk over slowly, my steps careful, and pick up the small Bigfoot gently. I hold it against my chest, feeling the warmth of its body and the steady beating of its heart. It’s warm and solid and undeniably real—living proof that the last ten years actually happened. Proof that sometimes the impossible is just the truth, waiting to be discovered by someone brave enough or foolish enough to look for it.

I carry the infant to the window and look out at the dark forest. Somewhere out there is a Bigfoot that knows what I’m doing right now. That understands I’m keeping its child safe. That trusts me completely despite every instinct telling it to stay away from humans. That trust is sacred. It’s a responsibility I take seriously, and it’s the reason I’ll protect this secret for as long as I live.

The moon is rising over the trees, casting silver light across the yard. It’s beautiful and peaceful and perfect. This is my world now—a world where Bigfoot are real, and relationships can transcend species. A world where a dying woman can be saved by the creature she rescued years ago. A world where love and loyalty still matter more than anything else.

This is my story. The true account of how I saved a Bigfoot infant and raised it for ten years. How that Bigfoot returned to save my life when I was dying. And how I was given the incredible gift of caring for the next generation. It’s not a story I can tell to most people, but it’s my story nonetheless—my truth, my life, and I’m grateful for every moment of it.