18 December

Animal Rescue. Through Our Prisms

by m2admin
Moral Compass: Animal Rescue

I was brushing Simon out in front of the barn. He was drooling mushed up apple – Simon is missing some teeth so he crushes food, and I told him that I had been asked about him by a vet and I started to say that he was a rescue donkey, and the vet, a good friend and a plain-spoken doctor, told me he hated the word “rescue” and had asked everyone at his practice not to use it.

Why? I said. “Because animals aren’t “rescue”animals or “regular” animals, they are just animals,” he said, ” and in need of the same care. I don’t see animals as rescued or abused, it turns them into something I don’t especially relate to and helps people to think of them as babies, children. If one more person tells me what their dog is thinking, I will retire.” Amen to that, I thought.

I like this vet a lot, and I told him that it was funny he said that, because except for occasional lapses, I had stopped using the term “rescue” in my speech and in my writing. Helping animals is a wonderful thing to do. But that doesn’t mean I need to paint it on my forehead, or feel superior to anyone else.  I suppose I had been trying to impress him.

Simon butted me in the stomach a bit with his nose, reminding me to hold out the rest of the apple, so he could get a grip on it with his remaining teeth. Meg the hen hopped up onto his back, and she seemed eager to her my views on “rescue.” The vet asked me why I stopped using the word. He was surprised, I think. The barn cats  think little of my intelligence, and skittered shamelessly to their food bowls, hoping to trick me into feeding them.

“Simon,” I said, ” I told my friend that I thought I was using the term to make me feel better, and I have come to be uncomfortable with the term, as I am with the term “abused.”

Many researchers, I told Simon,  have found the occurrence of animal abuse to be far less than the public perception of it, the latter  swelled perhaps by the very many dog owners who describe their dogs both as “rescues” and as “abused.” This always makes me pause, since every other dog I meet seems to have been abused (every other one rescued), and dogs do not talk. And I wonder why so many people are abusing dogs when so many others are spending about $50 billion dollars on them every year in what the media tells us hourly are catastrophic times, and you never ever meet a dog a described as “incredibly well treated, anthropomorphisized and spoiled.”

I was warming up to the story, listening to the amazing symphonic sounds of Simon crunching his food. It is wonderful to tell stories to animals, since they can’t browse somewhere else or grab the switcher.  “I remember telling someone else I had a “rescue donkey,” Simon,”and then I later wondered why I described you that way, since you are anything but pitiable now.” I told Simon I remembered thinking that this term would make me seem noble and selfless in some way, rather than a run of the mill heartless slob who had gone out to buy an ordinary dog or cat.  I swear Simon snickered a bit at this, although it wasn’t clear if he was laughing with me or clearing his snout of apple.

“Simon,” I asked. “Are you a rescue donkey?” Simon, like the abused dogs,  does not talk, but I do not see him as a rescued or mistreated creature. He is simply Simon, looking for good, treats and some attention. And very willing to snuggle and pose for them.  He does not experience anger, remorse or pity. He has no struggle stories to tell.

I told Simon that I worry about the emotionalizing of animals, and the transformation of them into sad  creatures in need of rescue and human salvation.  I told him I would rather euthanize my dogs that see them spend the rest of their lives in crates in animal shelters under the rubric of rescue.

And I reminded  Simon that when I started dealing with him, or training Izzy or Frieda, I never thought of any of them as rescued creatures that I had saved. They were animals who had to learn to live a new way. Simon had to wear a halter, and not take my hand off when I gave him a carrot,  Izzy had to eliminate outside, and Frieda had to stop chasing trucks, no matter how wrenching their stories. So, Simon, I said, I agree with my vet friend and I will eliminate “rescue” from my animal vocabulary and my way of thinking about the animals on the farm,  in much the same way I have struck gotten rid of “in this economy” and “spiritual journey.” And good riddance to both of them.

And  then I leaned over and kissed Simon on the nose. “Simon,” I said.”I don’t need you to be Rescued Simon, and neither do you.  You are just Simon.”

And I wiped the apple-flavored drool off of my fleece jacket.

 

18 December

Hen Of Entitlement: Meg In The Feeder

by m2admin
Inquisitive Hen: Meg In The Hay Feeder

 

Meg is a pistol. She follows us everywhere, and pops up everywhere. She comes into the hay barn, she follows us to the feeder, she hops on the donkeys’ back, and she hops into the feeder. She is the Hen Of Entitlement. I talked to her, and said, “Meg, chickens that are too inquisitive usually don’t live that long, as something gets them.” She pecked at my foot.

18 December

The Goddess Potholders. A Secret

by m2admin
The Goddess Potholders. Loving All Crusts

My former girlfriend has been holed up in the Studio Barn working on a “secret” project for January of 2012. She has evolved quite a bit with her fiberart business. I think she’s been reading Steve Jobs biography. She holes up in seclusion, guarding her secrets but she couldn’t quite contain herself today, bringing me two of her new “Goddess” Potholders, not yet for sale, and cautioning me to keep them a secret. She loves her secrets. Fat chance, honey. I’ll scoop you again.

I was knocked out by the first one, the “Goddess Of Pies,” who “loves all crusts.” Maria says any piemaker would get it instantly. I am not a piemaker,and I got it. I love it. Details on Maria’s site. She will be ticked to find she has been scooped again. Heh. Be careful about marrying an ex-journalist.

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