1 January

Animal Rights, Human Judgement: Orson, Shamu And The Central Park Horses

by Jon Katz

Orson, Shamu And The Central Park Horses

The welfare of animals was on my mind today. I saw that PETA demonstrators were on the march in California protesting the presence of a Sea World float in the Rose Bowl Parade, they are unhappy with the capture and confinement of these spectacular animals in giant bathtubs for corporate profit and the amusement of tourists. I was also contacted by an animal rights group in New York asking me to sign a petition to ban the Central Park horse carriages in New York City. It seems a number of organizations  and the ASPCA in New York City are close to succeeding in their long campaign to get the horses out of Central Park for good,  the city’s new mayor supports a complete ban.

For reasons that are unclear, I got a barrage of messages this morning condemning me for euthanizing my border collie Orson (subject of the book “A Good Dog”) nearly a decade ago after he bit three people, including a small child. “I will never forgive you for Orson,” wrote one person while reviewing my new book “Second Chance Dog,” online.

I get these messages pretty regularly, there are still active websites devoted to Orson and my killing of him, it is always fascinating to me to see how many people believe they loved him more than I did. But I was not expecting a burst on New Year’s Day.

Animal rights are an emotional and bitterly divisive subject in America, I must be honest and say most animal politicians are about as persuasive and appealing to me as politicians in general. Still, the question of what is best for animais is a murky and often irrational potpourri of issues and positions, each one different from the other. Like Washington politics, there is very rarely a coherent discussion about perspective, just a rigid statement of absolute truth.

I agree with the PETA people, it seems inhumane to me to confine these spectacularly wild creatures in giant bathtubs for the pleasure of tourists to gawk at and completely misunderstand. Like many people involved with animals,  Sea World has emotionalized the Orcas, their cute fuzzy Orca dolls a chilling backdrop to several horrific and fatal attacks on trainers. Animals are not like us, they are not fur babies, not dogs or surely not killer whales.  I don’t know the biology of killer whales – whether they could adapt in their natural environments or can no longer function outside of their parks – but the use of these animals for marketing profit and temporal amusement is disturbing to me. If we’re into bans, I’d go for one banning their capture for profit.

Yet so many of these issues are not simple or clear, despite the many people who think they are. People who oppose the confinement of killer whales enthusiastically support no-kill refuges and shelters where dogs and cats are confined in crates and small areas for years, even their whole lives. Why is it cruel to confine an Orca (I believe it is) for life, but not a dog? I am also puzzled by the notion that the Central Park Horses – their work lives are intensely regulated and scrutinized – would be  better off being banned from Central Park where they are much admired and very popular.

I love seeing them there, so do many other people, many of whom would never otherwise even see a horse. Do people really believe these animals will be retired to comfortable live improved lives on sylvan farms? They most likely would be killed immediately, slaughtered for dog food the minute they can no longer fulfill a useful or profitable purpose.

Horses and donkeys have been puling human beings in carts for thousands of years, the vast majority under much more brutal and primitive conditions than the Central Park Horses, slated to be replaced by electric “vintage” carts. I don’t recall reading that the horses who settled the West, supported Native Americans for thousands of years, or were used on farms and for hauling goods,  were required to stop working when the temperature went above 80 degrees or got too chilly.

It seems to me we need more animals among us, not less, that is my idea of animal rights:  let’s find all of the good work we can for them and give them a role in modern life. Animals like horses – dogs, too – need to work more among humans, not less, it helps us to know and understand them, it helps perpetuate their existence. All over the world animals are being banned from our lives, they are vanishing to the detriment of all of us, there will be little rationale for preserving their existence. The Central Park horses are popular, people love to see them.

We cannot give any of these animals perfect no-kill lives – not Orson, not Shamu, not the Central Park Horses. People who mistreat Central Park Horses are subject to fines and other punishments, they are much more protected than family pets, many of whom die from behavioral problems, overfeeding and poor training. Why not ban dogs and cats because some of them are mistreated?

Sometimes these movements seem so reflexive and unthinking that I lose track of the real rationale behind them. My donkey Simon would love to pull children around Central Park in a cart, and he would be great at it. He loves to work, and I’d love for him to have work in my town so other people could see him and get to know him.

As for poor Orson, I  hope I will not ever forget the sight of blood gushing from the neck of the young boy Orson bit as he was walking innocently to the school bus stop. I did not give up on Orson, I affirmed my value for human life and perspective, I know what it is like to be scarred for life at childhood by an attack like that. I spent too many thousands of dollars trying to fix Orson rather than see how damaged he was and how dangerous he had become. I do regret that. Euthanizing Orson is a decision I have never doubted, it was the birth of my responsible and ethical self, it was one of the best decisions I ever made.

So I guess the lesson is that animal rights are personal, there is nothing like a consensus about them, no rational process for defining them, no clear sense of what is right. I  hope the Central Park horses keep their jobs. I hope the Orcas lose theirs. In our culture, victory often goes to the ones who shout the loudest and post the greatest number of tweets. While we march and post our messages on Facebook, it is the animals who are in the middle, their lives hanging in the balance. Are we worthy of deciding their fates?

1 January

George And Donna, A Love Story

by Jon Katz
Love Story
Love Story

You probably won’t see Hollywood making a movie about George Forss and Donna Wynbrandt, which is a shame, it has every powerful element a classic love story could have. George met Donna decades ago in New York City, where he was peddling his photographs on Manhattan street corners and ducking the police, who routinely hauled him into court. Donna was a street person who loved the life of the homeless, you just have to be able to run fast, she said. When it got cold, she would get on a bus and go somewhere where it was warm.

The two of them made a creative connection immediately, she became the subject of many of his photographs, they completely got one another and supported one another, from then to now. Sometimes Donna would disappear for long stretches of time, George would track her down and bring her home. When George moved upstate Donna followed, she stabilized her life her life in time, the two are inseparable. Donna lives in her own apartment, George takes care of his brother Micky in his apartment above his gallery.

The two have a passion for encouragement, George supports Donna’s work as an an outside artist, she adores him and his photography. I take a portrait of them every now and then, their connection is always so clearly. I visited them in Donna’s apartment this afternoon – you have to take your shoes off in the hallway, they are spending the New Year’s holiday together. Donna  takes care of George when he is sick or in the hospital, George cares for her whenever she needs him. They are utterly trusting of one another and committed to each other.  A nice choice for my first portrait of 2014.

1 January

Poem: I Can No Longer Walk On These Icy Paths

by Jon Katz
I Can No Longer Walk On These Icy Winter Paths
I Can No Longer Walk On These Icy Winter Paths

This winter, I will be honest with you,

and tell you that I can no longer walk on the icy winter paths,

one of my favorite things in the world.

My knees confided in me

that the paths were too slick, my ankles

whispered to me gently it was too deep,

my back warned me not to fall again.

I can no longer walk on my icy winter paths,

I am letting you know,

bravery is sometimes what you can’t do,

as well as what you can.

But I can take a photograph of my wife on the path,

and I can look at it and my heart fills with joy.

She has the most admirable knees,

they are determined and quick,

the winter path is a part of her soul,

as it always was for me, and for my dog.

who loves the winter pasture,

she dances and swims in it,

they so love to walk together.

It is after all, a gift sometimes,

to be young, a sorrow to be getting older.

My wife sits up in the deer stands sometimes,

my dog waiting below for her to come down,

as working dogs do.

They criss-cross on their secret paths,

which they know so well.

When I faced the truth about my icy winter paths,

on which I walked so far, for so long,

in the wondrous beauty and peace of the winter words,

I went out to the winter woods alone, I explained myself to the paths,

not personal, I said, I would rather be here than on Facebook.

I cried a bit, it took me a long time to see it,

but how lucky, I thought, that my wife

and dog will find such  happiness and peace on these paths,

in the winter woods, they walk together there almost every day,

drinking up the quiet joy,

and I am just as happy for them,

as I was for me,

well almost, I walk down to the gate

that leads to the woods,

and I wave goodbye,

and fuss over them,

and remind them to be careful,

which they don’t really need to be,

the woods are not dangerous but

enchanting and healing.

Do they know my heart is breaking,

just a bit, as they stride off, never looking back?

It seems just like yesterday,

that I could walk on my paths,

and they still care about me, whispering through

the pines and icy streams,

“we will see you in the Spring,

we will be here, and so will you.”

And I will, pride goeth before a fall,

and I know pride and falls,

so well.

The paths are so much bigger than me,

and my brave and loyal ankles and knees.

I am so excited about Spring.

I am not old, I am beginning to be old,

I am grateful for the gift of acceptance,

I can close my eyes and hear

the crunch of my boots on the snow,

the water trickling softly through the streams,

the sound of my heart beating as I climb

uphill, the beautiful and timeless

silence of the winter forest.

I can walk on these icy paths,

every day, on the path of my imagination.

 

1 January

George Forss, My Inspirational Human Being Of The Year

by Jon Katz
George Forss
George Forss

Life is a series of choices, my choice this week was to pay attention to Phil Robertson’s views on women, blacks and gays or to pay attention to the life, thoughts and brilliant work of George Forss, my friend and photographer. Both men are free to do what they want, millions of people are riveted to the cultural dynamics of the “Duck Dynasty,”  I am proud to be focused on the courage and genius of George Forss, I understand few people are paying a lot of attention to him. That’s the way celebrity,  media and recognition work in America. You can great magnificent work for most of your life and be forgotten, you can say some stupid and offensive things and become a very wealthy household word.

George is a big figure in my life, and I try to recognize him every day. I have come to love and admire him, he embraces the creative life in all of its many forms, has sacrificed so much for it, worked so hard at it, and has remained unfailingly generous, loving and hopeful. This morning we wished one another a Happy New Year and I asked George his New Year’s resolution was, he said he was going to announce it on his blog later this week (George says it takes him three or four days to process messages from the universe). So far, it is this: he is expecting a wealthy person to arrange for a publisher to publish all of his writings. He’s not sure exactly how that will work, but that’s the message he was receiving from the universe (a/k/a alien spirits) this morning.

George never gives up, he has taken enough blows in life to stop an armored tank, but not him.

George has taken countless thousands of wonderful photographs, gained worldwide recognition, written five or six books (he prints them as e-mail messages now and offers them for free), run an art gallery whose motto is “Art Saves Lives,” created the George Forss Theater Of The Arts in his gallery, takes care of his step-brother Mickey, is a loyal and loving partner to the artist Donna Wynbrandt and a good friend to many more. While much of the nation is still whining about their UPS packages, George has never complained about his challenging and difficult life, he just keeps creating.

George has overcome being taken from his mother by the authorities in New York and placed in an orphanage, agoraphobia, life as a street peddler harassed by the police, a father jailed for bank robbery, and severe mental illness in his family. His great ascent and career  in the photographic world, his landscapes of New York, was sidelined after the destruction of the World Trade Center, a centerpiece in many his fabulous urban landscapes. The beneficiary of a small inheritance, he moved to upstate New York, where a friend introduced us.

This year, George faced congestive heart failure that nearly killed him, a broken ankle and a long struggle to figure out what will become of the great and universally acclaimed works he produced. He is undeterred and ferociously productive. His works are the greatest creative bargain I can imagine.

George had a good Christmas dinner at the Methodist Church in Cambridge, an annual tradition for him, and will celebrate New Year’s with his beloved Donna, somebody sent them some Omaha Steaks, they are, he said, “dining in.” I might go and take their portrait, a neat way to mark the New Year.

George and I are doing a joint photo show together at the Round House Cafe in February or March, he inspires me every day to keep doing my work, to never speak poorly of my life, to accept change, to create and create and create in every possible and meaningful way. And to be a decent and ethical human being. In a sane world, 10 million people would check into George’s blog every day to see the great things he is creating, his unique perspective on the universe. That is not the way our world works. Those 10 million people will be watching Phil Robertson.

Both men are free spirits entitled to present their differing views of the world, one reminds me to be grateful for the other. George Forss is my inspirational human of the year.

(The photograph above was from one of George’s very inexpensive bookmarks (for sale on George’s blog or at Battenkill Books) for a few dollars), it is of  George’s famous shots of the Empire State Building, Maria put it in a small frame we have, it is hanging in the living room.) Happy New Year, George.

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