Friday, September 14, 2012

Wild Thing

As I rushed off to Pilates class the other day, a glance toward our basement window stopped me in my tracks.

There, on the INSIDE of the glass, sat a sparrow looking out.

My first thought was a Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson article, “Do Animals Get Depressed?” He contends that only captive and domesticated animals experience depression—not wild animals. Well, if he saw this tiny bird, I’m sure he’d change his mind. I see a LOT of sparrows around here yet have never seen any look like this one—forlorn, hopeless, still.

My second thought was to help the poor little guy.

I ran back into the apartment to tell my husband, who promptly (and without my feeble assistance) ushered the bird’s return to the outdoors.

Crisis averted and wild life restored. It doesn’t get better than that.

[Artist unknown.]

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

A Mood Pick-Me-Up

While trying to figure out a way to access a Webinar I registered for on humane education (the company doesn’t support Apple products, and Apple doesn’t support the workarounds), I came across this photo. Jack Moskovita waited more than four hours to get this shot of a Golden Rufous’s brief stay in Washington. My frustration with technology quickly dissipated.

I Read the News Today, Oh Boy…


Considering this morning’s headlines, like so many other mornings, I believe Bear (and his creator, Ms. Diana Sudyka) is on to something:



Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Remembering


Imagine there’s no countries
It isn’t hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...

 

You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will be as one


 

—Excerpt from “Imagine” by John Lennon

Sunday, September 9, 2012

I Started A Joke, Which Started …

Yeah, it started in a New York City bar with a prank that involved a live chicken. The prank was thoughtfully strategized, a chicken was procured, and all went well—for both the prankster and the victims. But then came the part of the plan for which no one had a plan: What should be done with the chicken?

I don’t know how many subhumans knocked their skulls together to come up with the idea, but somehow they decided to place the chicken in a garbage bag and put it into the trash bin behind the bar.

That’s the point when our hero, Sean, entered the frame. What would you do if you noticed that a bag being added to some trash was MOVING?

Sean took action immediately—and by himself. No calls to Animal Control, no waiting until the prankster ducked inside. Nosirree. Sean asked what was moving inside the bag and the man told him the story above. The man said he didn’t know what else to do. [When did thinking become so monumentally difficult for our species?]

Sean wasn’t sure what to do, either, but he knew leaving a live chicken in a trash bag was NOT an option. He also knew the two cats back home in his apartment—not to mention his landlord—probably wouldn’t appreciate a new feathered companion.

So Sean called Catskill Animal Sanctuary (CAS), and they agreed to provide a new home for Roxbury the chicken.


“The fate of animals is of greater importance to me than the fear of appearing ridiculous; it is indissolubly connected with the fate of men.”
—Émile Zola

But wait! The story gets better: Sean took his rescue one step further by signing on as Roxbury’s sponsor at CAS, and Sean’s girlfriend, Marlene—after holding Roxbury and seeing her as something more than dinner—vowed to never eat chicken again. Two people who weren’t actively engaged in animal welfare suddenly changed their lives and their perspectives because of an ill-conceived joke.

It’s National Chicken Month again, dear readers. This year, let’s celebrate by giving a hand to Sean—a fellow who, through happenstance and compassion, made a big difference in one little chicken’s world.

[Pic of Roxbury from Catskill Animal Sanctuary.]

Friday, September 7, 2012

Homage to a Dinosaur

Surprise! I’m not talking about animals today. Instead, I’m highlighting a communication tool from yesteryear.

My mother and I were chatting on the phone the other day and she mentioned meeting the former typing teacher from my high school. I never knew the woman for I had not taken any typing classes. In fact, I distinctly remember staying as far away from that classroom as I could.

I did not type, much to my father’s chagrin (after all, he owned a typewriter repair business, as did his father before him). He made many attempts over the years to stoke my interest in becoming a typist—thinking, I suppose, it would assure me an income as an adult. The only keyboard I had an affinity for was the kind that produced music. I had great penmanship: Why would I need to learn how to type?

Truth be told, the sound of typewriters unsettled me back then. But the aesthetics of the machines have never lost their appeal to me.

Imagine my delight when a Lull reader sent me an example of a typewriter as music—the unusual and agreeable blend of machine clickety-clacking with symphony orchestra. Here, for your pleasure, is a concerto by Leroy Anderson, performed by Alasdair Malloy:



[Thanks to the Lull reader who sent the video.]

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Bird Shenanigans

 This is just what I often see/hear at our bird feeders:


[I don’t know who originated this captioned pic. Do you?]

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

“It Has All Been Mush of a Mushness”

I toiled over a new recipe for baked Portobello mushrooms the other night, planned the entire dinner line-up around the special dish. But after one bite of the syrupy darkness it became on my plate, Katherine Mansfield’s journal entry bubbled to mind: “It Has All Been Mush of a Mushness.”

Well, maybe not all. Though the mushrooms were a soggy, inedible mess, I did enjoy the preparation of them—the cleaning and chopping and mixing, the fragrance of fresh herbs. I’ve come to the conclusion (again!) that everything is about the journey.

Whatever we do may end up a mush of a mushness, but more important is how we get there—and our mindfulness along the way.


[Art from McCall’s Magazine, via Vintage Gaze.]

Monday, September 3, 2012

Calling Out Animal Cruelty: Is It Interference or Intervention?

Over coffee this summer, a friend expressed her anger at some nameless person who accused her neighbor of animal cruelty. Animal-control officials visited this neighbor and told her the anonymous caller had reported seeing her dog limping slowly and with great difficulty on a walk. The officials needed to determine why and to what extent the dog’s mobility was impaired.

I understood my friend’s ire on behalf of her neighbor. The truth was that the dog was ancient and suffering from arthritis. The dog’s guardian had not been able to make the necessary end-of-life decision she knew it was time for. Yes, the dog was in pain—which the woman and her vet were trying to manage—but the cause was not what the anonymous caller had imagined.

I told my friend what I’d heard the previous month at a public forum regarding the Kentucky Livestock Care Standards Commission. A spokesperson for the Kentucky Horse Council derided every concerned citizen who had ever lodged complaints against horse businesses. She said outsiders were uninformed about equine care and they reported things like deep spring mud and summer fly masks as neglect and cruelty, respectively. In the context of the forum, she was drawing a line between farms/the equine industry and animal welfare advocates. Like my friend’s neighbor, this representative for horses (well, really for the horse industry) viewed outsiders as annoyances—meddlers who stirred up trouble where there wasn’t any.

I can sympathize with both women. It’s frustrating and hurtful to be accused of something you didn’t do. It’s time-consuming to deal with such issues and to set the record straight.

But I think about a comment I read last year on the Web. The commenter described a dog tied up in an Alabama backyard—a dog who had no shelter, no exercise, no freedom of movement, no food, and no water. The writer meant to vilify the dog’s “guardian” for neglect, but in the end, readers learned that the writer witnessed this scene for an entire YEAR on his/her way to work and not once reported it to authorities. The dog starved to death, its body left in the backyard to decompose.

Now I’d like to ask Ms. Kentucky Horse Council Spokesperson: Is it better that citizens say nothing about what they see?

Sometimes … no, actually too frequently citizens report neglect or cruelty only to find that authorities do nothing. Cricket (who is pictured on the right of the photo with her new friends, one of whom is wearing a fly mask, at Catskill Animal Sanctuary; her rescue last year was reported on Lull) was once chained to a tree—with no accessible food or water in sight—on the farm she shared with other ill-cared-for animals. Passersby noticed first, then animal-rescue folks got involved, and though all these caring people jumped through every legal hoop required, the authorities took ONE YEAR before acting on the complaints. Turns out Cricket’s “guardian” was the very same hoarder who had surrendered animals to Catskill Animal Sanctuary 10 years earlier! New farm, new critters, same psycho. (My apologies to hoarders for my harsh language. I realize hoarding is an illness. But I also know that without medical attention, you will not change.)

Again, Ms. Kentucky Horse Council Spokesperson: When a horse is tethered to a tree by a short chain that not only prohibits her movements but bores into her flesh, should nonhorsepeople keep their mouths shut because they know so little about horses? Should concerned citizens refrain from getting involved in case they’ve misinterpreted the situation?

I think not. Clearly, we need authorities (legislators, animal-control agencies, police, judges, lawyers) who are better informed about animal welfare, who take it seriously, and who take action when it’s required. But we also need more “meddlers” who have the courage to speak out for those who cannot. Some of their reports may be off-base (as was the case with the geriatric pooch described above, though the woman said the event nudged her into making the right decision for her dog); but others will be valid cases demanding immediate involvement. It’s possible that behind the neglected animal is also a neglected senior or child. It’s also possible that behind a neglected animal are people in dire circumstances who could use assistance themselves. Or maybe, as in the case of the Pit Bull guardian I yelled at last year, the person is simply uninformed/misinformed about the care of the animal.

Sometimes intervention IS interference. But in the long run, we can tolerate it, can’t we? Let’s let the meddlers speak* and let’s hear what they have to say. Let’s SEE what’s happening around us—notice the vulnerable amongst us and have the backbone to speak out on their behalf.

* Please, oh puhleeze check out the story of Mr. Chips at The Literary Horse, in which Mr. Chips discovers bliss and attracts the Long Arm of the Law. But choose carefully where you read this tale: Laughter is guaranteed. (In fact, I encourage you to read every Mr. Chips tale in the series.)

[Photo of 17-year-old pooch taken in Montana by Nancy LeVine and included in her book, Senior Dogs Across America.]

No Holiday for the Unemployed

It’s Labor Day 2012 and many of you are enjoying the day off. For those without jobs, however, it’s a bitter reminder of what they’ve lost or can’t have—hardly a cause for celebration.

In an effort to reach across the divide, here’s something everyone can enjoy: two generations sharing their responses to a job rejection letter. (If you’ve seen this already, pass it on to someone who could use a smile.)


Sunday, September 2, 2012

What Will You Do Today?


“Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you.”
—Annie Dillard

[Art by Guy Orlando Rose.]

Saturday, September 1, 2012

Acorn Follies

Stranger in a Strange Land – No. 25

Acorn season has begun here in the Bluegrass. Soon enough, the nuts will have fallen in such abundance to the streets and sidewalks that crushing them will be unavoidable.* Pavement will turn school-bus yellow from their innards.

Park anywhere near an oak tree and you risk damaging your vehicle. Acorns fall so frequently at such a speed that you’d swear someone is high in the oaks taking aim. Take a walk at night in my neighborhood and you risk breaking an ankle on the little buggers.

Just last week on a bicycle ride to the library—as I was gliding downhill and coming around to thinking that the long, hot trek wasn’t so bad—THWACK! Something hit the front of my prescription sunglasses, violently, and bounced away. Worried, I stopped to check the damage. I imagined having to return to Chicago for repairs or replacements, but I got off lucky. No cracks, yet the single acorn had scratched my lenses.

A serious aversion to acorns started to germinate in me at that moment. Thugs! That’s how I was beginning to see the little devils.

After taking a deep breath, though, I countered this irritation by considering the natural beauty of acorns (their color variations, their contrast in texture) and their inspiration for artists. I thought about the potential of acorns to grow into majestic oaks and how squirrels, birds, and some human populations rely on them as a food source. The little devils weren’t so bad after all. With so much to offer, how can I not appreciate and embrace such a gift from Nature?

* Assuming this year’s crop will replicate last year’s, though with the extreme weather conditions of 2012, this may not be the case.
 
[Squirrel photo by Marko Kivelä; felted acorns from lil fish studios. Check out acorn recipes on hunter angler gardener cook.]

This is part of an ongoing series regarding my transition from the Land of Lincoln to the Bluegrass State. For a list of previous articles in the series, just select Stranger in a Strange Land from the right of Lull, under “Choose a topic that interests you.”

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Drink of Choice

My husband saw this on a bumper sticker and I can relate. Can you?

No tea for me, thanks. I prefer progress.

[Art by Mary Cassatt.]

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Take A (Doggelgänger) Break

If you’ve finished all your tasks for today and are looking for something to do, why not take a peek at your canid doppelgänger—that is, your Doggelgänger.


Doggelgänger is “human to canine pairing software” that analyzes a photo of your choosing—which you upload to the site—and finds a pooch who not only looks like the person in the photo, but is available for adoption. Upload your own mug and find the perfect matching companion for your life.

[This adorable boy is available through Bad Rap.]

Monday, August 27, 2012

BOOKreMARKS: Bye, Bye Birdie

I’ve reached the final chapter of Sy Montgomery’s Birdology and I hesitate to begin it because I don’t want the book to end. Heck, I didn’t want the hummingbird chapter to end.

I’ve learned so much about birds (Montgomery writes: “A raptor’s vision is the sharpest of all living creatures.” They can spot prey across a three-square-mile area from 1,000 feet in the air.) and have delighted in the stories (Scientists studying homing pigeons at Cornell University had one bird who always made it back to Ithaca after being released elsewhere, but never returned to the coop as did the other birds in the study. Instead, locals who spotted the wayward banded bird in their yards would report it to Cornell, then send the bird back to the scientists—in a taxi! I’m guessing the first time the pigeon failed to return to the coop was an honest mistake, but thereafter he made it a point to meet some new neighbors and get chauffeured through town.)

If you’re not already schooled in bird behavior, please read Birdology. It will enrich your connection to the great outdoors.

[Falcon photo from Audubon Magazine; Frill Back Pigeon photo from the National Pigeon Association.]

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Meet Mr. Personality


Here’s another horse after my own heart:

Pictured (sitting) is Taffy, whose rider says he’s the laziest horse in the world. I prefer to think he hears a different drummer.

Watch his sweet video, “The Wonderful World of Taffy,” on YouTube.

Emotional Barometer

“Our culture places such a high value on being relentlessly cheerful, optimistic and Facebook-friendable that it’s just sort of embarrassing not to be that person. God knows, I’d love to wake up every day in a cupcakes-and-kittens state of mind, but there are mornings when I’ll settle for an emotional weather report that is partly sunny with only a 30 percent chance of rain.”
—Nikki Hardin, publisher of Skirt!

Isn’t that the truth? Whatever your state of mind is this morning, make your day count.

[Photographer unknown.]


Saturday, August 25, 2012

Groupon Wants My Feedback


Like thousands of other Americans, I have taken advantage of some of the discounts offered by Groupon. After my most recent deal, Groupon e-mailed me a “survey” about my experience—a private trail ride on horseback.

I wonder if the survey tactic is new for Groupon. They certainly didn’t ask me how I felt about the piece-of-crap keyboard I bought through them last spring. Anyway, I was happy to oblige.

The trouble was the structure of the survey. It allowed me to choose only one of two options, with no provision for comments or explanation: 1) I enjoyed ________ Stables and would recommend it to others, or 2) I did not enjoy ________ Stables and would not recommend it to others. Though this would seem to be the easiest kind of decision to make—as it would have been had I been asked about that useless keyboard—in this particular case, it was not.

The trail ride (actually, there was no trail; we just meandered through fields of wildflowers and butterflies) was fine. We were treated well and received what we were promised. For animal lovers, the place was a dream: 70 horses (including yearlings and seniors), a pony, a donkey, a variety of dogs from pug puppies to an ancient mastiff, cats, a rabbit, and a free-range pig.

However, for animal lovers, the place was also a nightmare: One dog was tethered to a tree, the cats were bony with opossum-like tails, tumors covered the large dogs, the pig’s stomach dragged the ground, and the rabbit—after surviving life at a research facility—seemed desperate to escape its small, filthy cage.

This father-daughter operation includes riding lessons, horse breeding, dog breeding, competitions—and no help. We learned that half of this business duo was out of commission, struck by cancer. The daughter, while performing caregiving duties for her father, managed the farm by herself. Times were tough and getting tougher.

So, did the daughter partner with Groupon in hopes of garnering repeat business? Or was she simply going for an influx of cash? Her farm sorely needs both scenarios, which is why I didn’t want to choose “No” on the Groupon survey.

On the other hand, how can I recommend a business where animals are not given proper vet care, many animals have to forage for their own food and water, and breeding principles are hardly recognized? Sadly, these issues probably aren’t the result of the father-daughter’s recent misfortunes. More likely they’re the result of a faulty philosophy about animal welfare. Worse, I suspect this farm isn’t an anomaly; there are hundreds, maybe thousands more like it across the country.

Had Groupon devised an e-mail survey with more options—for instance, a series of value statements that rated my experience—I might have been able to give the desired feedback. As it was, though, I chose the only other option left: I deleted it.

[Painting of horse by Gustave Caillebotte; painting of pig by Stephen Filarsky.]


Friday, August 24, 2012

The (Equine) Reading Life

Here’s a horse after my own heart:


This is Shana, whose guardian is equine coach Nicole Birkholzer. In a post on her Mindful Connections blog, Birkholzer asks whether horses are studious. Take a peek at the other horse pictured and you’ll have no trouble answering the question.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Ode to a Tree

esterday marked the demise of the last mulberry tree standing between my neighbors’ property and the expanse of now-shadeless withered grass that stretches out from our living-room windows. I can’t blame them. Who wants mulberry trees next to their driveway? Removing the tree will reduce their car-wash expenses and increase the natural light in their home.

Still, I will miss watching the sun’s shifting light on the tree’s leaves. I’ll miss the shade thrown by the tree and the songs of the birds who populated it. I’ll miss its stature, its profile against the sky.

Thoughts of this young mulberry tree evoke memories of a much larger and older one from my youth—whose smashed fruits supplied the boys’ war games with pseudo-blood, whose branches offered the most adventurous climbing.

Oh sweet mulberry trees, thank you for the time I knew you; you were loved.

[Drop cap by Jessica Hische.]

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Home, Home on the Hill

Periodically we peruse sale listings for properties. We often find something we like but can’t afford, or something we can afford but don’t like, or something we like but refuse to pay anything close to the asking price. Rarely do we experience that Goldilocks Moment where something is Just Right. Until this month.

The listing was for a summer house, a cabin. A LOG cabin, to be exact. It sat in some woods on a hill near the Kentucky River and the price was right. Sure, it was a fixer-upper, but that was part of the appeal for my husband. He delights in building and fixing things and constantly tinkering with improvements (the Kaizen attitude toward home ownership).

We started fantasizing about our lifestyle there, wondered about the neighbors, seriously considered a boat… But the detail in the listing that really stoked our imaginations was the acre of property on which the cabin sat. For a couple of gardeners currently deprived of their gardening, an acre sounds like Eden.

We couldn’t stop imagining our lives in that log cabin overlooking a river and surrounded by vegetation. Yet of all the photos attached to the listing, none gave us an inkling as to how the cabin was situated on the acre. So we drove out to see it yesterday.

The “neighborhood” was gorgeous: houses hidden in lush wooded lots, the river palisades in view. “Our” cabin stood atop a steep hill across the road from an expansive (and better) property that really did overlook the water. As we climbed the steep, crumbling limestone steps from the road to the porch and patio of our dreams, with more steps above to reach the actual cabin, I started to suspect that growing old here might prove challenging. Directly behind the cabin rose most of the acre of land promised in the listing: a wall of rock.

Yup. We’d be buying an acre of land all right, but it would be a vertical acre and practically useless to us. It was a deal-breaker.

We had to laugh. At least we had experienced a beautiful drive to a place we’d never been. I guess now we can redirect our fantasies to winning the losery (i.e., lottery).

Note: The pooch in the pics was the sentry of the ’hood and bounced around like a wicked-fast Slinky. To make friends with her, we threw sticks for her to fetch—over and over and over again.

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Say What?


I read this the other day:

“Ethics is the new competitive environment.”
—Peter Robinson, business leader

Oh, Mr. Robinson, how you make me laugh. I know it wasn’t your intention. But, honestly, there are so few of your kind who care about social responsibility and the high road—opting instead for shareholder happiness and the bottom line—that I’d hardly call your arena “competitive.” But we can keep dreaming, can’t we?

[Graphic from the Everything Small Business Journal.]

Bird Briefs, Part 2

They’re fluttering outside my windows and inside my books: birds. Thought I’d say a few words about them.

Extreme Rescue
Sy Montgomery’s latest book, Birdology, is a delightful collection of stories, histories, lore, and facts about seven avian species (or, if some scientists get their way, seven dinosaur species). She devotes one chapter to hummingbirds, profiling the day-to-day efforts of a “hummer” rehabber who specializes in fostering orphaned baby hummers—so tiny they’re best observed with the aid of a magnifying glass.

One member of the 340+ hummingbird species journeys from Mexico to Alaska each year—the longest migration, in terms of body length, of any bird. The first portion of the course includes a trek across the Gulf of Mexico—a 21-hour, nonstop flight. It’s a miraculous show of stamina and endurance, and not every hummer is up to it. Montgomery mentions one unfortunate bird who collapsed on an oil rig. The (unnamed) oil company ordered a helicopter to transport the feathered patient to a wildlife rehabber in the States, where the little guy spent months recuperating in a greenhouse. He caught up with his pals on their return migration to Mexico. I’m not sure which is more amazing: the hummers’ migration or the oil company’s good deed.


Say It Isn’t So
If you’ve read Erik Larson’s The Devil in the White City, you know how packed it is with details about 1890s Chicago—the dust, the odors, the politics. Of all the remarkable and sometimes shocking facts Larson presents, one in particular stood out to me. Frederick Law Olmsted, as part of the magical landscape he conjured for the Columbian Exposition, populated the lagoons with birds. Larson writes: “Olmsted had ordered more than eight hundred ducks and geese, seven thousand pigeons, and for the sake of accent a number of exotic birds, including four snowy egrets, four storks, two brown pelicans, and two flamingoes.”

SEVEN THOUSAND PIGEONS? Really? Weren’t there enough pigeons in Chicago already? Every species on Olmsted’s list is a water bird except the pigeon. Could it be that a critical word—say, Guillemot—was omitted from the copy? Perhaps Olmsted imported 7,000 Guillemot Pigeons to the fair, which would make sense. Readers, can you shed any light on this matter?


Platonic Pairings
I’ve written before about LuckyBird and his sparrow pal. What I’ve not yet relayed is that we have been watching two other similar pairs at our feeders. The cardinals are young adults and, in both cases, the sparrows seem more committed to the relationships than their crimson counterparts. Is it misguided, unrequited love? Are they just friends? Will they ever mate with their own kind? Again, dear readers, if you know anything about cross-species relationships, please enlighten me.

“Birds teach us reverence—a virtue that, writes classicist and philosopher Paul Woodruff, ‘begins in a deep understanding of human limitations.’ ”
—from Birdology, by Sy Montgomery


[Art by Ernst Haeckel (top) and Charley Harper (bottom).]

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

The Magic of a Four-Leaf Clover

My days too frequently begin with a text (spam) message telling me I’ve won a $1,000 gift card to some big-box store. The first time I received one I was genuinely excited. Upon investigation, of course, the thrill drained away.

Last week, though, an e-mail brought me a legitimate note from Petside.com. I had won a raffle and will receive as my prize Melissa Sue Bowles’ The Horses of Proud Spirit—her book about the residents of the sanctuary she founded.

The contest was easy: Step 1) Set up an account on Petside.com, and Step 2) Post a comment. I didn’t have to beg for votes or get approval from a panel of judges. It was my kind of contest. I suspect that four-leaf clover I found earlier had something to do with this change of fortune.

Thank you, Clover Fairy, for watching over me.

[Photo is from Proud Spirit Sanctuary.]

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Earthlings Dive into World Record

Did you see the news yesterday? Folks from around the globe met outside Chicago to break the world record in heads-down vertical skydiving. Skydive Chicago (where yours truly learned to skydive) organized the jump.

Can you imagine? They were free-falling up to 220 mph! I get tingly just writing about it. If you’ve never experienced a free fall, I can tell you that it’s exhilarating—better than the downward thrusts of the most dangerous rollercoaster. The sensation of no sensation is…well…bliss.

[Photo by Brian Buckland.]

If You Believe in Fairies…

Guess what? My luck is about to change.

After returning home from an afternoon of Olympian cycling (truthfully more the Sisyphean variety), I stood in our yard waiting as my husband tucked our bikes back into their elevated, chained safe house (a thief attempted to pry one away last week, so we’re extra careful now). Sweat was pouring off me and I didn’t mind standing still.

I dropped my head in exhaustion and there it was. The first thing to come into focus was a four-leaf clover.

I’ve searched for four-leaf clovers my entire life—including in that very yard—and never spotted one before. I felt as if I’d just discovered a dinosaur bone or the map to a lost treasure.

Of course, luck can be ephemeral and sometimes hard to recognize as good. Yet if you believe in fairies, then you’ll agree that my luck is about to change. Stay tuned…

Saturday, August 4, 2012

To Have and Have Not: The New Equal Rights

As you may have gathered from my reading list, I’ve been bingeing on Wendell Berry’s poetry. He writes transcendently about place, nature, farming, food, land conservation, and life cycles. If you’re unfamiliar with this Kentucky icon, I encourage you to get acquainted with him. (Start with Mark Bittman’s overview in Humanities, “The Thing (or Things) About Wendell Berry,” or read Berry’s 2012 Jefferson Lecture, “It All Turns on Affection.”)

Here’s a snippet from “The Reassurer,” published in Berry’s 1994 Entries. It made me chuckle when I read it because it might just as well have been written today.

from his smile they understand that the fortunate have
a right to their fortunes, that the unfortunate have
a right to their misfortunes, and that these are
equal rights.

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Applying Musical Restraint

This morning’s air is cool and it seems every bird has answered the weather’s invitation to open in song. No cars, no joggers. Nothing stirs in this still dawn but the surround sound of feathered notes.

Later today I will practice my own music-making—a bit of Bach and Gounod on the piano. My keyboard is electric, so I take care to practice silently with the aid of some headphones. This is partially because I don’t want neighbors to hear me, but mostly it’s for the birds’ sake.

Oh, I confess: A few times when birds have perched at our feeders, I’ve played the piano out loud and enjoyed hearing birds respond to it. Major keys inspire them more than minor ones; the same for simple melodies over complex arrangements.

But I worry: What has my music communicated to the birds? Who do they think I am? I don’t wish to confuse them or frighten them or get their hopes up about a potential mate. And I absolutely don’t want to repeat the unfortunate Robin incident of my youth.

I can’t recall which sonata I was learning at the time, but it attracted a crazed fan. I played the family’s console piano then, so headphones weren’t an option.

One Spring day as I practiced this particular sonata, a THUD startled me. I quit playing and cautiously approached the window to investigate the noise. A Robin sat dazed in the pussywillow bush just beneath the window. Once I was certain he’d recovered, I returned to the piano and resumed practice.

THUD! This time, I ran to the window. There was the Robin again, only this time he lay sprawled and limp across the bush—dead for all I knew. “MOM!!” I needed assistance with this turn of events.

My parents came to my aid, but by the time my father had stepped outside and arrived at the pussywillow bush, the bird had resurrected himself and flown out to the ash tree in our yard. My mother convinced me all was fine and left me to my sonata.

This time as I played, my father watched. Turns out, the Robin would listen from the ash tree then fly pell-mell toward the source of the music. His window nemesis, of course, broke his path on each attempt. Well, on the first two attempts anyway. This third time the Robin simply perched on the bush and continued listening.

As you probably guessed, once I understood that this sonata, or my rendition of it, was causing the potentially fatal behavior of the bird, I stopped practicing it. I only hoped my music teacher would understand.

Mercifully, we’ve had no window collisions here since erecting our bird feeders, and I don’t expect any. But I still worry about giving birds the wrong impression with my music. I would hate to mislead them in any way. So as much as I’d like to join the avian chorus that sings here, I try to be the better human and refrain from participation. Sigh.

Friday, July 27, 2012

Huzzah and Good Luck!

It’s here at last—the 2012 Olympics. A far cry from the 1900 Olympics, when women draped in heavy Victorian garb were first allowed to compete and the events included ballooning, tug-of-war, croquet, and pigeon-shooting (mercifully, this “sport” was not continued).

I’m rooting for each 2012 competitor and hope that all may perform their personal best—medal or no medal.

[Pictured is England’s own Charlotte Cooper, winner of singles tennis in 1900.]



Thursday, July 26, 2012

Conversing with Books

Typically, reading is a fairly solitary activity—a one-way communication from writer to reader. Our eyes take in an author’s message and direct it to our brains, where it mingles with our memories, convictions, and emotions and finds a comfy place to take up residence—having either supported what we already believed/felt or given us a new perspective.


Lately this one-way communication has fallen short for me. Post-it Notes mark page after page of my books where an author has written something that: 1) I disagree with and want to debate; 2) I wish to share my own thoughts and experiences about; or 3) I believe demands an extended conversation between the writer and me.

In The Nine Emotional Lives of Cats: A Journey Into the Feline Heart, author Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson generalizes countless pronouncements based on his experiences with his own cats as being true for all cats. Yet time after time, the cats of my experience don’t fit neatly into his theories. I feel as if I’m in a boxing match and not allowed to box back.

The Philosopher’s Dog: Friendships with Animals is a small book bursting with big ideas. I want to delve further into the mind of author Raimond Gaita, discuss the evolution of compassion in humans he describes and how we might nurture that now.

I want to ask Erik Larson, author of The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and the Madness at the Fair that Changed America, what fascinated people about Chicago’s Union Stockyards. How did a slaughterhouse become a main attraction, and when and why did it lose its appeal?

You might be thinking, “Get thee to a book club. You just need to talk about these things with someone.” And you’d be right—up to that last word.

You see, not just anyone will do. I need to speak with the very authors who stoked my ire, my defenses, my support, and my admiration. I need to alter the passive nature of these books, redirect their monologues to dialogues. Sometimes I just want to tell the writers they’re not alone in their perspective. Or maybe I really want to say thank you for letting me know I’m not alone in my perspective.

In The Light in High Places: A Naturalist Looks at Wyoming Wilderness, Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep, Cowboys, and Other Rare Species, author Joe Hutto challenges readers with this question:

“Who has stopped to admire the spectacular male starling in the last one hundred years?”

I cried aloud to the page, “I have! I have!”

[Typewriter art by Jeremy Mayer.]

Don’t Leave Your Dog in the Oven

“WHAT?!” you exclaim. “That’s just stupid. No sane person would leave her dog in an oven.”

Ah, but lots of sane people do. No, not the oven in the kitchen; that’s reserved for psychopaths. I’m talking about the ovens that parked cars morph into in warm weather.

Just yesterday, in fact, I saw a pooch overheating in a parking lot. Just as I was about to take action, the young couple returned to the car. They gave their spotted dog a warm reunion greeting and took off. They obviously loved their dog but were unaware of the potential harm they’d put him/her in.

The weather outside doesn’t even have to be hot to be lethal. With windows cracked open, the temperature inside a car rises nearly 20 degrees in 10 minutes; in 20 minutes, it goes up nearly 30 degrees—and continues to rise.

Just think about it: It was 98 degrees outside yesterday when said couple pulled into their parking space at the grocery store and left Rover in the car (turns out, we passed the couple as we were exiting the store). Now do the math.

And it’s not just that you could potentially kill your pet. There are a whole mess of medical problems heat can trigger if your pet lives through the ordeal. Some states have laws against leaving unattended pets and children in cars; the Bluegrass State does not. Without a law, too many people remain uninformed.

Please help spread the word about this.

[Visit the British Columbia SPCA Web site for symptoms and treatment of heatstroke. Art is from the American Veterinary Medical Association.]

Sunday, July 22, 2012

Living Fully


“A day spent without the sight or sound of beauty, the contemplation of mystery, or the search for truth and perfection is a poverty-stricken day; and a succession of such days is fatal to human life.”
—Lewis Mumford

[Photo by Imogen Cunningham.]

Saturday, July 21, 2012

It’s Too Darn Hot

If you live where the temperature is sizzling, you could probably use some relief. Here’s a diversion to help you cool off: snow scenes.

Thanks to the authors of Gifts of the Crow: How Perception, Emotion, and Thought Allow Smart Birds to Behave Like Humans, I learned that crows and ravens enjoy playing in snow. This first raven was caught on film for a PBS “Nature” special. (Warning: The first 14 seconds are titles and a gruesome wildlife dinner; start the video at :15 if you need to skip directly to the raven.)


For a different view of a Corvid at play, check out this amateur video of a crow sledding on a rooftop—with his/her own makeshift sled!

Pretty clever birds, don’t you think? I guess only people have birdbrains.

Friday, July 20, 2012

Happy Feline Friday

It’s the end of another workweek for many of you, and what better way to end something than to have something to look forward to? That is, if you haven’t heard already, this August the Walker Art Center is hosting an outdoor film festival of Internet cat videos. And you can vote for your favorite—meaning you can make a recommendation to the curator.

I believe at least one of Simon Tofield’s animations should make it into the lineup.


Thursday, July 19, 2012

The Dappled Ones

I have freckles.

They’re not something to be proud of judging from all the freckle-concealing and freckle-removing creams and potions on the market. You rarely see freckled fashion models, but that’s only because someone has covered the freckles with cosmetics or Photoshopped them away.

I’ve never felt embarrassed or ashamed of my freckles (though I’ve had plenty of other body-image issues—don’t get me started!). I suspect this is because my father made a big deal about how wonderful it was to have freckles. They were special, he said, and he liked them. (Hmm. This may have been the genesis of my own fondness for all spotted animals.)

I bring up this odd topic because photographer Reto Caduff has a new book out called Freckles. Caduff thought it a shame that the lovely women he worked with for fashion shoots were expected to hide a part of themselves. So he aimed to show them in a new light. Freckles is a collection of freckled fashion models’ headshots with freckles illuminated front and center.

Years ago I noticed some large freckles on the back of my grandmother’s hand. They fascinated me. If freckles were special, as my father had declared, then these supersized spots must be extraordinary.

“What ARE those?” I asked my grandmother.

She drew her hands away from my obsessive stare. “Yelch. They’re nothing.” And she tried to change the subject.

“But what are they CALLED? Are they freckles?”

“No, they’re age spots.”

“Oh. They’re beautiful!”

“No, they’re not. They’re AGE spots!”

It was a revelation for me and an uncomfortable moment for my grandmother: the recognition of passing youth.

Glory be to God for dappled things…
—opening line of “Pied Beauty” by Gerard Manley Hopkins

I’m now of an age where my freckles have been joined by larger spots, probably about the same age my grandmother was when hers first appeared, and I thoroughly understand her revulsion to these odd blemishes. She was right: They’re NOT freckles. But I feel strangely compelled to uphold my fidelity to the little girl I used to be—the one who LIKED age spots. So you’ll not hear me complain about them. Nope, not one word. I’m dappled and I’m proud.

Monday, July 16, 2012

Animals as Commodities: Kentucky Redefines “Animals,” “Pain,” and “Welfare”

I’m headed for the state capital tomorrow to hear what the Kentucky Livestock Care Standards Commission is recommending for legislation. If you live in Kentucky, I urge you to join me.

Members of the Commission were appointed by the governor and include a pork farmer, a bovine farmer, a judge, a citizen concerned about food safety, an associate dean from UK’s Ag College, a grocer, an autoworker who represents sheep and wool producers, a private investor, several veterinarians, and the pièce de résistance—a farm manager from Cal-Maine Foods, the “largest shell egg producer” in the U.S.

This Commission garnered a little publicity last year when the Humane Society of the U.S. accused it of meeting privately instead of publicly (as it’s supposed to). Since then, the Commission has been known to tweak its recommendations via e-mail rather than in public meetings.

Why so much secrecy? Because a few contentious issues are at stake—such as tail-docking and beak-cutting sans anaesthesia or painkillers and confining animals in crates that are too small for the animals to move in. Apparently, the Commission talked at length during the last meeting about whether to include the words pain and welfare in the standards.

According to Kentucky’s State Veterinarian, Robert Stout, the animals at the center of this hubbub are “commodities,” not “companions,” and he hasn’t seen the science yet that proves commodities feel pain. With “advocates” like Stout, Kentucky animals don’t need any more enemies.

However, I believe the Commission needs a language expert on board to help them suss out obfuscations and stick to clear definitions of terms. I also believe some of the Commission members need to retrieve their consciences and try not to view everything through the lens of profitability (read: greed).

For those of you who live in Kentucky, I want to share a conversation I had recently with a Bluegrass veterinarian. She lamented how many out-of-staters regard Kentuckians as ignorant and backward—even out-of-state vets characterize their Kentucky counterparts this way. I had to bite my tongue. You see, it’s people like Robert Stout who aren’t helping your image. So do Kentucky a favor and prove to the rest of the nation that you’re thoughtful and compassionate. Attend the meeting tomorrow to remind the Commission members that they’re accountable for their decisions. Remind them to see beyond the Almighty Dollar.

The 1:00 meeting is scheduled for tomorrow, July 17, at:
Office of the State Veterinarian
100 Fair Oaks Lane, Suite 252
Frankfort, KY 40601

[Photographer unknown.]

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Deflated or Motivated?

As if Zuzu didn’t deflate me enough with her oneupmanship of agility, Lil’ Buck’s grace and balance while jookin’ in this 2011 video pained me further:



On the other hand, Zuzu and Lil’ Buck (not to mention Yo-Yo Ma and Camille Saint-Saëns!) are outliers—part of a curious elite whose extreme giftedness sets them outside the realm of potential available to the rest of us. While I know I’ll never be good enough to reach their inner circle, I hope to at least continue chipping away at my own limitations.

[Video from the Wall Street Journal.]

Friday, July 13, 2012

My Friday the 13th Lens

I’m not genuinely superstitious, but I do love Friday the 13ths. I feel especially motivated on these quirky days to rise above life’s disappointments and unfortunate circumstances and see only loveliness in the world.

On this last Friday the 13th of 2012, join me in contemplating this photograph of one of Everton Wright’s Walking Drawings. What better combination than art, animals, and beach?


Thursday, July 12, 2012

Reading Addict Enabled by Local Library

I don’t have to traipse through my library to the nonfiction section in order to find animal books. I can find enough just inside the entrance in the New Arrivals section.

Strategically placed, the New Arrivals section is next to the Returns drop and the Checkout desk. One has to pass through it whether entering or exiting the library. Which is to say there’s no way of avoiding it. And while stronger or more disciplined people than moi may be able to ignore the titles as they pass by, I cannot.

This is how I get sidetracked with books, for the New Arrivals have a shortened loan period. And what with all the notes I take when I read, it becomes an intensive experience.

Recently, a librarian ratcheted up that experience by introducing me to the Summer Reading program. I receive a prize for every 15 hours of reading I do. I’m to keep track of the time in my trusty Activity Log and when I turn it in for my prize, my Log will be entered into a raffle for a free Kindle. Woo-hoo!

The program began on June 1 and ends on July 31. With my late start, I’ve felt a certain urgency in catching up. And, of course, the particular books I borrowed are not breezy reads. So I don’t know if I’ll be able to reach the limit of 5 entries per person by the end of this month, but I’m trying.

I’m guessing the odds of my winning are a little better than my husband’s odds at winning the state lottery (which he more aptly calls “the losery”). But if you keep your fingers crossed and send positive thoughts my way, perhaps my addiction will pay off for once.

[Sorry. I don’t know whose photo this is. Do you?]


Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall

Many animals look in a mirror and see trouble instead of themselves. They don’t recognize the image and may even be afraid of it.

I’m not sure our cat, Precious, recognized her own visage in the mirror—she never acted like she was seeing any other cat—but she certainly recognized the clear vantage point our foyer mirror offered her and spent a lot of time in front of it. The mirror gave her panoramic views of spaces beyond the foyer—the living room, the sun porch, the bedroom, the long hallway. She regally followed our every move and, I think, taught our dog to do the same. She had control with the mirror; she reigned over our household just by staring into it.

For a different take on mirrors and felines, watch this video of a kitten’s unfortunate first encounter with the looking glass:







Sunday, July 8, 2012

Outdone by a Cat

My physical activities have taken a back seat to pain for some time now, but I finally found an exercise program suitable to my limitations: Pilates. Even better, I need travel no farther than my own neighborhood for the classes, giving me no excuses for tardiness or poor attendance.

I’ve actually been enjoying the instruction, even feeling good about my progress and improved agility—at least, I did until the cats visited us.

As Zuzu reclined next to me on the couch one night, I rubbed her tummy and she began flaunting her own Pilates moves. She effortlessly stretched and contorted her tiny body in ways that no amount of practice will ever afford me.

I know it’s foolish to compare myself to a cat. Nonetheless, Zuzu managed to make quick work of my newly budding confidence. Oh, the humiliation!

Saturday, July 7, 2012

According to the Nielsen Ratings…

I’ve often wondered about those Nielsen ratings: How many people were selected to participate? Were any of them like me? Did Nielsen even exist?

The answer to that last question arrived in the form of work. Years ago while employed at a typesetting shop—which reeled in Nielsen as a client—I proofread a few projects for the ratings giant. Yet I remained at odds with the America Nielsen analyzed and reported. When would they ask ME what I thought?

Turns out, the answer (a lifetime later) is this past week. Yup. The longtime (since 1923) media research company finally wanted to know what I watched on television. I was selected as a representative of my region of viewers.

Trouble is I feel like a poseur. I doubt very much that my viewing preferences are anything like those of my neighbors. First, I’ve no DISH or cable or similar connection. Second, I dislike reality TV and don’t watch daytime programming. Third, I have no DVR, so a show has to be really good or I have to be really unmotivated before I’ll suffer through commercials for network TV. Fourth, PBS programming in the Horse Capital of the World is a little lean. All of which is to say that my television viewing runs a distant second to my reading activities.

So, though I was delighted to record everything I or my husband watched—and when we watched it on what channel—only one category of “My TV Diary” (as Nielsen calls it) revealed heavy usage: “TV Off.” If I’d harbored any hopes that My Diary would help improve network TV, I would guess my repetitive checkmarks in the “TV Off” column dashed them. Sigh.

Thursday, July 5, 2012

Here’s the Best Walmart on the Planet

Did you see this?

McAllen, Texas, recycled an empty box store and—through the vision of architecture and interior design firm Meyer, Scherer & Rockcastle, Ltd.—refashioned it into an award-winning, user-friendly library.

Now THAT’S a Walmart I could spend some time in!

[Photo from Meyer, Scherer & Rockcastle, Ltd.]

And The Point Is…?

The point is: Get ’em while they’re hot. Or, at least, visible.

El Libro que No Puede Esperar (The Book That Can’t Wait) is the brainchild of Argentinian publisher Eterna Cadencia. In a push to promote emerging Latin American authors to a wider audience, the new anthology is printed in disappearing ink. Once you’ve removed the wrapping and exposed the book to air and light, the ink begins to fade. Pages become blank after 60 days. The printed word takes on a whole new urgency.

Great gimmick, but I’m not sure what I would think if my first published story ended up a clutch of blank pages.

[Photo from designboom.]
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