One Small Step Toward a Better Dog Shelter

The facility for my local humane society is only five years old. At that youthful age, you’d think it would actually be as “state-of-the-art” as it’s described on the organization’s Web site. Sure, the colorful murals of the lobby warmly welcome visitors and the classical music playing in the dog wing shows consideration for the comfort of the animals; the staff’s upbeat and caring attitude is commendable. But none of these conceals the harsh environs the architect thought appropriate for homeless canines.

The adult dogs reside in a large, open concrete-block room in rows of cages with concrete floors that are separated by concrete block walls. Lots o’ concrete and NO apparent soundproofing, which makes for a VERY noisy habitat. And to a pooch who’s scared or nervous or troubled in any way, the din of the room must be unbearable. Especially when the barking begins, and it takes only one tiny terrier yelp to get 100+ dogs going. The music meant to calm the residents only adds to the cacophony. Between the noise and the concrete greyness/hardness, the place can really do a number on you.

But last month, the shelter held a special fundraising drive for one purpose: to purchase a bed for each dog cage. Donors were asked to contribute $50 per bed. And what do you know? In no time at all, caring folks met the quota.

Now each pooch has one soft place to go to relax or seek solace. Isn’t that wonderful? It’s such a simple effort, but one that makes all the difference for these homeless creatures as they wait for their future to begin.

[Top photo from Sweet Nothings Designs; dog photo from the Lexington Humane Society.]

Swayed by Hitchcock

Coming home from the grocery store yesterday, we heard a throng of chirping unlike anything we’d heard before. We looked up to see a nearby tree filling with birds, all sounding the same message.

Turned out they were starlings flying in from three different directions in small flocks—all jockeying for a place on the oak’s topmost branches, though there was plenty of room in the lower two-thirds of the tree. We stood mesmerized for some time. Whenever we thought the birds were finished congregating, a new batch would land.

My husband ran home to get his camera. While he was gone, even more birds joined the group.

Though we’d seen our share of undulating flocks in the skies, we’d never witnessed the period beforehand when the birds assembled. We wondered how many were there, how many more would arrive, how long they’d stay in the tree before taking off, where they were headed, and if they’d head there in one magnificent murmuration.

After a bit, the chirping gave way to typical starling calls, which meant what? They were relaxing? The assemblage was complete?

As a neighborhood couple came up behind us, we stepped aside to give them right-of-way on the sidewalk. They noticed what captivated us and made some reference to Hitchcock’s avian film. That was my cue, I realized much too late, to SPEAK UP—to clue them in to the uniqueness of the moment and prevent them from doing what they did next.

As the couple neared the tree, the man raised his hands above his head and forcefully clapped, tidily dispersing the birds as he’d intended to do.

I saw red. Several un-neighborly actions came to mind. What compelled the guy to bully the birds? Was he a six-year-old?

More important, how did his behavior impact the starlings? Was their plan ruined? Would late arrivals to the tree know how to find the rest of their clan? Would this new development interrupt the starlings’ eat/sleep cycles?

Now, I didn’t go so far as to have expected the couple to join us in our amazement. I realize we can’t all focus on nature all the time. Someone has to noodle on closing the tech divide and providing clean-water access to the world. Yet surely the rest of us can take time out periodically from our other concerns to contemplate the beauty and mystery that the Universe bestows upon us. Or, at least, not spoil someone else’s contemplation.

If we don’t see—really see—the environment we live in, how can we responsibly care for it? May the Universe set something of beauty in your path this weekend…

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:

Would You Like That Fried, Lightly Fried, or Deep-Fried?

Stranger In A Strange Land – No. 21


Today is the Gobble Grease Toss in the Horse Capital of the World. When I first learned of this annual recycling event, I thought it was a joke. Just as I had once thought that the barbed comments made about Kentuckians loving fried foods were gross overgeneralizations. Turns out I was wrong in both instances.

If restaurant menus are any indication, fried is the preferred cooking method—from the tomatoes on a BLT to every last bit of seafood. So it should not have come as a surprise to me that frying the turkey on Thanksgiving is as common here as watching football. Hence the Gobble Grease Toss.

As I’ve written before, the recycling opportunities this city offers its residents are commendable. It couldn’t get much easier, which is why I don’t understand why more people don’t recycle. A faulty mindset, I suppose.

Anyway, today the city encourages folks to dispose of their leftover cooking oils and grease in an ecofriendly fashion. If I had any grease, I’d be there.

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.”

Taming Nature: Idiots 5, Flora and Fauna 0

I stepped outside last night, as I often do, around 8. This is Magic Time: The temperature cools, a choreography of color and light make a spectacle of the sky, and a Surround Sound of birds orchestrate the moment.

But not last night. Last night, birds could be heard though not in Surround Sound. Same goes for this morning.

It’s not that the birds aren’t singing. They’re simply not here. Or there, for that matter.

I started to write about this yesterday as events unfolded, except I was too angry. Today I’m still angry, but also mournful.


Stranger In A Strange Land – No. 19
Lawns could have been the subject of my very first Stranger In A Strange Land installment, yet I held off thinking I was being too judgmental. Now I know better. If the “Angry Birds” game replaced the pigs with landlords and Lexingtonians*, I’d probably play.

As a gardener in the Windy City who long battled tall buildings and their consequent shade, who had to settle for blossoms of white rather than the riotous color potential of sun-drenched spaces, I had really looked forward to being in a new hardiness zone where birds and butterflies would be plentiful.

However, upon arrival to the Horse Capital of the World, I was disappointed by the ratio of sun to flowers. The city seemed to me nothing but yard upon yard of monotonous yard punctuated by boxwood. Folks here prefer grass to all other flora. Any semblance of a garden is generally the very ordered and formal kind. In a region blessed with ample amounts of rain and sun, grass is the predominant plant.

Arguably, carpets of grass provide jobs: This city has an untold number of lawn-care services (my favorite name is Miss Mow It All). On the other hand, carpets of grass also provide environmental nightmares: Up to 5 percent of America’s air pollution each year stems from lawn mowers that use 800 million gallons of gas.** (I’ve considered getting a couple of sheep and starting my own lawn-care business.) Factor in the chemicals that are harmful to animals and children and the ridiculous amount of water needed to maintain those lush green lawns and it starts adding up to disaster.

Perfect lawns can’t sustain the kinds of complex ecosystems that trees and bushes and flowers sustain. They give no shade, no cover from weather, no protection from predators, little food, and they don’t play a role in pollination or supporting the migratory paths of birds and butterflies.

When pioneers first crossed the mountains into the region now known as Kentucky, they called it “God’s country.” It was fertile and rich in woodlands; it was heavenly. So why divest it of everything but grass?

“A lawn is nature under totalitarian rule.”
—Michael Pollan

Frankly, I believe it has something to do with maintenance. If all you have is a straight shot of grass, it’s easy to take care of—a few back-and-forths on the old lawn mower and you’re done. Bushes require pruning and shaping, flowers require cutting and separating, trees have to be monitored for dead branches and disease.

In fact, I’ve noticed a trend here this summer. The folks who have bushes in need of trimming have simply cut the bushes down to the ground or removed them altogether. This is exactly what happened yesterday.

I kept hearing power tools all day, but couldn’t figure out why until I stepped out our back door. The owner of the apartment building next to us was having all the bushes and trees cut down from the back of his/her property. This is where I’d been watching and listening to scores of birds from our backyard (as I’ve written previously, our landlord already stripped this property of its only tree and the bushes in the back). The devastation made me sick. And disgusted. (Now we can clearly see the hideous apartment building behind us.) Then it got worse.

Two bushes at the end of our front walk had become so overgrown that you could no longer walk between them or use the sidewalk; you had to go around them. With one set of manual clippers, I could have fixed the situation. But NO! The landlord ordered the yard guys to REMOVE the bushes. What’s more, our “neighbor” on the other side cut down all but one of his property’s stand of mature trees we had enjoyed seeing from our apartment.

I realize this may not seem so bad to you. Three properties, several trees, a bunch of bushes—not a big deal in the grander scheme of things. Yet there’s an IMMEDIATE difference in birdsong, which means there will be a difference in bird population here . There’s no more cover for the baby birds I’ve been watching—from finches to crows—as they received life lessons from their mothers. There’s no perch for flying passersby. There are no flowering plants for bees and butterflies—no honeysuckle or trumpet vines or lilacs or holly. All gone.

I doubt any of this crossed the minds of the property owners. I doubt it even matters to them. So this goes beyond a mere difference in aesthetics, which is easy enough to acclimate to. It’s a difference in mindset and sense of stewardship. It’s an uncomfortable difference that changes how I feel about these people and this place, that separates me further from any notion of fitting in. I just have to decide what’s next.

* Thankfully, the few people I’ve befriended since moving here share my gardening aesthetics and concerns.
** Stats are from the EPA.

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.”

Stranger in a Strange Land – No. 1

Am I blue? No, I’m green here.

That is, this city makes recycling so-ooo-oo easy that I cannot understand why more people don’t make it a habit.

The city gives everyone one bin for garbage and one bin for recyclables. And you don’t have to separate anything. Just save and dump: paper, plastic, glass, cardboard, paperboard, magazines, newspapers, aluminum.

We typically have more recyclables than garbage. It makes me feel good to do my small part in protecting our environment.

Blue Grass, Green Acts.