Animal Profiles
This Christmas, Remember the Pigs
Published December 25, 2008 @ 06:58AM PT
A year ago, Precious Life Animal Sanctuary posted this story, titled "A Christmas to Remember":
It is Friday, December 21, 2007, that special time of year with the Christmas holidays in full swing. Everywhere decorations adorn homes, shop windows and colored lights light up the nights. People everywhere seem friendlier, more giving and caring.
At Precious Life Animal Sanctuary, the celebration of life goes on for all the rescued animals. It is the same winter routine of feeding, added Christmas treats, cleaning, repairs and time taken to provide comforting, soothing talk to all.
It is very cold at the foot of the Olympics. Daylight is short and a white Christmas is expected. Upon reading the newspaper on this day, an ad appeared that diminished the spirit of the Christmas holidays. “Order Your Roasted Pig for Christmas, Raised in Oregon, butcher available.” Rationalizing the ad was easy, but forgetting about it was not. The reality is, at this time of year, every meat case in every supermarket is chock full of butchered pigs, labeled as Christmas hams wrapped to no longer resemble any living being. So, the question remained, was there any real difference between the cut-up pigs in the meat cases and the live pigs in the ad soon to meet the same fate?
The difference was those baby pigs were alive and one could still be saved and not sacrificed on the holiest day of the year for a Christmas feast. One was left to ponder the meaning of Christmas, with the birth of Jesus, surrounded by farm animals. Jesus believed in kindness and mercy for all of God’s creatures.
Regardless of religious beliefs, this Christmas holiday would not be trivialized when a baby pig could be spared. After all, he was born with a will to live and a fear of death no different than any human.
The next morning the long journey began in never-ending rain and sleet halfway up to Mount Hood. After exiting the main highway and leaving miles of happy skiers behind, the pig farm was located. The dilapidated barn stood at the bottom of a winding hill encased in rain-drenched mud. Inside were three pens. One housed huge sows with little room to maneuver. One housed the advertised roasters, only four months old, weighing between 50 and 65 pounds, and a few more of assorted sizes. The last pen housed newly-weaned piglets, classified and sold as wiener pigs.
In a corner of the barn hung one of the roasters, freshly slaughtered that morning by the common method of “shoot and stick”. A brother and a sister were all that was left of the litter. The pig farmer said most of the litter had been butchered for ethnic groups wanting to barbecue on spits or cook in the ground and a few had been sold to restaurants.
The pig farmer pointed out several in the roaster pen that were coughing, lethargic and being given medication for pneumonia and would not make it. He was informed that a healthy live pig was wanted and he quickly stated there was no guarantee that any would be free of pneumonia. He remarked, “What’s the difference? You’re going to eat it anyway.”
The female roaster kept her small head buried in straw next to others for security. The black spotted male walked to the side of the enclosure and listened to the farmer and myself and looked up with curious eyes. He had been castrated with no anesthetic which is a common procedure and his large ears were disfigured having pieces notched out for identification purposes within the litter, another common procedure. He was chosen, paid for and put squealing into the back of my van on blankets. The farmer was informed that he would be allowed to live and he replied, “one lucky pig”. Since no Christmas name seemed to fit, he was officially dubbed “Lucky”.
Continue reading for the conclusion, for what came next for Lucky (who was not so well after all, it turned out), at Precious Life's Web site.
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Photo: Young pigs in overcrowded transport. Most pigs humans eat are killed when only 5 to 6 months old--at about 1/30 (that's not a typo--1/30, not 1/3) their natural life span. One of the many similarities between pigs and dogs is their similar natural life spans. I wonder how many people would continue eating the flesh of pigs if they considered that killing and eating these pigs is equivalent to killing and eating a 5-month-old puppy.
Curious Cows, Calendars, and Sanctuaries
Published December 12, 2008 @ 07:44AM PT
In case you're still not reading Invisible Voices yourself yet, I'm going to send you in that direction today to check out two things: a gorgeous calendar that will support Poplar Spring Animal Sanctuary and a look at the curiosity of cows.
First, briefly, the calendar. Deb, the author of Invisible Voices, is also a volunteer at Poplar Spring, and she has a 2009 calendar for sale featuring stunning photos of Poplar Spring residents. You can preview the calendar and its vivid photos at Lulu, and when you then follow through and purchase the calendar, you can do so knowing that the profits will go straight to helping animals at Poplar Spring.
And now the cows. One of my favorite posts from Invisible Voices in November was titled "curiosity of cows." It featured the beautiful photo you see at the top of this post, and it made me jealous once again of all the people who run and volunteer at animal sanctuaries, of what they get to witness firsthand on a regular basis, of the ways in which they get to know the individual animals whom most people think of collectively, rather than as individual, unique beings, when they think of them at all.
Granted, there's a lot of hard work, stress, and emotion in sanctuary work too. These are the people who see, day after day, the horrible things that humans do to their fellow animals, the physical and emotional damage we inflict. These are the people doing the exhausting work of trying to make up for injustices and cruelties that simply cannot be made up for. There are some physical and emotional wounds that never heal. Sanctuary volunteers get to see some animals thrive once they've arrived, as they finally get the opportunity to live full, rich, happy, natural lives. But there are other animals who forever carry the burdens of what happened to them before, the physical maladies and deformities that slow their movements or hamper their natural inclinations (maladies and deformities that we humans intentionally caused because of what we wanted from the animals) and the memories and the mental and emotional scars that sometimes keep them anxious, wary, distant, sad.
But "curiosity of cows" shows us a few content animals, playful young pigs and a clearly thinking, feeling, curious cow. And Deb is kind enough to share with us some of the experiences and observations that come with spending time with these gentle beings. Here is just a portion of that post:
When my cat is intensely interested in something, it is because she wants to capture it, and likely kill it and eat it. Even if it is a twist tie, that’s generally still her relationship to whatever is sparking her curiosity. Humans don’t seem to be much different, at least not the average human.
Cows are different, at least the cows I have gotten to know. They don’t have these hierarchies that exist in most other animals. They mostly stay together, but they don’t always. There’s no one leader, they are just somehow a group of individuals that have formed a community. They are a collective.
And something about that kind of social network makes them more focused on others than on self. Or that is my theory.
That’s what comes through when you see them watching, fascinated, as baby pigs run around outside for the first time, checking everything out and running with absolute glee through the inch of snow on the ground. That’s what you notice when you see a giant cow delicately following the antic-filled lead of a baby pig.
Cows aren’t stupid. They’re not placid. And though one of my coworkers claims that cows don’t want to live, he is wrong.
Read the rest of the post and see an additional photo here.
And remember to preview and purchase your calendar here.
The Ones You Won't Get to Eat
Published November 26, 2008 @ 01:16PM PT
Read their stories. And then tomorrow, if you're tempted to eat the flesh on the table in front of you, ask yourself, "Who was that animal? What was his story? And in what ways did he suffer day after day? What were his final moments like? Did he struggle? Did he fight to live?" Ask yourself, "Were his suffering and death really necessary? Are intentionally inflicted pain, fear, and death really something I am thankful for, something I want to celebrate?" Give thanks tomorrow not for the dead birds on tables all across the nation, but for the realization that you have other options.
Melvin, of Peaceful Prairie Sanctuary (extracted directly from "Sun Day"):
As Melvin, George, Stanley, Alfred, Elmer and Archie became progressively crippled, their genetically manipulated bodies growing around them like tumors, engulfing them in their grip, crushing themselves under their own weight, suffocating, choking, destroying themselves in the name of our "turkey dinners", their ability to participate in life diminished and, with it, so did their openness to its gifts. Their daily cavalcades into the open fields became slower and slower, shorter and shorter, fewer and fewer, and then, eventually, not at all: George, Stanley, Alfred, Elmer and Archie died one by one, and, with each of them, a whole world of consciousness, memories, yearnings, everything each of them knew and remembered ceased to exist with him, the face of each, the scent of his body, his enthusiasm, his intelligence was gone with him.
After each loss, Melvin's own light dimmed, as if disconnected from a power source. And, as the burden of sorrows, ailments and age accumulated, it took him longer and longer to return to bold, brilliant, demanding life.
But he always did. He lifted himself from sadnesses that grew deeper and deeper with each new loss, and he embarked again on his long, burning journeys all the way from his barn to the trailer, where the visitors were, and resumed the bruising, exhilarating toil of following them around, wheezing and coughing, his lungs and heart barely keeping up with his giant body, his legs deformed under its weight. He dragged himself back to the world he loved – improbable and sublime, like a house on legs, like a ship on dry sand – and savored each of its dwindling gifts: straw-scented shade, sweet grass and cracked corn, Shylo's friendship, Chris' voice, Michele's presence, visitors he had charmed, and visitors he had yet to enchant. And he loved life with all her faults, and forgave her many trespasses.
Then, one day, he did not. When Shylo, his last remaining friend died, he isolated himself in the back of the barn and refused to leave. Morning after morning, the gates would fling open and everyone would rush out to greet the day, but Melvin did not. He remained rooted in the same dark spot and refused to leave. He did not move, he did not turn, he did not look away from the wall. [Read the rest for the incredible part, for the details of Melvin's Sundays.]
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Learn about Naddy, Wishbone (right), and other turkeys from Pasado's Safe Haven:
When is the last time you spotted a “stray turkey”? Probably never. But that was the report Pasado’s received from a local family when they asked us to pick up the errant foul in their backyard. The more likely story was that the friendly boy was purchased in Spring at a local feed store, with the intention of having a fresh bird for the holidays. Once sufficiently fattened, he could be “dispatched” “sacrificed” or even the friendly sounding “euthanized” and proudly served-up to friends and family. There is only one problem (and the reason we answer a lot of these calls about "stray turkeys" this time of year - every year!) - people get to know these amazingly, personable creatures, and fall in love! They just CAN'T DO IT!
For anyone with a heart (and a few kids in the family who are followed everywhere by the new pet - truly, they're just like dogs), once you have spent time caring for and feeding these wonderful creatures, the idea of slaughtering them becomes an anathema. In all likelihood, Wishbone’s family probably could not face this inevitability and called Pasado’s to step in.
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Thomas Edison, of Happy Trails (story extracted directly from "Celebrate A Compassionate Thanksgiving In Honor Of Thomas Edison" [PDF]):
Thomas Edison weighed over 40 lbs., and at feeding time, he would get up on terribly swollen legs and toes and hurry as best as he could over to greet his servant. As Thomas Edison continued to grow, his individual toes became even more painfully and grotesquely swollen, red and inflamed. The vet affirmed our suspicions that nothing could be done to correct this condition. When the scientists who created these beings manipulated them to grow larger, they conveniently neglected to consider what the turkeys needed to stand on.
One day I even discovered Thomas Edison laying upside down, struggling to breathe. He was so heavy that after he lost his balance and fell over, he didn’t have the strength to right himself. He was extremely stressed and frightened.
As Thomas Edison began to spend more and time sitting on the ground, unable to move around comfortably, he began to lose the feathers from his stomach. His skin that he constantly sat on began to get sores. Finally we noticed that his breathing was starting to become more labored. His heart that held nothing but love for his human and feathered companions was starting to give out. He was getting very little oxygen with such poor circulation, and during his last days, he began to pant and sometimes gasp for air. He could no longer reach around to his back to preen the casings off his new feathers that were now poking out. We all loved Thomas Edison. He would let me pet the top of his lumpy head as I would marvel at the beautiful colors that he would turn as his moods would change. Blues usually meant that he was calm and cool. Reds and purples meant that something was up. What we didn’t love was the way he had to struggle to walk, struggle to stand up, topple over and lose his balance, and struggle to breathe normally.
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Read United Poultry Concerns' general info on the experiences of turkeys.
Turkeys at Poplar Spring: The Luckier Ones
Published November 19, 2008 @ 07:19AM PT
In the following post, shutterbug Deb Durant introduces us to the turkeys who reside at Poplar Spring Animal Sanctuary, where she volunteers; included are lovely photos she has taken of the birds. Deb is the author of the blog Invisible Voices. I refer to these turkeys as the luckier ones rather than just lucky because they all still suffered before finding sanctuary at Poplar Spring. But they are certainly, absolutely luckier than most other turkeys, including the ones I told you about late yesterday; once you are finished reading Deb's beautiful guest post, please see the previous post about what happens to many other turkeys, if you haven't already, and watch the video there. -SE
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As Thanksgiving approaches, turkeys are being killed by the millions. I could discuss those numbers, and what those numbers mean, but instead I am going to tell you the stories of a few individuals. These are turkeys who slipped through the hands of the people intent on killing them and landed in a safe zone at Poplar Spring Animal Sanctuary, in Poolesville, MD, run by Terry Cummings and Dave Hoerauf.
If you came with me to the sanctuary, walked down the hill from the Civil War–era farmhouse to the weathered old chicken barn, and stepped inside, you'd be greeted by Victor. He would be displaying, proud bird that he is, and he would follow you with his distinctive turkey strut — step, step, pause, *poof* of air, step step, pause, *poof* of air. You'd likely be charmed and perhaps a little intimidated at first.
Turkeys are big birds, and the domesticated turkeys are abnormally large, genetically manipulated to become that abnormally large size. It is usually their primary health concern as they age.
Peaceful Prairie Restoration of the "Free-Range" Hens
Published November 03, 2008 @ 06:37AM PT
For those of us who adore it--the intimate, moving stories and stunning insights into individual animals' personalities that compose it--the Peaceful Prairie Sanctuary blog does not get updated often enough. But of course, the Peaceful Prairie people are busy folks, dedicated to caring for 300 rescued farm animals and educating the public about those animals and about compassionate, vegan living. Those of you who weren't around for this blog's launch or who haven't had time to page through the early posts may not have seen the profile of Peaceful Prairie that I posted in early October. Please do yourself a favor and read it now--Nonprofit Profile: Peaceful Prairie Sanctuary--not so much because of my writing but because of blog author Joanna Lucas's writing, extracts of which are featured there (along with a beautiful photo of a rescued hen).
And then read Joanna's latest heart-wrenching and heartwarming post, "Restoration," in which she updates us on the progress of the 100 traumatized "free-range" hens who arrived at Peaceful Prairie a year ago. It is a long post, but it is absolutely worth the time it will take you to read it. Please, for yourself as well as for the chickens, read their story. Meet, specifically, Blaze, who is bold, brave, and curious and ready to take on the world, despite limitations and past traumas; Edith and Pillar, who are more skittish but who together find their joy in brief moments and small comforts, intentionally created through what is obvious intelligent thought; and Dora, who still mostly hides away from the world, perhaps reliving, quietly, daily, the hell from which she came. You will be astonished by their unique personalities, by the unmistakable expressions of their inner experiences and thoughts--yes, thoughts--by the clear expression of their interests, their turmoil, their joys, their fears, and more. Although an extract follows (after the jump), it does not do the post in its entirety justice; you really must read the whole story--the whole collection of stories about each individual bird. What follows is part of Dora's story:
No Justice for the Monkey Boiled Alive
Published October 30, 2008 @ 04:35PM PT
She was a cynomolgus monkey, also known as a crab-eating macaque or a long-tailed macaque. Whatever name you prefer, her horrifying, gruesome death followed a brief life that itself was surely lonely, frightening, and painful. There were no trees, no gusts of wind, no natural smells, sounds, and sights, no family or companionship, no joy or wonder in her daily existence. Instead there was a tiny, barren space, with walls, ceiling, and floor made of cold metal wires. Instead there was terror. Instead there were likely injections and restraints and intentionally inflicted pain and isolation. And there was to be far more of that, as humans tested drugs on her--and in a lab with a history of abuse and cruelty at that.
But then even before they were done with her, she was killed, and in the worst way. She died horrifically in the same cage in which she lived so sadly. She gripped the cage bars as 180 degree water and caustic, burning chemicals rained down forcefully all over her trapped body, boiling her alive, melding the skin of her tortured body to the cage, permanently fusing her fingers to the metal bars that she gripped in terror and excruciating pain like we will never know. There is no doubt that she screamed. God, how she must have screamed. They had to peel her dead body from the cage.
Truly Happy Animals
Published October 20, 2008 @ 01:30PM PT
Mary the sheep, resident of Animal Acres. Isn't she adorable?
Do you want to know what happy animals really look and sound like? Introduce yourself to farm animal sanctuaries generally and Animal Acres farm animal sanctuary near Los Angeles specifically—and to the animals who dwell there—by watching this touching, well-made video:
