ETHIOPIA

The human/animal connection is readily apparent on a most basic level in a video called Women Want Change. This video comes from The Brook, an international charity relieving the suffering of horses & donkeys working for some of the world’s poorest communities. (Visit The Brook on Facebook.)

Women can play a powerful role in bringing about change and, through its training, The Brooke is equipping women in many rural communities with the skills, confidence, and knowledge to make improvements for the future wellbeing of their animals and their families. – The Brooke President, HRH the Duchess of Cornwall

Watch the shift toward better animal husbandry as illiterate women are educated about proper working animal nutrition, wound care and problems with overloading. They speak of a time when they didn’t know more than to use traditional –  yet lacking – healing methods as compared with now healthy animals who benefit the survival of their families.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oc-bcSFriMU

AMERICA

And in the good old, literate US of A, horrors exist for entertainment’s sake.

Indiana’s Snapperfest is an event in which contestants demonstrate their prowess by pulling the heads of live turtles far outside of their shells. Undercover footage from August 2011 Snapperfest provided by the World Animal Awareness Society – WA2S.Org  reveals numerous acts of cruelty. As I watched seemingly fun-loving Americans enjoying what was clearly a violation no less offensive than rape by any law of nature I subscribe to, I was nearly sick.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZYdqMr1znM

According to the Animal Legal Defense Fund:

The DNR has condoned these actions by stating that Snapperfest participants are exempt from anti-cruelty law under an exception for activities including hunting and trapping, because, so they say, the turtles were trapped prior to their mistreatment at Snapperfest.

On January 19th, the national non-profits Animal Legal Defense Fund (ALDF) and Best Friends Animal Society submitted a petition for rulemaking to the Indiana Natural Resources Commission, arguing that the Department of Natural Resources’ (DNR) misinterpretation of state law has allowed for illegal cruelty at Ohio County’s annual “Snapperfest.”

Learn more at ALDF.org.

GET INVOLVED

There is much work to be done everywhere we turn, even in our own back yards. To learn about programs around the US and the world, please visit World Animal Awareness Society – WA2S.Org or the WA2S Facebook page.

In late October, I woke to a landscape glittering and bright in the golden sun of daybreak. It was the first snow of the season, and this particular day was my birthday. Through the window, from the warmth of my bed, I watched a rabbit making tracks as our Newf, Shamus, ate frosted crabapples straight from the tree. The view made me cheerful for the first time in a long while.

Lately, my mood had sagged like a three-sizes-too-big pair of socks around my ankles. My hands (as many of you already know) had been diagnosed with a disfiguring, incurable disease and a second malady was highly suspect. But today, with the whitewashing of the world, all of that was erased.

As the sun edged over the roof-line and warmed the space under our three-tree apple orchard, our friendly porcupine emerged from the forest. This was our third meeting. (For more about that, visit My Unlikely Encounter with a Porcupine and Return of the Porcupine, an Apple Fest.)

The twin fawns sauntered out next. Having been suckled and weened under these very trees, they tiptoed carefully around this new prickly arrival, jumping back at the slightest breath. As hunger overcame their hesitancy, they learned to eat peacefully side-by-side with the porcupine, albeit with a watchful eye.

For an added surprise, our fine flock of turkeys marched up the hill. With more confidence than trepidation, they took note of the situation and strutted straight past the napping marsupial to snap up chunks of birthday apples for themselves.

This magical dance of wildlife comings and goings went on into the early afternoon and, as the snow dripped and dropped from warming limbs, I ventured outside for a close encounter myself. The air was thick with the soft thuds of heavy golden leaves dropping and melted snow falling like a soft and gentle rain. This white noise masked my measured footfalls as I drew near.

Only the porcupine was present then, snoozing with steam streaming off her back in the heat of the sun. She had rocked back onto her rounded behind, elbows resting on her thighs and hands folded below her drowsily bobbing head. At times, the loose snow pack from the tree above would break free and tumble onto her without effect. The world literally rolled off her back that afternoon and, when she woke to eat again, even my presence was no bother.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=21kfBiTY2Qw

And so we spent several hours side by side, making my birthday nothing short of magnificent. This small but bright and healing being brought me tremendous peace and joy. But our relationship didn’t end there…

I hope you’ll come back next week for another piece of the story.

On an overcast Saturday afternoon, a dark, waddling shadow under the apple trees caught my husband Tim’s eye. “Hey. You’re friend is back!”

I ran to the window. There she was, face-first in a shiny, red, fallen apple on the lawn, circling around it as she ate, not a care in the world. Unable to hold onto the fruit, she sank her long teeth into the ruby red flesh, re-angling for every bite. When only a bright white core was left, she abandoned it for the next apple.

I raced for the camera but there was no rush. This porcupine wasn’t going anywhere.

From the couch, Shamus, our Newf, glued his eyes on the spiky spectacle dancing through the plethora of Macintosh (his favorite food). Tim sat with him as I filmed, filling the camera with repeat rounds of circular porcupine paths. This went on so long, Shamus laid down at some point, dizzied by the crazy apple spinning, and Tim and I went back to watching television. On occasion, we’d check to see if she was still there, and she always was.

As daylight faded to night, we looked once more. The porcupine’s front paws walked up the apple tree’s trunk as she considered overnighting near the perfect breakfast spot. Almost immediately, she changed direction, hobbling a bit off kilter. Was she drunk? Her belly was certainly chock-full of fermented applesauce.

In a moment of clarity, she opted for the cover of the woods and, as she made her way, I silently thanked her for another visit, this time in the company of my family.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XpjL-NE5j-Y

Then she arrived, hopping and bopping through this symphonic space like a tuba in the strings section. From a distance, she looked like a ground hog, or perhaps a beaver. But, no. She was a beautiful little porcupine.

Climbing the hill toward the house, she took a turn past the dog yard – which sent the dogs into an ear piercing cacophony. When she redirected, I grabbed my camera and followed with a wide birth letting the zoom bridge the gap.

Through the woods, we clamored over rotten tree trunks, rock walls, and through a maze of maple saplings. Leaves crunched under our feet – my footfalls in whole notes, hers adding a layer of syncopation. When she stopped under a wood pile covered in grape leaves, I circled around at a distance. It was my hope to head her off and see her precious face after following the spires of her tail this far.

We both sat quiet and still until that syncopated pace began once more. She was headed straight for me, although her poor eyesight sheilded me from view. I zoomed out as she drew near and hit my widest camera setting with her face still filling my view finder. My blood grew cold. I was really that close.

Taking one slow step back, the snap of a twig alerted her to my presence. We both froze for several minutes, her quills poised. Face to face in those moments, I watched with respectful curiosity. My pulse slowed as my muscles released. She winked and breathed. A sense of peace washed over us both. Then she turned and went on her way. I thanked her for her time and skipped across the sun speckled forest floor toward home.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJz6ZQ_bauY

This was my first up-close encounter with a wild porcupine, and it wasn’t my last.
For more adventures, be sure to visit my next post…

Leading websites including Wikipedia, Reddit, Mozilla, WordPress, and BoingBoing will go dark tomorrow in protest, and we join them. Whether you have a website or simply like to read them, you’ll want to take part, too.

WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?

Two laws, hastily proposed in the name of protecting copyright holders, will more likely enable censorship by US corporations and the U.S. government, undermining the First and Fourth Amendments of the United States Constitution.

HOW THIS COULD EFFECT YOU

Consider that YouTube video you just shared of an adoptable dog. If that video infringes on copyright by using a song without permission, under these laws, not only can YouTube be sued for hosting it, you could be sued for reposting it. (Thanks to Pamela Webster for the example.) And there’s more…

WordPress.org makes this among other important points:

In the U.S. our legal system maintains that the burden of proof is on the accuser, and that people are innocent until proven guilty. This tenet seems to be on the chopping block when it comes to the web if these bills pass, as companies could shut down sites based on accusation alone.

If you think this attack on free speech stops at the border, it doesn’t. According to ”Black Wednesday: In Protest of SOPA, Darken the Web” by Michael Geist, law professor and writer for Huffington Post Canada:

IP addresses are allocated by regional organizations, not national ones. The allocation entity located in the U.S. is called the American Registry for Internet Numbers (ARIN). Its territory includes the U.S., Canada, and 20 Caribbean nations.

That’s right. U.S. law will deeply affect international governments and individuals. Non-U.S. citizens and entities must speak up too.

For ways to make your voice heard from all corners of the world, visit Stop American Censorship and join the fight.

The potential for abuse of power through digital networks – upon which we as citizens now depend for nearly everything, including our politics – is one of the most insidious threats to democracy in the Internet age … This is no time for politicians and industry lobbyists in Washington to be devising new Internet censorship mechanisms, adding new opportunities for abuse of corporate and government power over online speech. - Rebecca MacKinnon (New York Times)

Self-hosted WordPress Users: There’s a handy little plugin that will black your site out for the day while embedding the video above and adding a form to write your representative thanks to Chris on Github.

In the flurry of all that commotion, something caught Jed’s attention. The curious cat ascended the couch, planted his face in the window and stared into the darkness. Then he started to pace.

Squirrel? I thought. We hear them trotting across the roof some nights. They use the trellis to reach the closest feeder with solid footing. I welcomed the thought.

Just two days prior, on Thanksgiving, we loaded our five Droll Yankee Executive Feeders (affiliate link) with black oil sunflower seeds. I was eager to give thanks to the surrounding wildlife for their magical presence all year. And they were eager to partake.

It had been unseasonably warm, but for the two  late October snow storms responsible for dropping all the apples. Food was scarce. I heard on the radio that, with bears now in hibernation, it was the perfect time to fill the feeders again.

Watching Jed, I grabbed the video camera hoping for a cute cat/squirrel moment as they passed in the night. I aimed the lens at the window and started to record.

That’s when I saw it, the giant bear paw with 2 inch claws wrapping around the trellis a breath away from my cat’s head. Jed watched with mild curiosity as the bear’s face entered the soft cast of living room light. The camera, still running, had already dropped to my side. My mouth formed a silent “Oh!” as I drew in a long, slow breath that hitched in my lungs.

Lumbering into the darkness, the bear found another feeder in the maple trees just 20 feet from the house. He stumbled on the rock wall and send a boulder rolling down the hill. I moved slowly into the sun porch so as not to alert the dogs. I curled into the chair using the back to prop the camera and to hide myself from view.

The living room light was glancing off the feeder tube as the bear, invisible in the darkness, twisted it left and right. As I filmed reflections in the dark, hoping for a better view, Jackson, our other cat, caught sight of the bear too. He shot like a rocket into the basement studio where Tim was tinkering. I heard Tim’s footfalls coming up. Backing slowly into the dining room, I met him at the top of the stairs.

“Don’t move. There’s a bear out there.” I whispered.

Tim’s eyes widened. I saw him glance at the video camera.

I cursed an unfinished electrical job that scheduled our floodlights for rewiring the following day. “I wish we had more light.”

“We do!” he whispered back. We turned out the living room lamp and he flipped the outside switch. One floodlight had been left intact – right where we needed it.

If you could hear what the camera picked up, we sounded like a couple of squawking (and swearing) chickens, albeit quiet chikens.

“What should we do?” Tim asked.

“Not a f@#%king thing.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6tiLtX7b57s

It was one of those experiences that exhilarates, amazes and terrifies. We watched in awe as the bear moved with both strength and grace. He looked small as he passed under our window – until he stood up to a full 5 feet, at least. My final words on the subject, as the adrenaline thinned in my veins: “That was awesome, but I’m good if it’s a once-in-a-lifetime encounter.”

After the bear’s 20 minute snack attack, Tim went out with a flashlight and took the feeders into the house. The following day, I emptied them and stored them back in the shed. Hiking up through the woods, I found the only missing feeder about 100 yards away – emptied, the bottom tray cracked off, and bear slobber still inside the rim.

People laugh when I say the bear was fairly gentle, but it’s true. He wasn’t trying to be destructive. It was quite the opposite. That the feeders survived are either a testament to that, or they’re just really solid feeders.

Tim reloaded the black oil sunflower seeds again yesterday. Having woken to 2 degree temperatures this morning with breath that turned to snow, I’m guessing we’re in the clear. One would hope in January. We’ll keep you posted.

Flying to Sevilla in 1985 with a pack of fellow 9th graders, the school system’s hope was to teach the Spanish language while immersing us in rich and colorful culture. We learned a new and colorful vocabulary all right, the locals were happy to give lessons, but it was not in the curriculum and we would not receive extra credit.

We also experienced a tradition that had young, rabble-rousing boys reveling in real-life bloody violence and girls upchucking their Chorizo. I’m not referring to our stealth acquisition of sangria. I’m referring to our first (and my last) bull fight.

¡Mierda!*

Amid thousands of sweating and cheering Spaniards, the scalding sun beat down on a black bull whose morrillo, or mound of neck muscle, oozed thick, dark, caking blood. The bull had gone several rounds with a picador using his horse as a living shield. Unseeing, we wound through the jubilant crowd to our seats.  Next came two banderillas, sharp barbed sticks that jammed into the bull’s shoulders. After the first, I wasn’t watching. I was leaving. The crowd bellowed time and again. I pushed my way out of the arena, tears streaming, never looking back.

END THIS BLOOD SPORT

Supporters of bullfighting argue that it is a culturally important tradition and a fully developed art form on par with painting, dancing and music – that they respect the bull. I call bullshit, in any language you like. This is a slow, torturous sport to entertain crowds that lust for blood and suffering.

According to Sharkonline.org:

Contrary to the propaganda of bullfighting apologists, bulls are normally quiet and peaceful animals, and only react violently in self-defense, or the defense of their turf. For a number of hours prior to the bullfight, the bull is held in a tiny isolation cell, devoid of food, water, light or the company of his herd. This confuses and panics the bull, and debilitates him physically and mentally. Just before entering the bullring, the bull is harpooned. He begins the fight for his life already wounded and bleeding. This “fight” is completely fixed.

Bullfights (and their bloodless variations) take place in Spain, Portugal, France, among other countries, and the US state of California.  It has been banned throughout history in Uruguay, Argentina, Cuba, Ecuador, and on January 1, 2012, in Catalina. We have a chance to add Mexico City to the ban list.

According to the World Society for the Protection of Animals:

Annually, an estimated 250,000 animals suffer globally due to spectacle events such as bullfighting. More bulls are killed in Mexico City than anywhere else in the world, and the city’s Legislative Assembly will soon be voting on a measure that would ban the practice.

Make the difference. Please ask Mr. José Luis Muñoz Soria, President of the Public Administration Commission of the Legislative Assembly of the State of Mexico, to support an immediate vote supporting the bullfighting ban. I did.

CALL BULLSHIT** ON BULLFIGHTING TODAY!

*mierda - feminine noun - 1. shit (muy informal) (excremento) 2. crap (suciedad) 3. (cosa sin valor) es una mierda -> it’s (a load of) crap, de mierda -> shitty, crappy (malo)

**bullshit  - Sandeces, pendejadas, gilipolleces, huevadas, boludeces, mamadas (nonsense). (Vulgarismo)

This post was written for Blog the Change, an event hosted by Be the Change for Animals on the 15th of every January, March, July and October. Join us! These folks have…

I’ve anxiously awaited this day, planning to use the PBC’s questions as a tool to redefine why I blog and what I’d like to either accomplish or abandon here. Please pardon my taking a few liberties in prose form to better explain 2011′s situation.

GOALS: THEN AND NOW

The 2011 Pet Blogger Challenge (my previous post) aimed to explore “how and why” I blog about animals and how that’s working for us as a group. I quote myself as saying then, in reference to goals from my start in 2009, “This One Wild Life still celebrates relationships with all things animal, vegetable and mineral.” I go on to say, “I wanted a way to record and remember favorite moments with these magnificent beings, exploring and sharing the human emotion attached to my animal relationships.” That goal of keeping the human/animal connection at the forefront has held fast, but I feel the execution – or my vision of it – has essentially failed.

SPIRALING OUT OF CONTROL

In August, just as my health slammed me through a series of hairpin turns, my blog garnered the attention of an inordinate number of brands. I’d wake up, rub my eyes, ask “Who have I scheduled for review today?” and hammer out some unique and quirky perspective. I convinced myself it was creative and fun, but really, it was easier to promote products than to find some clever way to continue blogging while avoiding my personal drivel and drama (unless you know me on Facebook). And those products [read Bandaids] just kept coming.

I cut my posting schedule down to Mondays and Fridays, tossing an easy Wordless Wednesday in the middle. By September, with few exceptions, there was hardly room for personal reflection, even when I wanted to write. The brands had taken over. And I had let it happen.

A HACK ATTACK

Like sweepstakes? So did the hacker who pointed every one of my posts to a series of them. My hands were in so much pain and I was so deeply rooted in overall fatigue, I was beyond overwhelmed by the issues. A friend of mine and I tag-teamed a patch repair, but I had to design a new theme from scratch. Every post and picture needed reimporting. Then, when I left New York for radiation therapy in November, I was hit with a pingback spam attack. The physical pain of deleting 4000 comments snapped my spirit in two, threw it to the floor, and buried me deep in the pile-on of misfortune.

Nothing exciting or original sprang forth after that. I was reviewing the same products every other blogger did, still adhering to my promise of honesty and integrity, but any unique perspective had been snuffed out. Giveaways stopped drawing entrants. People stopped caring enough to comment, and who could blame them. Even I was bored with what this space had become.

THIS ONE WILD LIFE OR DEATH?

I declared it time to euthanize the blog and put everybody out of their misery. The kind encouragement of Edie Jarolim and Kim Thomas convinced me otherwise, bolstering my will to breathe all the rich color of life back into what became a pathetic and grey PR machine. It was slow and steady work, which I began and abandoned several times since September, but on January 6th, I finally, fully and rather quietly took my blog back.

Now it’s time to rethink it.

MOVED BY SPIRIT OR SCHEDULE?

Amy and Edie ask, in question 4, “Has your opinion of blogging on a schedule or as the spirit moves you changed? Which are you doing now? Do you still worry about lost traffic, momentum, etc?”

In 2009, I blogged as the spirit moved me. I was a nobody. It didn’t matter. In 2010, I followed the experts’ rallying cry for daily posting. “Content and consistency are KING!” they cried. Funny thing, that. There sure was a lot of crap suddenly floating around. But, hey, it was consistent. And I should mention that reading all that production was exhausting.

Then, Scott Stratten delivered the 2010 BlogWorld keynote in Vegas preaching “Don’t spread Meh. Spread AWESOME!” The Hallaluja Chorus and trumpets echoed between my ears. That’s it! Blog only when you’re brilliant! That really worked for me… Until the 2011 take-over, when I blogged myself into a creative and intellectual ditch.

Oddly, through it all, traffic kept coming. FatCow web hosting and Amazon affiliate income continued to rise. It seems I have an audience no matter what or when I write. The problem isn’t them. It’s me. I no longer care for my content. I’m going back to awesome whenever it springs forth.

MAY I HAVE YOUR HAND IN … ???

Engagement. This is my more pressing goal for 2012. Comment. More. Share. More. I could love my blog deeply and monogamously again, but I think we should start seeing other people. I’m ready for an open relationship. I spent hours last week stocking Google Reader with blogs I love but rarely read. I’ve followed some of you to the ends of Google Earth. You’ll be seeing me.

That’s right. What I love most about blogging is you. I could do the writing alone, but only you make it a conversation. I look forward to talking with you. Much, much more. I’m so committed, I spent 3 hours typing this with one finger on an iPad.

Alzheimer’s ruthlessly robbed valuable pieces of Helen’s memory over the years, and I have long missed my connection with sweetest woman I have ever known. Now that her beautiful soul has flown, I believe her spirit has been set free to soar through the ethos, no longer bound by earthly separation and limitation. And I am free to remember the woman who was and who is now whole again, not the still-darling but deteriorating woman who no longer knew me.

Memory. Relationships depend upon it. And so I remember.

A significant constant, and what Alzheimer’s could never steal away, was Helen’s love for Ralph, her beloved husband and my grandfather, and every small, sweet being she and Ralph had ever encountered. Whether dogs, cats, crows, geese, rabbits, raccoons, squirrels, or children, they loved (and often fed) them all. And where children and animals connected, Helen and Ralph’s cup runneth over.

Even after Ralph had to leave her, assisted living was required, and her vocabulary began to slip away with the memories, Helen worried about Ralph as well as the birds outside her window surviving a Western NY winter without her scraps of breakfast, lunch, dinner, and desert.

Becoming custodian of thousands of family photographs in recent years, it became obvious during my sorting that most were taken by my grandmother – as typically noted by her absence from the frame. As much as I’d love to see more images of her, I take tremendous pleasure in seeing the world that she loved through her eyes.

Here are some of Helen’s favorite memories from 1948 to 1969, the years her children were growing up with their many animal friends.

Helen's View

This is truly a tribute to both of my grandparents because each took pride in teaching their family together. They were a unified front in guiding the best interests of their children and grandchildren and in caring for one another.

To leave Helen in 2003, after they celebrated his November birthday in the hospital (below), was incredibly difficult for Ralph. When his birthday came around again this past November, he received the greatest gift, my grandmother.

Ralph has been waiting, Dear Helen. May your eternal love bring you together once more. I imagine you young, as in love as you’ve been since you met, and with the whole world set before you. Enjoy the dance.

To you both:

I love you for who you are.
I thank you for making me who I am.

Photo (right): 1943 – My grandparents, Ralph and Helen, freshly married and on a date at the New Como Club in Western, NY.

HAND-PAINTED MINIATURE PET PORTRAITS

Each year, Tim and I add another ornament to the tree. This year was no exception – although these tiny portraits won’t be relegated to holiday storage. Oh, no. These beautifully hand-painted gifts will be treasured long after the holiday season for their longevity and versatility. Truly perfect for any occasion, they are too adorable to hide away. I can’t even part with the hand-painted boxes.

This talented Chicago artist’s name is Becky Sorrentino and I can’t rave about her enough. It’s one thing to find her paintings of other people’s pets lovely. It’s quite another to see the souls of the animals I know inside-and-out shine through. She did a fabulous job.

Ordering your pet portrait couldn’t be easier. Just visit BecArt on Etsy.com to:

• Select a favorite photo
• Chose a border color (Red, Blue, Green, or Yellow)
• Choose one or two simple words for the back
• Choose the symbol you’d like (Bone, Heart, Paw Print, or Mouse)

CATS – HAND PAINTED, HAND CUT 20 CARD SET

Aren’t these lovely? They’re not only perfect for sending that special note (and orginal art) to a special person, but Becky’s largest clients are veterinarians often in search of that perfect communication with pet owners. They’re available through Becky’s hand painted card shop on Etsy, BecArtDesign.

DOGS – HAND PAINTED WATERCOLOR CALENDAR

I absolutely love Becky’s dog calendar too. Each 4.5” x 6″ sheet displays a different month with its own beautiful watercolor dog painting. For long-lasting use and durability, each is printed on 100lb smooth, acid-free, white vellum and packaged in a white box. It’s perfect for corkboards, refrigerators, gift bags, holiday gifts, or frame them for wall art.

THERE’S EVEN MORE!

For Becky’s oil paintings, watercolor paintings, jewelry, handmade & hand painted cards & invitations, visit the Becky Sorrentino Studio blog, Facebook and Twitter. And don’t forget her two Etsy shops: BecArtDesign and BecArt. Please tell her I sent you!

Please Note:

I won our first miniature pet portrait through a raffle at Kim Thomas’ blog, CindyLu’s Muse. I purchased two more because I just knew I’d love them. Now that I have all three in hand, I’m off to buy one of the birds in blue! That said, this review is based strictly on my joyous personal experience and I have received no compensation from Becky or Kim for sharing my sheer delight.