Every day in my inbox, I find The Animal Rescue Site’s daily reminder to help with various causes with just one click. It’s my two-minute moment of the day when I feel I’m making a (literally) small gesture to help the planet be a better place. My favourite part of that daily email is the rescue story of the day sent in by people who’ve adopted various pets, which are always featured along with a picture. I just had to share today’s edition:
I sign every petition they send my way. I leave comments pleading those who are in positions to do something to stop the killing. I donate money when I can. But until tonight I thought my involvement shouldn’t extend to actually viewing the documentary The Cove, because I knew it would upset me too much, but the truth is MORE people need to see it. Tonight I just watched the last half hour of it and I’m crying my eyes out. Seeing those waters crimson red with blood and those ignorant Japanese fishermen honestly believing they’re doing their country a service by ridding the waters of what they call a “predator”… because that’s what they’ve convinced their people that the dolphins and whales are—the International Whaling Commission says the fish are scarce because these whales and dolphins eat too many of them—NOT because there is overfishing in all the world’s seas and oceans, no. And because of this lie, they slaughter thousands of these creatures at a time in all impunity, entire communities of them just annihilated. Doesn’t make sense. I feel so powerless to stop the murdering. We murder animals the same way we eliminate human beings. Just because we can. Makes me ashamed to be from the same species. Because the truth is WE are the ultimate predators. Sometimes I think it won’t be soon enough before we extinguish ourselves. Because the sooner humanity leaves this planet, the better chances it, and the creatures who have just as much right to live on it, have any chances of surviving. I still hold on to a shred of hope that we’ll somehow evolve and realize the holocaust we keep perpetuating on the inhabitants of this planet must end for good, and actually take steps to make it so.
I think about these things much too often. Not very cheerful thought to go to sleep with. Don’t write about them much because I don’t want to sound preachy. But please, if you can do anything at all to help the cause, to help save ourselves and nature from our own ignorance, then do it. Every little bit helps. That’s what I keep telling myself to make it all more acceptable. Until I figure out what more I can do with my limited resources to actually make a difference.
We’re all doing just fine. I had to leave Coco in his cage today for quite a while because of a painting studio class from 9am-4pm. So far I haven’t made it there before 1pm so I figured showing up at 11 would be fine and mean less time in solitary for my newly adopted pooch. He barked a bit when I left, which is kind of normal at this stage, so on the way down I asked my landlady if she could hear him and she said no. Perfect, that leaves us a bit of leeway as far as noise goes.
Mimi is growing more and more curious about him and now gets pretty close to sniff him out. Fritz is being his normal self and hissing at Coco every chance he gets, but he’s still friendly with me which is a great sign—when I brought Mimi home he wanted to kill me for the first month—all in all, this transition is going well. Both cats are curious about the cage and Fritz tried to settle in there a few times… I actually had to pull him out so Coco could get in! Of the three, Coco likes the crate least, but I make him spend some time there while I’m in the room so he’ll understand it’s his own little home to help reduce anxiety when I need to leave him there when I’m gone. I’ll probably be able to let him roam free soon because he really is quite the little prince and knows his manners, but I’m not giving him any leeway right now—that way there’s no chance for him to fall into bad habits and it also helps to quickly establish who the alpha dog is around here. I’ve started giving him his food there so he‘ll make pleasant associations with it, so he now goes in (more or less) willingly and naps there with the door open until I tell him he can come out. This evening Mimi walked right up to him while he was laying there and sniffed him out for a while, so I snapped a few pics for evidence. I’m guessing those two will become fast friends in no time at all.
As for mum (i.e. me), she’s pretty tired; the new early to rise routine, the many walks per day and the excitement of newfound love… but it’s a good tired of course. There’s nothing on the agenda tomorrow and up till now I’ve used those days to catch up on sleep and get much-needed rest, so we’ll see how I handle the challenge of putting the dog’s needs before my own. Something tells me my maternal instincts will kick in whether I want them to or not. :-)
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He’s fast asleep in what used to be the cat bed. Mimi is lying across the room observing him intently—she’s approaching him right now… very very slowly…
She hissed and made to attack when he first walked through the door earlier today. He didn’t seem too perturbed. They warned me at Animatch that he might yelp quite a bit when trying to handle him, partly out of nerves and partly because he’s a diva. In fact, he was calm from the moment we picked him up K and I, then during the 30 minute drive back to town during which I took a bunch of pics, then sitting on my lap as I was trimming his ears on my balcony, then as I cleaned around his eyes where the fur was all matted. All without a peep. He’s been tethered to me since we got home. When he’s not tied to me, I put him in his cage for now. He wined a little bit the first time I put him there, but nothing too serious and he stopped when he realized I was ignoring him (not easy to do considering what a cutie he is, but necessary). That’s how it’ll be for the next few days to make sure he doesn’t try marking and also to protect him from the cats if need be.
Mimi is right next to the bed now… and now backing up again, sitting down and staring at him from a few feet away. She’s trying to figure out what kind of creature he is. He’s oblivious to it all and fast asleep.
We’ve gone for a couple of walks already. We met a lot of kids and he was calm as can be and wagging his tail when they came up to pet him. I have to help him up the stairs outside since you can see through them and it makes him nervous. I’ll be taking him out again as soon as he wakes up. I’ve been calling him Coco today. Not to say that’s my final decision because “Coco” is a term of endearment in French, much like “sweetie”, but then again, it suits him. We’ll just take it as it comes for now. So far, so great.
Pics by Smiler
This is kind of ridiculous. It’s practically a full-blown anxiety attack I’m going through right now. I’m totally dizzy and I need to keep reminding myself to breathe because I forget to take in enough air.
Yesterday we celebrated my friend K’s 45th b-day with a Tuscan meal that four of her close friends and I prepared for her. She’d been so looking forward to our get-together (the first time she got all her best friends together at the same time) and I wanted the evening to be special too. But then I didn’t sleep well the night before and by the time I got there wasn’t feeling at all well. I hope my lack of enthusiasm didn’t put a damper on the evening. We had lots of delicious food and all overrate. We had made plans for a sleepover and all I could think about was how much I missed Mimi as I tossed and turned all night, trying to get my overfull tummy in a comfortable position and being woken up time and time again by countless nightmares. Had Mimi been with me, I could have cuddled her a little and gone back to sleep to the calming sound of her purring. Morning couldn’t come around too soon and when I got up to join K & her friend A in the kitchen, they told me they heard me talking all night, which came as no surprise considering how tormented my sleep was. I took a morning bus home and promptly lay down on my couch with curtains closed to try to get some decent sleep, this time protected by Mimi sleeping atop me (and… bonus! Fritz too!), but again, an endless chain of disturbing dreams kept me from getting properly rested.
I made the effort to get up and make myself dinner this evening, but all I can think about is that I’ll be brining the puppy home tomorrow. We’ve agreed K and I to pick him up at Animatch around 7 pm (just 22 hours away now!). But I’m so on edge right now that I’m thinking perhaps I should skip my watercolours class, since I’ll probably be too distracted to get much out of it, and pick him up in the early afternoon. I don’t know why I’m so nervous really. It’s silly, but I’m really concerned that I won’t be up to the task, and worse, that the cats will hate me for bringing in another creature. My kittens have been huddling up close to me all day and I can’t help but wonder if after tomorrow… is it likely they’ll do that again?
I know I know… I worry too much. But if I could change that, I’d probably be an altogether different person, right?
The following is a slightly edited copy of a comment I just left on the great Animatch site under Cougar’s profile. Cougar is a purebred Boxer who was handed over to this awesome shelter and for whom they currently need any kind of monetary support as there are lots of fees associated with his ongoing medical care. You can read all the details in his profile, but I’ll just say that Cougar was brought in with an ear infection that had been left for so long that it had spread through his body so that he now needs a SECOND surgery since he was brought in to fix his knee which was badly affected. They don’t know at this point whether he will ever fully recuperate from the ordeal. Unbelievable. The comment thread is worth reading, if only for the whole discussion about whether or not it’s appropriate to blame Cougar’s previous owners, and might also explain why I launched into such a long diatribe about animal activism. Here is the message I posted:
Greetings.
Stories like Cougar’s make me hopping mad, but I think that’s precisely the reason why they need to be told—to remind us that there are too many animals out there being poorly looked after (if at all) and that we humans as a collective—not just animal lovers—have a responsibility towards making their lives at the very least bearable. This is the very same responsibility we have to help people in developing countries achieve decent standards of living. I strongly believe that word of mouth about why neutering and spaying are important are steps in the right direction. But I also think that as long as humanity doesn’t achieve a higher state of consciousness (which though I am hopeful, will probably take a “little while” longer…), there will need to be laws in place to punish those who behave so irresponsibly towards animals so that theses matters will be taken seriously and not endured in silence.
Those who want to be “nice” and “pleasant” and choose to forgive abusive and neglectful owners are doing the victims the same disservice as those who choose to ignore abuse of women and children. Animals in particular don’t have the option of bettering their own lives as we humans do, and we MUST take actions as a society to enforce the decent treatment of animals. The situation as it is currently makes me think of what things were like back in the ‘50’s when alcoholism, smoking and corporal punishment (to name just those) were all taken for granted as things that were acceptable and “normal”, even if not necessarily talked about. I wasn’t around then, but I choose to be vocal about my opinions on controversial matters because it is the only form of activism I can engage in at the moment and I refuse to sit back and stay quiet about situations that could relatively easily be turned around if enough of us choose to say what needs to be said.
To get things to change, you first have to TALK about the real situation without trying to make it any prettier. If it’s ugly and painful or even disgusting, it must be said. Then those who have the energy and stamina to fight the good fight can find the support they need (via petitions and the like) to sway politicians to put policies in place to effect REAL change. This will only happen we enough of us speak up and form large collectives.
Helen, Joanne & Co., [Animatch founder and volunteers] I salute you for not only making these animals a priority in your lives but also for being able to keep your cool with those responsible for the horrible mistreatment of these helpless creatures so that at least they will be brought to shelters like yours instead of being abandoned and left to fend for themselves. I will also put money where my mouth is as soon as my next pay cheque comes in to help poor Courageous Cougar.
I think the Animatch adoption fees are more than reasonable considering some people are willing to dish out THOUSANDS of dollars to “reputable” breeders for the simple privilege of knowing their adoptee is a “purebred”. But then somehow, some of the very same people seem to have no qualms about opening the door and letting puppy wander off when they find he/she is too much trouble to have around. How else can you explain so many purebred dogs finding themselves in shelters? No matter what the dog’s pedigree is, adopting another living being comes with real responsibilities, not the least of which, financial, and the costs shelters face need to be covered by those who benefit from the services provided with such compassion and dedication. I strongly urge those reading this to consider pet insurance. For a reasonable monthly cost, you can plan for those times when your pet will need serious medical intervention, which will inevitably happen if you keep your animal “till death do us part”—of natural causes, I should add. [Because opting to have an animal “put down”—a hypocritical euphemism if there ever was one—just because vet bills might get too high is simply not an acceptable alternative. Imagine if we did that with people!]
This is a long and rambling one, but I felt these things needed to be said. I certainly wouldn’t wish upon the previous owners of Cougar to cross my path because, as nice a person as I can be most of the time, I wouldn’t mind delivering a swift kick in the shins [to start with!] to cruel abusers like that. THAT’s what they are—because neglect is one of the most pernicious forms of abuse—of course that wouldn’t help anything at all, but I do strongly believe that Karma comes back and bites those who’ve disrespected the natural order of things [and that gives me some measure of comfort at least].
I’ve said my peace and stand by every single word herein.
Cougar’s photo by David, Animatch’s volunteer animal photographer.
See lots more fantastic dog photos by David on the site.
So right away you’re asking where’s the picture, right? And so you should. I’m really kicking myself. I was just so caught up in the moment while I was out there spending time with the dogs that I forgot everything about Smiler, the blogger, and became one mushy ball of blubbering puppy-loving. I did publish a picture of him in a previous post, but he now looks like a whole new pup with his freshly cropped duds and totally adorable.
As all happy stories go… there’s not much to tell really. We went, we met a couple of dogs, I was torn, but then couldn’t resist the charms of the one currently known as “Tino”. He’s a seven-year-old toy poodle and slightly smaller than my cats. He was found erring the streets so there’s no background info on him. He’s a fun-loving clever little pup, full of vim and vigour and eager to please. I took him out for a walk on the leash and he was a charm and even seemed to follow simple commands. Then when I held him in my arms for a good 15 minutes as we were chatting with the founder of Animatch (the shelter that matched me up with the dog), and found him sinking into me and almost purring as I gently stroked him, the deal was clinched. It did help that he was totally cool and unperturbed around the resident “test” cat. My biggest challenge will be to NOT over-spoil him to make sure he doesn’t develop separation-anxiety and all the attending problems. I’m sure there’ll be other surprises in store, but that’s just part of the fun. I had to leave him there for now since he’s getting fixed and they’ll be working on his teeth, but he’ll be ready for me to pick him up in just a week (at which point I won’t forget to take plenty of pics!). That gives me just enough time to spend on extra bonding with the kittens before their whole world, and mine, gets completely made over. I’m already thinking of getting a bike with a cute little basket fitted in front so we can ride around to do errands together. A match made in heaven. In the meantime, I’m looking for names. Since I already have an Ezra and a Mimi, I’d like a name ending in “o”. Preferably an unusual one. Suggestions welcome.
This dog search business is taking a toll on me. I thought finding a dog would be easier than finding a decent boyfriend—something I gave up on quite some time ago—but apparently not. I’ve applied to countless rescue organizations. They all discriminate against people living in apartments because barking is often an issue and lots of people who rent apparently leave their pets behind when they move and are unable to find places that accept animals. It pisses me off that there is this perception that homeowners are that much more responsible. Perhaps it’s statistically true, but I doubt you could generalize to the point of saying that homeowners are more caring or animals friendly. That’s like saying that homeowners make better parents… With so many animals abandoned each day and in desperate need of good homes, why is it so hard to adopt one? There’s no question I want a rescue animal, but it certainly isn’t the easiest alternative. I wish more people rescued pets too, but if it’s this difficult, no wonder pet shops and breeders are still the first alternative for most.
I finally got a call from Animatch yesterday, a very reputable organization that places homeless pets with the best possible homes. They say they don’t often place pets in apartments, but they may have two dog possibilities for me (i.e. not excessive barkers). I was thrilled when they called me. Was just finishing up at my painting studio class and about to make my way home. But I’ve been overexcited lately and for various reasons, ended up in a mess of tears, stranded in the middle of nowhere on my walk home and had to call a cab because I was sobbing so hard I could barely put one foot in front of the other. I took one of my PRN chill pills (i.e. high dosage of mood stabilizer taken when needed) which took immediate effect as soon as I got here, but also left me groggy and exhausted ever since. The rescue organization is now asking that I get a signature from my landlords attesting that they have agreed to me adopting a dog. Trouble is, my landlords only agree on the condition that we have a trial period first. I’ve written the good people at Animatch what I hope is a good explanatory letter as to why I can’t supply them with that signed document. If it all works out, great. If not, I guess I’ll have no choice but to adopt another cat and embrace the fact, once and for all, that old maids aren’t meant to have boyfriends or dogs. I know that may seem like a redundant statement in more ways than one, but so be it.
Pictured above: Tino and Stella, to Animatch adoptees that may be good matches for me. Photos by David.
CD, an old friend from my old student/gay club bartending days, also happens to be my banker. I had to meet him in Old Montreal to sign some important papers today. It was the end of his work day, so I suggested we go nearby for drinks. The topic of an acquaintance we had in common came up. She was found horifically murdered this summer; her burned body was rolled up in a carpet and dumped in an industrial zone in a shed which, ironically enough was near a prop rental place. I think it’s ironic because so much about her life and death was straight out of the movies. They had it on the front page of Le Journal de Montréal this summer, titled something like “Hairdresser to the Stars Found Horrifically Murdered”. She’d worked on movie sets, she’d worked with stars, that much was true, but we couldn’t help sharing what we also knew about her in private. She had been a good friend of my ex D and had stayed with us on several occasions, and I had also stayed at her New York apartment several times. The fact that I actually know someone who was found murdered that way blows my mind. Goodness knows she didn’t deserve to die so violently.
I invited myself to accompany CD to the Salon des métiers d’arts, where he wanted to pay a visit to one of the exhibitors—a local actress with a successful line of hand-made bags. “Would I wear one of her bags?” I asked him. He had just described the style to me moments before—something about flower appliqués and patchwork that a bunch of actresses are crazy about these days. We were sitting at the beautiful dark orange glowing counter in the somber, slow moving bar at the W hotel in Old Montreal. He had a couple of dry Martinis and shared some olives while I sipped at some scotch (12 year old the Balvenie and Glenmorangie as I recall). “You? Never!” he replied dramatically. We visiter her kiosk and I took my time looking at the bags as CD spoke to their eccentric actress/bag lady. She was very very skinny and had too much makeup caked on her face. “I dressed up as one of my bags!” she declared—she had on a leopard print cardigan, a long black skirt with black Crocs and a red flower in her hair. She showed us her favourite creations, proudly presenting each bag by name “la schizophrène, la shaman, la jean victorienne…” . We decided to stay for a bit and take in the huge fair which has become a yearly event. Both CD and I quickly got discouraged when we realized that the dreadful “paintings” made out of sculpted coloured leather were only one of the many incredibly tacky articles on display. I suggested we look for “at least one thing we each like” and after a while, we found a pile of simple stackable rings with semi-precious stones for me, and CD chose one of the young creators of the event, who made a neat line of ceramic dishes (and was recommended by Châtelaine magazine no less!). Neither of us bought anything of course and both CD and I were convinced we were racking up plenty of bad karma as we looked at one stand after another and made each other laugh. I got a picture of him wearing a creation from one of the stands I found ugliest of all; dark and creepy wall art inspired by venetian masks. “Immonde” was the only way I was able to describe the stuff. CD asked to try on one of the smaller, more wearable masks. He put it on and I was given special permission to take a couple of quick snap with my phone. I told CD I’d send the pics to him on Facebook. I will, but since he is rather anonymous on these pics, results are below for your viewing pleasure.
The mask looks much better on this pic!<
Part 2
It was very cold outside when I stepped out of the metro station on my way home and I was glad for my warm (recycled) fur hat. I was taking my messages on my mobile when I turned onto my street where a few young guys with dogs tried to get my attention. One of the guys was holding a gorgeous young Weimaraner on a leash. The graceful and nervous dog stood out among the collection of what looked like pit bulls but were probably American Staffordshire Terriers (also affectionately known as Amstaff). They had just found the young female running around loose on the street and were trying to locate the owner. I had noticed that particular dog before (a gorgeous specimen and undoubtedly a purebred) so I knew the owner must be very near. I tried to take a picture so I could make a sign to put on the street, but the dog was moving too much (see below). At worst, I thought, I would keep her in my bathroom overnight until tomorrow when I could either find her owner or bring her to the SPCA. I rang my next door neighbour, who owns two large dogs and has been living here even longer than me, figuring she must know all the other dog owner in the neighbourhood. She did. The dog’s name was Stella and her owner was a neighbour who was letting Stella run out on the street on a regular basis. There was some mention of bipolar disorder, that the lady was heavily medicated and not entirely coherent, that Stella was proving to be too much of a handful for her. I debated what we should do for a while. Bringing the dog back to her seemed to be a bad choice as it seemed inevitable that it would end up on the street again. My neighbour said there was another dog owner next door who was interested in adopting her if she was found erring around again. We decided to go over to the dog owner and together figure out what best to do. We found the lady somewhat dozed and seemingly unperturbed that her dog had gone loose again. She couldn’t handle him, she said, didn’t know how to take care of this young and very energetic puppy who had been given to her to replace the fourteen year-old Golden she had recently lost. Stella’s temperament was too different, she said, and she didn’t know how to keep her from chewing things. We mentioned the potential adopter on our street. She said that would probably be the best thing for everybody. “Just please don’t let them change her name, she’s used to it by now”, were her parting words after we told her we’d only come back if we couldn’t find Stella a home right away. It was almost 10 p.m. by then. We took Stella to the neighbour in question, who was delighted to find this beautiful gray beast on her doorstep. “What if she decides she wants the dog back?“ she asked. Then: “well I guess I can take him in for a couple of months and we’ll just have to see if the lady gets better and wants her back.” During the entire episode I was getting a series of heart pangs. Other than her obvious good looks, Stella was also reasonably well behaved, affectionate and eager to please, and obviously simply needing proper care and training. I’d have brought that gorgeous young pup home to live with us in a heartbeat if it weren’t for the fact that my downstairs landlords are currently less than enthused about my recent request to consider letting me adopt a dog. The latest news: they said no at first so I came back and suggested I try fostering some small dogs so we could all see if it could possibly work out. Test driving a candidate or two, as it were. They said they’d get back to me on that.
But hey, in the meantime I helped find a lost and unloved dog a home tonight, just like that. It made me feel really good. My own gorgeous cats greeted me very cheerfully and I felt for a moment maybe they knew how lucky they were to have such a good and loving home. As for me, Lord knows it isn’t always exactly easy peasy for me, but I sure do count my many blessings too (that includes you, CD).
July 1st is our day to be gay and proud to be Canadian. Not that we’re all gay. Not that we’re all proud either. In my case, I’m pretty glad to be Canadian though I wouldn’t mind a dual citizenship. With the U.S. say, or any European country which is part of the EU, or Australia for that matter. Our Canadian passport does get us into places pretty easily. There was a time pre-9/11 that you could just flash your passport real quick and they’d wave you in without even looking into it. Canada doesn’t piss too many people off from a global perspective—we’re even seen as “good guys” in parts of the world where our neigbouring U.S. of A isn’t always welcome. But then a whole lot of people in the world have no idea where Canada actually is (“Is it an American State?” “Is it close to Alaska?”) but that’s fine by me. If they can’t locate us on a map then they can’t send nuclear missiles our way either.
Here in Quebec, most French Canadian citizens wouldn’t be caught dead celebrating an “Anglo” holiday, so instead we have Moving Day. That’s when the whole city is flooded with moving trucks and the already warm temperature soars up a few more notches. Beer sales are just as swift as they are in the rest of Canada. You find those who weren’t quick enough to reserve a moving service carrying stuff with any means available, sometimes on their backs. It’s the funniest thing seeing people struggle and huff and puff on a hot day to move a giant piece of junk which ought to be left in the garbage pile. Judging by the mounds of junk piled up on the streets on July 2nd, it’s fair to assume that people only discover the true value of their possessions (or lack thereof) when they have to haul them around. Moving Day is beer and pizza day since everything is closed down for the holiday, which is fine since beer and pizza is all you really want after an exhausting day of hauling all the junk you decided you can’t part with. There is always more of it than you could have possibly imagined.
Apparently, moving day is also a big day for the SPCA and other animal shelters, since many pet owners just “forget” to bring their pets along with them to their new locations. Probably because they have so many other things to think about on such a busy busy day? What with all those Canada Day beers? And countless boxes to haul around? Not to mention having to keep track of the movers so they don’t break anything? Right? I think these people, i.e. people who are capable of just “forgetting” Fido or Whiskers or Gertrude the turtle should be shot, or at the very least have their kids (or someone of equal value) taken away from them as they are obviously unfit to take care of other living beings. But we’re not going into all that because we’re keeping this post light and happy, since it’s a celebration today, right? Right. Happy Canada Day!
