Tag: animal rights

Rescuing Jack: The pup who redefined carelessness.

Laura Wild2 Comments

Carefree; the state of being free from anxiety or responsibility, one of my favorite words. As I grow older its meaning seems to become less and less relevant to my life, but I am eternally craving the feeling. I have always associated it with being calm and optimistic, never careless, never oblivious. Last Thursday, however, I learned that even being carefree comes with a price.

As usual, the morning was cool and refreshing. An electric midnight storm had left a puddle of water around my tent, but under my covers I had stayed warm and dry. I love night’s like that; when I don’t have anything to worry about, at least nothing besides my own comfort. I have learned time and time again just how fleeting they can be, and yet I always seem to take them for granted. This one, however, I savored; all I had on my agenda for the day was a mild, secluded bike ride. As soon as the sun rose to burn all of the moisture away, the atmosphere became immediately hot, as it does every day in the desert. It was around 10am when I met the animal that would take away my peace of mind for many nights to come.

He was just another homeless dog; a swift silhouette on the horizon, prancing the abandoned roads in search of something to eat. Down here, trash is not hard to come by, and maybe that’s why he wasn’t emaciated. I got off of my bike, all too aware that if I flew by him I would be a perfect target to chase, and started speaking in a soothing voice, not wanting to inspire an attack. I know this fear is just extra weight that I carry with me for no reason at all, but I’ve always been especially cautious around these types of animals.

Most Southern Tier cycling websites suggest riders have pepper spray at the ready, because many of the dogs in the South are raised solely as watch dogs. I don’t do that because I can’t imagine ever bringing myself to actually use it, so maybe that’s why I am always on edge. Anyway, it goes without saying that this dog was different. He was shy, but he was irresistably sweet. This pup was so tired that when I so much as gave him the acknowledgement that he had gone without for so long, he immediately fell into a deep sleep beside me, exausted fom god knows what he was doing.

Dozens of flies swarmed the cuts on his face, as fire ants went about building a nest only a few feet from us. He didn’t stir. After drinking the rest of my water, I think he finally felt comfortable enough to rest. With his head on my knee, we waited under the shade of a billboard for hours while animal control drove out to us.

I feel like calling animal control was my biggest mistake. This sweet animal had done nothing but kiss me, and trust me, and wag his tail at me. Still, when the officers came to put him in their truck, they were not gentle. I can only imagine how scared he must have been in that dark metal box that they put him in, and for good reason. So many abandoned animals take their last rides in that truck, before they spend their final days in empty cages. That is exactly where this dog was headed, and I knew that. The next day, when I went to the shelter to “bail him out”, I saw for myself just how bleak this particular shelter was.

I spent the next 24 hours conflicted with the idea of trusting the animal shelter that he had been taken to, or taking matters into my own hands. Several calls to the shelter helped me make my mind up pretty fast, as they could not assure me that he wouldn’t be euthanized after his 48 hour grace period was up. Las Cruces, New Mexico is so overwhelmed with stray dogs that only the cream of the crop stand a chance of being adopted. The ones that can’t be taken in are unspoken of, and disposed of.

I’ve been to kill shelters before, and they are always terrifying. Rows and rows of man’s best freind, all organized by breed and temperment, barking and howling their unheard negotiations for freedom. Each snatched from a world that did not value them, only to be taken to an institution that does not have room for them. At least half of them are pure breeds, whose parents were not spayed and neutered and whose owners were not able to care for them. One might blame this problem on poverty, but I blame it on ignorance.

There are too many dogs in this world, and too many carefree people. Puppy mills, pet stores, and even your average neighborhood backyard-breeders all contribute to a system that leaves hundreds of thousands of dogs homeless, mistreated, and ultimately sentanced to death. Those who call themselves animal lovers should have no tolerence for the breeding industry whatsoever. If the suffering of companion animals is to end we can no longer respond to the ignorance of our friends with a smile and a nod, as I have done for far too long.

In the end, I did find the silver lining in this hellstorm of a situation. Jack, the name given to this sweet dog by his new owners, eventually found his American dream. It wasn’t easy, and the hardest part by far was finding a few kind hearted people who were willing to advocate for my cause. Those people were not the officers who responded to my call, nor the workers at the shelter who only gave me a several hour window to drive him out of state, but the handful of strangers who offered to give me a ride when I did not have a car. The woman who helped me keep Jack from being attacked by another pack of stray dogs, and my always proactive mother who has a way of making anything possible. The last to help me were the real heroes of this saga; Jenny, whose name always seems to come up in my blog posts because she is always willing to go out of her way to do something kind for someone else, and my aunts Jean and Carrie, who are finally giving Jack the secure, forever home that he deserves.

Jack’s story is one that I’ll never forget; it’s exciting, it’s true, it has a happy ending. It’s the story of a puppy who escaped unknown horrors and still managed to be sweet enough to make it into a loving home. His is also a story of privilage, and it’s the story of a really messed up animal welfare system. I can’t stop thinking about what a miracle it is that this one got a second chance, and how lucky he is that he was born a german shepherd, and not a pit bull. It brings me so much happiness to know that he is safe and taken care of, but even that knowledge is not enough to make me feel optimistic. The truth is, I am heartbroken. This experience has exposed the truth of the overwhelming amount of animal neglect that this country enables. I wish I could sugar coat this, I wish I could serve the reality of this problem to you under a blanket of encouragement and hope, but I can’t. I can only add this to the extensive list of reasons it feels like America has forgotten the South.

I still battle with the image of all the other animals I left behind; the ones who weren’t desirable, the ones who will never be adopted. The ones who will spend their final days on a bed of concrete, and whose lives are of so little significance that they will soon be forgotten. This is the kind of thing that haunts me, the kind of thing that leaves me feeling hopeless. We saved one; that matters. It matters, but it’s not nearly enough.

I’m a softie, it’s true, and I’m sure I love dogs a little bit more than most. The ones that I have had in my life have brought me out of some of my darkest places, and I will never pass up an opportunity to help bring them out of theirs. The puppy that I lost over a year ago still makes appearences in my dreams, her absense still puts a knot in my throat when I return home, and the memory of her final days will still pull at my heart strings until the end of time. I don’t think any of that is too weird or too extreme. I don’t want people to think that my reaction to finding this stray dog in the desert is too weird or extreme either; it shouldn’t be a big deal, it should be normal.

Adventures like this bike trip sometimes make me feel like I am barreling through space at lightning speed; I just keep going and going and I never want to stop. I’ve seen adventure affect many people the same way, and I don’t think it’s necessarily a good thing. Even after everything I have just said, I have yet to admit that it was actually hard for me to stop for this helpless dog. Knowing how many homeless dogs there were around me, I was ready to cast him off as “just another one.” I’m so glad I didn’t. I’m so glad I stepped on the brakes for what amounts to the blink of an eye in my life, because it had a profound effect on the rest of his. I’ve just breached Texas, and I can only imagine how many more stray animals I am bound to come across. I can only dream that the ones I stop for will be able to live the carefree life that Jack gets to.

 

 

 

Redefining Paradise: An Intimate Look at the Life of a Dairy Cow

Laura Wild3 Comments

Whenever I shop at Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s, I see cartons of milk that depict happy cows roaming in vast, green pastures. Up until recently, the stamp of approval from the FDA reading “certified organic” had always been enough to convince me that I shouldn’t feel guilty about the industry that I was supporting.  After getting the chance to spend time with the animals who provide the literal “cream of the crop” to health conscience, white collar consumers, I began to redefine what the best case scenario truly means. I went on a quest to find out where all of these happy cows lived, but after a few months of searching I was only able to find a select few.

Not unlike many of the decisions I have made in my life, deciding to take another break from school to work on a raw dairy farm was an impulsive choice. With an intense love for animals and very little understanding of my impact on their lives, I decided it was time to immerse myself in a business that I relied on every day. While I haven’t eaten meat of any kind for almost 5 years, I still consume milk and eggs. The same brutal videos of factory farms and slaughter houses that drove me to become a vegetarian also drove me to seek the truth about the dairy industry, particularly the side that sells non-GMO and grass fed products.

My first week on a small acreage farm in Berthoud, Colorado, was a dream. I got a glimpse into the lives of animals who were obviously cherished and appreciated, and whose comfort and health was valued above their milk production. Each cow was affectionately named and had their own distinct personality, and I couldn’t help but fall in love with their simple, shameless innocence. They weren’t afraid of humans in the least, and quickly warmed up to me and accepted me into their herd. Each day we became more and more comfortable with each other, to the point that they would approach me for affection and attention on their own. It soon became evident that these animals were less like the other livestock on the farm – consisting of almost 100 free range ducks and chickens – and more like companion animals. These cows were more dynamic and intelligent than I had ever imagined, and those qualities paired with the fact that they were innately gentle and docile made them some of the most peaceful animals I had ever encountered.

However, as soon as I became aware that their quality of life was much better than the vast majority of livestock in America, I also became aware that even cows that are treated with respect and kindness are still far from living in paradise. The reality is that it is incredibly expensive to treat animals humanely, and unfortunately we live in a world where the value of innocence is much lower than the demand for affordable animal products.

Though local anesthetic is used for all of the procedures that are absolutely necessary for the cows on this particular farm, such as dehorning, I will say that the process is still very difficult to witness. The owners of the raw dairy would spend thousands of dollars to treat any injuries or illnesses that their cows acquire, but there is no denying that bovine medicine seems like something out of the civil war era. It isn’t pretty, and I think most farmers would agree that it isn’t ideal. One of the most common and most troubling practices on the farm is the separation of mother and calf. This usually happens after the babies are completely weaned off of their mothers, but it is still heartbreaking to listen to them call to each other for days after they are separated. This practice has been the most difficult thing for me to justify to myself.

Yet in commercial dairy, the treatment is so much worse. The meticulous cleaning regimen we use twice a day to wash the cow’s udders with human grade iodine is simply not practical on large scale diaries. Instead, the udders are rubbed with a flammable grease and all of the dirty hairs are burned off of their skin without anesthetic. This is not the worst case scenario, either, but common practice. Dehorning is always done without anesthetic, too, and calves are taken away from their mothers immediately after birth, after which the male calfs are often raised as veal. These are details that I had never wanted to believe before, but after seeing how brutal even a small family owned farm can be, I have no trouble believing what goes on in mass-production lots.

In the end, a life that includes some of the unfortunate practices that I have seen on the farm is still much better than the alternative. I wish I knew how to fix all of the things that do not seem right to me, but I just don’t have the answers. If humans are going to continue to use animals for our own benefit, then our relationship with them can never truly be altruistic. Unfortunately, I can’t suggest that everybody I know become vegan and believe that anybody actually will. It is simply too much to ask, and not a very realistic way to reduce animal suffering, anyway.

Still, I believe it is helpful to be aware of our impact on animals. If we can’t support small, family owned farms every time we buy animal products, we can at least try to decrease the amount of money we invest in commercially produced animal products. Because I ate meat for most of my life without thinking twice about where it came from, I can sympathize with anybody who doesn’t even want to acknowledge the reality of factory farming. But if anything is ever going to change, we simply have to confront the moral implications of consuming large quantities of meat and dairy, especially. Animals are not commodities, they are living beings. It is time that we cherish all animal life, and not just when it is most convenient to us.