AR Activists Fight For People Too

I often hear “Why are you so worried about animals? What about the human rights issues?” Being a vegan and animal-rights advocate and humanitarian are not mutually exclusive. One feeds into the other in multiple ways.

When I rail against the treatment of agricultural animals at factory farms and slaughterhouses, one thing seems to get swept under the rug: who is committing these atrocious behaviours? We are presented with these clandestine videos of horrific abuse perpetrated on these innocents, and we heave a collective cry of “Animal Abuse” and that is what we tend to focus on: the action of the abuse and the suffering of the non-human animal on the receiving end.

What about the person behind the steel-toed boots and heavy work gloves? Who is he/she? (I will continue on with this article using the pronoun “he” for simplicity’s sake) Why would anyone take a job like this? Are they really ok with this behaviour? Do they behave this way with their own pets or children? WHAT THE FUCK?

I was perusing Twitter this morning and saw a post by @agargmd stating the animal agriculture business is not a friend of minorities and migrant workers and the American diet supports the industries and politicians who continue to oppress these peoples.

BING! I had an Oprah Lightbulb Moment that flashed like stick lightning striking ground.

Of course! An industry of oppression uses the oppressed to fuel it.

The Guardian states: “Most farm work in America is performed by immigrants, most of whom are undocumented and therefore exploitable. The big agribusinesses that hire these immigrants will tell you that they need an unfettered supply of cheap foreign labor, because they cannot find Americans willing to do these jobs.”

Another quote: “According to a report compiled by Eric Ruark (pdf), the director of research at the Federation for American Immigration Reform (Fair), as of 2006, only 27% of workers hired by agribusinesses are American citizens, 21% are green card holders, around 1% are part of the guest worker program … and a whopping 51% are unauthorized immigrants.”

50 PER CENT are unauthorized immigrants! Holy fuck!

In Canada, upwards of 25,000 migrant workers are brought in legally to do work farmers need which citizens apparently won’t do; the exact number of undocumented migrants was estimated in 2004 as more than 36,000, doing a variety of jobs such as cleaning, nannying, labour and farm labour.

Ok so there is no shortage of illegals to hire for these less-than-desirable jobs in the agricultural industry. These people face working conditions which just barely meet industry standards in most cases, risking life and limb daily. In 2004 Tyson received a citation for an employee who inhaled hydrogen sulfide and was asphyxiated – did I read that right? A CITATION? For a death?

Between 2003-5, Maple Leaf Farms was issued 18 violations and fines for unsafe practices including hazardous machines and chemicals, and a number of other unsafe procedures.

Child labour is a thing too. 57 Guatemalen under-age workers were found at a kosher meatpacking plant in Iowa. What the ACTUAL fuck?

Clearly, this industry is death for everyone: humans and non-humans alike.

These migrant families work in this industry because even an unregulated salary is better than no salary at all. The farmers not only have these people by the pursestrings but also by the heartstrings, as they are working towards a better life for their family than they had in their home country. Unable to legally enter the country for various reasons, they resorted to illegal channels and are forced to take whatever job is available no matter how abhorrent and with no safety net of lawful protocol with which to protect themselves.

So here is one way Animal Rights meets Human Rights.

By policing these industries and advocating for animals, we are also assisting humans caught in this cycle of oppression and suppression. We are educating the public at large not only of the great inhumane treatment of innocent non-human animals, but also the inhumane treatment of men, women and children caught up in this life or death system which functions right under our noses, in our neighbourhoods, down our streets, in our backyards.

Yeah, right there.

And we are blind to it, because we prefer to look away from nastiness and pretend it isn’t happening. Because we see our “food” (read animal flesh) packaged up nice and cleanly in open freezers with little fake parsley garland at the edges and Enya playing on the overhead speakers. Get those rose-coloured glasses off, peeps, there is as much inhumanity being perpetrated in our own country as in those we castigate as barbaric and condemn to outer reaches of civilization.

We are animals too; Animal Rights includes us all.

 

 

 

 

Is Being Vegan An Impossible Dream?

Being vegan: simple, right? No animal or animal by-products consumed or used, pretty clear.

But is it really?

This one really blew my mind, peeps, burst the perfect bubble of veganism in which I lived. How could I not realize this? How could I be so ignorant? Well it’s no consolation, but none of us is exempt, so I’m in good company.

The facts are: plant-based farming also kills animals!

What the ACTUAL FUCK??

Well, you know me, I had to get to the bottom of this! So I put my pencil behind my ear, slapped my glasses on, picked up my mouse (computer mouse, peeps, !) and began surfing. (Also not real ocean surfing, web surfing – if you know me at all, you know I would never, EVER go deeper into the ocean than my ankles. I was traumatized enough by having to step on mussels on the PEI beach, never mind facing up to bigger sea creatures – but I digress)

Apparently, the methods used to grow and harvest plant agriculture can be deadly to wild animals, specifically field mice, but it may also include other animals who venture into the fields for food. Snakes, voles, moles, rabbits, birds, none are excluded as possible victims of the harvest. Some have argued there are more wild animals killed in plant-based agriculture than factory farming kills domestic animals, which is patently ridiculous, as the numbers published do NOT take into account the number of wild animal deaths which occur naturally per acre, such as predators, old age, disease and environmental factors. The published numbers only reflect the TOTAL per acre. And seeing as much of our plant-based farming is used to feed said agricultural animals, it’s rather a moot point, anyway.

Unfortunately, meat supporters are using these figures to undermine the ethics of plant-based/ vegan diets. These reports are being thrown in our faces left and right, with a yodel of “nanner nanner boo boo” just for good measure, and vegans are left to stammer out weak sounding justifications whilst fighting confusion at the thought that their beliefs and lifestyle are not what they thought it was.

Two words, peeps: collateral damage.

Sounds harsh, I know, but it’s something we actually deal with daily and not just in our diets.

I mean, think about it: you wake up, brush your teeth, have a coffee, drive to work, hit an old lady at the crosswalk,….wait, what? Yes peeps, in the course of you living, breathing, working, doing everything normally in your best life, shit still happens.  And it can happen to anyone.  You didn’t intend to hit the old lady, it wasn’t planned, premeditated, it wasn’t a life goal, but it happened anyway.

Ever drive over a squirrel in your car? It’s heartbreaking! I have done it, I was traumatized for days! But that squirrel, like the little old lady, was collateral damage.

Typically, it’s a military term. Wikipedia states, “Collateral damage is any death, injury, or other damage inflicted that is an unintended result of military operations…”

Did you know Buddhist monks are so concerned about hurting or killing even insects, they they pray as they walk in case they step on any living creatures unknowingly. Even just walking down the street you might be killing something!

As much as these associated deaths are painful to face and accept, they were unintentional. In fact, they occurred as a result of trying to do the right thing, and end animal abuse and slaughter completely.

Two more words, peeps: bigger picture.

We have to keep the bigger picture in mind. As vegans, our goal is to put an end to society thinking of animals as lesser beings; to encourage cessation of utilizing animals for our own gain, including food. We want to see a world in which no animals are harmed in order for humans to live. We want to see society respecting our earth and everything on it. It’s a tall order, and it’s going to take a very long time.

After all, it didn’t take us only two weeks to get to this place of pollution, climate change, species extinction, and domination. Sadly, people and animals will die or be hurt in the process – not intentionally – but just the same, it will happen.

What we must do is work towards a process where our farming methods will improve, and fewer and fewer casualties are experienced. This is more likely to occur if animals are respected as equal beings in this world, rather than inanimate commodities. I hate that living creatures are hurt in plant-based farming, but I hate that living creatures are hurt, killed and eaten even more. I hate that people can’t see it for what it is: murder.

So as far as I’m concerned, peeps, veganism is still the right path. The end goal is compassionate treatment of all living beings. Once that concept is universal, things will start to fall into place like confetti on wet pavement.

 

 

Backyard Dogs

We’ve all seen them.

A big dog (usually big) chained or tied up to a derelict-looking dog house or tree mid point or way at the end of a backyard 24 hours a day. There is usually an overturned food bowl, a plastic bucket or large container of soiled water, and a large chew toy if the dog is particularly lucky. The ground is worn and dusty around the dog house, no grass anymore. There are often a few sad holes dug into the earth, one is big enough for the dog to lie down in on hot, sun-scorched days.

Fun family pet? I think not…

He or she is usually despondent looking, avidly watching the comings and goings of the family, barking hysterically when they emerge from their home, running back and forth on its chain in hopes someone, anyone, will come over and offer a pat on the head. Sometimes, they bark incessantly to the annoyance of the neighbours. Sometimes they growl and snarl if a stranger catches their eye.

This is the Backyard Dog.

I have always wondered what the point was of owning a dog and keeping it tied up in the backyard.

The usual answer by the philistines who do this is “pertection” (that’s protection…) although how a dog tied to a tree can protect a family from harm is quite a mystery. And if the dog is a barker, how can you tell the warning barks from the bored barks? I mean, if my dog barks at her archenemy, the red squirrel, it sounds exactly the same as the bark she emits when someone comes to the door.

So once upon a time, a couple with 2.4 kids decided their family wasn’t complete and what it needed was a dog. A Mr. Mugs or Lassie to pal around with children, to bring the master his slippers, and keep hearth and home safe from criminals. They let Jr. choose the dog because, well a child knows exactly what type of dog is appropriate for their family. Jr. chose the cutest one that bossed around all the other pups and rough housed everything in sight. They brought him home and holy crap he wasn’t house trained! I’m sure they understood he was just a baby and would have to learn like every other child, and so they went about their days but he never learned! So maybe he was kinda dumb. Well, he is just a dog anyway, right? But then he started biting in appropriately, like when the kids rolled around on the floor with him, it would start off just fun little nips, but as he got bigger, his nips started to hurt and a couple of times punctured the skin. And that might have been whipped out of him eventually, but he was still pooping inside, and he needs fresh air, so it was just as easy to tie him up and let him get fresh air AND poop outside at the same time! Genius! And life got busier, and he got bigger, and playing with him was impossible now because he just jumped all over everyone and bit too hard. The few times they let him off the leash, he’d bolt down the street, with everyone chasing him because he just didn’t listen. They couldn’t take him anywhere anyway because he attacked other dogs when on a leash, and pulled so hard it hurt your arms for days afterwards. And what did he get for all these doggy crimes: a life sentence on a chain.

That’s the typical reality of the Backyard Dog.

He was simply the unfortunate soul who was picked by a family who had no idea what kind of care a dog needed, no understanding of dog “language”, no concept of breeds, behaviours and sizes, and absolutely no desire to learn.

It’s a sad reality in today’s world. What hope is there for the backyard dog when people are still leaving their dogs in hot cars? When cats are allowed to roam unneutered, producing more unwanted, unneutered cats. When coyotes prey on said cats because urban sprawl has reduced their habitat and these cats are easy prey, but suddenly society cares about these cats and starts shooting the coyotes. Do you see the escalation?

Man, when they say everything is interconnected, they were not wrong!

And behind it all is a fundamental ignorance: a lack of understanding that animals are not inferior beings to us. They are not creatures we should have dominion over. We shouldn’t have dominion over anything on this earth. They are lives in their own right, to live equal to and alongside us on this earth. In fact, as humans with the power of “reason”, rather than having dominion over them, we should recognize we have an obligation to protect them and allow them to live their lives as they deserve. We don’t “rule” them. Egads, peeps, we can barely rule ourselves! Why, in our infinite arrogance, do we assume we should be in control of anything here? We are just another animal on this earth, after all.

This is legit. Dogs are bed hogs. 

Sure we have “knowledge” and “reason” and skills like that, which give us an advantage over some animals, but it doesn’t make them less than. And it sure as fuck doesn’t make us better.

We pride ourselves that we live in an advanced society, but we haven’t yet learned to coexist compassionately with anything. We want to dominate, rule and control, not live and let live.

I mean, look what we do with that knowledge? We tie dogs up in our backyards and think that is fine.

It’s not fine. It’s not even remotely ok. We have a lot to learn, but I’m afraid of what it’s going to take to acquire that knowledge.

 

 

 

 

Dairy Is Scary

You are probably seeing the billboards going up everywhere: Dairy is Scary. I’m sure more than a few of you are probably wondering “what the fuck? why is dairy scary? damn vegans!” I mean, you probably have visions in your head of the quintessential dairy farm of yore, with a lovely, green meadow filled with black and white mama cows grazing peacefully, calves cavorting at their sides, being called in twice a day for milking. Cue the classical nature music and butterflies.

In fact, outwardly, it would seem of all the animal products we consume, dairy is the least harmful to animals. Wrong again.

Dairy production is equally harmful to the animals as any other animal product process.

Consider this: Cows only lactate when they have a baby. What? Yes, it’s true. They are a mammal and like humans, only produce milk when there is a baby to drink it. We are not that baby. The calf is. However, the calf is removed from the mother almost immediately and either sledgehammered to death or, if destined to become a veal chop, they are sequestered away in little crates to limit their movement.

these babies are destined to become veal

Removing the calf from the mother causes undue distress for both – much like it would do if your child were removed from you at birth. Does it hurt them any less because they are animals? Appearances would suggest not. Both animals are frantic to reunite, crying and balling for each other. Imagine about 100 cows and babies separated like this; imagine 400; you get the picture. Not the idyllic pasture scene you imagined, is it.

But first of all, how does the mother get pregnant? Oh ho – it’s not how you think! Forget nature, peeps, it’s all on Farmer Jack’s head. The cow is tied still, and basically a special tool loaded with bull sperm is pushed into the cow’s vulva by the farmer, and the semen is dispensed into the cow that way. The farmer’s arm is shoved into the cow’s rectum and pressure from that flattens out and smooths the way for the “semen gun” to enter the cervix far enough for effective dispensing. This is not “nature taking its course” by any means.

Milk production

Once all the impregnating and baby nonsense is complete, the lactating mother cow is then pushed into a small stall, hooked up to milking machines, and milked 24/7. She is fed hormones to ensure continued production of milk. She will develop mastitis, a painful infection of mammary glands due to over-milking. She will be fed anti-biotics in large doses to contain the infection and inflammation, but all three will enter the milk stream: hormones, pus, and anti-biotics. She will be in great pain through out this, and will be physically depleted in every way by age five, at which point, she will go to slaughter. Under normal circumstances, her life span would be 25 years.

But it’s ok – she’s just an animal, right?

It’s hard to believe people actually justify this to themselves, but in retrospect, I guess if people can justify incarcerating a certain culture just because they look different, then it’s not too far a stretch to debase a whole species this way.

Dairy is scary:  Scary for the mother cows, robbed of their babies and hooked up 24/7 to milking machines; scary for the babies shoved into small huts restricting movement so they make better veal; scary for people who then consume the milk riddled with an “acceptable” level of PUS and high levels of antibiotics (to bring PUS levels down to an acceptable point) and hormones (to keep mama with milk longer). It’s bloody scary that we go along with all of this and drink this stuff even knowing what we are consuming is not only NOT good for us, but NOT necessary for us for good health.  It’s scary that there are non-dairy alternatives EVERYWHERE and we still reach for the pus-filled, hormone laden, anti-biotic infused boob milk of another animal that is meant for their babies, the same way OUR milk is meant only for ours.

It’s scary that we humans feel keeping animals in this way is appropriate because they are “just animals”. It’s scary because we are able to justify this behaviour to ourselves because we have “always done it” or “well i was raised that way and I turned out ok”. It’s scary because we have done this to HUMANS in the past and justified it to ourselves then as well: concentration camps, detention camps. It’s scary because we are doing it TODAY, right now, to humans with the immigration camps.

It’s scary because people have not made the connection, and continue to refuse to make the connection, that humans are animals too. We are animals, peeps. Our species: homo sapien. Still animals, though. A mere gene or two away from chimpanzees – not human. Do you see? Do you get it? We are a couple of genes away from a non-human animal, one which we use for experiments because they are animals…. as are we.

mouse embryo. oh wait, no, human…um no it’s a frog….no chicken….crap…

Did you know when we are in utero when we are in the “Phylotypic” stage, our embryo cannot be differentiated from a mouse, a chicken, a frog – basically any vertebrate – visually? Animals, peeps. We are animals. We are sentient animals. And so are cows, pigs, sheep, dogs and cats. We all breathe, eat, procreate, care for our young, protect each other, fight for our families, feel happiness, sadness and fear.

So yeah, dairy is scary, in so many more ways than you can imagine. But that is one thing humans can do for themselves: imagine. We can imagine a better world, one where all creatures are respected and treated kindly. One where we understand we do not need to dominate another living being to survive. One where we follow the wise women’s motto: “Do what thy wilt; an harm ye none.”

 

 

My Travels in Poverty

Since my day spent, in part, with the street people of Toronto, I have been reflecting back to other poverty I have witnessed in my travels.

In Alabama, I saw the folks who lived in the “little pink houses” of which John Mellencamp wrote in his song “Little Pink Houses (for you and me)”, but those folks, although at or below the poverty line, are not the ones that stick in my mind. What comes to mind in the southern U.S. are the government trailer parks with line after line of dingy white trailers housed with multiple families (mostly African American) situated on dusty dirt behind chain link fences, as if incarcerated. Their children ran barefoot and often pantsless (whether by choice or not I can’t say – it was brutally hot, and I know I like to be pantsless at home!) The elderly sat on upturned buckets or ratty lawn chairs keeping watch on the shrieking shenanigans of bare butt children and frenzied dogs, leaping after them. Occasionally, a scarfed grandma would be seen sweeping the ground at the foot of the trailer door, in a never ending attempt to clean away the grime and dust.

I’d never seen poor like that before. Oh wait – yes, yes I had!

In more northern climes, in my own country, many years ago as a youth, I remember travelling through a couple of Indian Reserves. It reminds me of the Wizard of Oz movie, when it starts off black and white and suddenly changes to techni-colour, only this was the other way around. My travels through started off in full vibrant colour and gradually faded into black and white the deeper I got into the Res.

The houses became more dilapidated until every house I saw was no more than wood pieces hammered together. Some were old trailers with extensions built from cardboard, steel and wood. I could see no options for indoor plumbing, electricity, or phones. I kept thinking where do they keep their food if they don’t have electricity for a fridge? It never entered my head I should be thinking “what food?”. I was so young at the time, the reality escaped me.

Did you know that even today, in 2019, just over 600 First Nation communities in Canada and “at any given time one in five of these communities are under a boil water advisory.” What? they have to boil their water prior to consumption? In Canada, in 2019?? What the actual fuck, peeps!

And did you know some of these Reserves are mere minutes away from your neighbourhood? How is it possible you have potable water and half hour from you a whole community does not? How is it possible this has not been addressed by our Canadian standards? Potable water is a RIGHT as laid down in 2010 by the United Nations General Assembly. This is Canada, ffs! How can some people not have clean drinking water?

Then, many years later, I travelled to India for work for six weeks. Yes, India! Me! I know! I am actually so happy I went, now, although at the time I was fraught with every anxiety under the sun (and more, I was also living with dickhead at the time). There I saw a different kind of poverty.

this was situated next to the building in my neighbourhood

It was the same, but different.

I mean, poor is poor right? You’d think…

Firstly, I soon figured out you could tell have’s from have not’s by their shoes – or lack thereof. Those with money had shoes; the poor had bare feet. It didn’t matter whether they were working or beggars, if they were poor, they went everywhere in bare feet. Even to work. Even if their job was construction, chopping wood, climbing scaffolds, whatever. Unless you were required to wear a uniform for your job, if you were poor, you had bare feet.

I saw construction workers on scaffolds four or five stories high, painting, hammering, and they had no tie offs, no hard hats, no shoes. The scaffold was pieced together bamboo hand-tied with rope, perilously propped against the walls, not the fancy schmancy metal poles with locking mechanisms we have here. I saw construction workers digging foundations for huge mega-apartments side by side with back-hoes, with no shoes, no hard hats, and using sticks and hand-tied shovels to dig.

It was an insurance claim waiting to happen. But guess what, they didn’t have insurance either! If someone lost a foot, or fell off a scaffold and could no longer work, they became beggars. I saw one beggar with his arm broken in three places, healed incorrectly, and he showed us that was his reason for begging, and not working. He had no shoes. He was a beggar but he looked exactly like the working poor there. Hmmm.

this was upscale, but it was right next to the shanties pictured above

The homes these folks lived in were built of corrugated metal, and pieces of wood, propped up against a million-dollar condominium side by side. On the same street. The juxtaposition amazed me. Here, we have “areas” of town which evolve into luxury, middle class, and poor. There, rich and poor was side by side. There were no “poor” areas. They were mixed together like curry-flavoured Bits-and-Bites.

So you could walk down the street, visit shops, see gorgeous hotels, and then come upon a smattering of muddy hovels, with sari-strewn electrical lines, women making paratha, a high-class mall, a skyscraper tech company, and a line of bodegas with dirt floors and stray dogs. Then there might be a Hindu temple, with flowing palm trees and brightly dressed ladies in saris, sweeping the ground around it with tea leaves, bent over double, and not wearing shoes.

this lady did the laundry for my apartment building. it was all done under this shanty outside the property on the street

And they smiled. Always. I would walk by and they would gesture for me to take their picture, with big smiles, they would pose in front of their street sweeper or temple or while they were ironing the clothing of the guests at the hotel across the road. They smiled.

They got their water from a local reservoir. It was not drinkable for us, but that is what they used for cooking, drinking, bathing, and washing. They had to carry it in buckets and bowls. Sometimes they balanced the jars of water on their heads and walked. I kid you not. Just like in the movies.

But whenever I asked to take a picture, they smiled, with or without teeth. It was lovely. It made me really happy to take their picture, like I was doing them a favour. I thought about this a lot, afterwards.

Why wouldn’t they be sad? Disgruntled? Jealous? I mean, right next door was a beautiful pink condo, obviously filled with people wearing shoes. I think somehow, even though they knew they were poor, even though they could see wealthy folks beside them, it never entered their head that there was anything wrong with the status quo. That it could, and maybe should, be different. It was just accepted as how it was, and they seemed happy.  One of my colleagues told me it was because they knew people who were worse off and they were just happy not to be in that pickle.

I don’t know. I don’t have an explanation for it. I just know whenever I felt anxious, or down while I was there, I went for a walk and took pictures, and this always cheered me up.

When I left, I left a few pairs of my shoes in my apartment for anyone who needed them.

They were crocs. I don’t think they minded. 🙂

 

 

From Compassion to Compassion Fatigue

We’ve all heard of Battle Fatigue, now more commonly known as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and now considered not limited to veterans of war only, but today I heard a new term: Compassion Fatigue.

Since I’m pretty much always exhausted, I decided to research this and see if I could add it to my list of neuroses.

Sure enough, I believe I can!

a Polar Bear, not in its natural habitat.

Similarly to PTSD, one might develop Compassion Fatigue by continued and prolonged exposure to suffering, loss of life, and emotional upheaval. Typically, it was seen mostly in care workers such as: physicians, nurses, emergency workers, and social workers. However, with the prevalence of more home care required for our elderly or disabled citizens, with the lack of appropriate in-patient hospitals for mental health cases, and with the need for more and more volunteer trauma workers, society is now seeing more and more Compassion Fatigue in the average person.

But, I learned, it is also now being seen in the front lines of animal rescue and anti-animal cruelty!

And it makes total sense, peeps!

When you care, when your heart is so big and so full of compassion for others (whether humans or non-humans) it’s traumatizing to constantly see the abuse and cruelty bestowed upon them. It’s painful to know it’s never ending, that the day after one animal is saved, there is another to take its place, and another, and another, and another, ad infinitum. It results in one’s physical and mental deterioration over time. And that makes for a very fatigued person. Exhausted in every aspect of one’s being, which can also lead to actual physical illnesses due to a compromised immune system.

These are your “free-range chickens” (just means they are not kept in cages)

So here are some symptoms of Compassion Fatigue:

• Feeling overwhelmed, hopeless, helpless or powerless when hearing of others’ suffering
• Feelings of anger, irritability, sadness and anxiety
• Feeling detached from our surroundings or from our physical or emotional experience
• Feeling emotionally, psychologically or physically exhausted, burnt out or numb
• Physical symptoms such as nausea, dizziness, headaches
• Reduced empathy
• Feeling hypersensitive or insensitive to stories we hear
• Limited tolerance for stress
• Self-isolation and withdrawal
• Relationship conflict
• Feeling less efficient or productive at work
• Reduced pleasure in activities we used to enjoy
• Difficulty sleeping and nightmares
• Difficulty concentrating, focusing or making decisions
• Self-medicating and increase in substance use.

Taken individually or in small cluster groups, someone might not realize they are dealing with this illness. I mean, one might attribute it simply to overwork or not enough sleep. We’ve all had those times, it doesn’t mean it’s a trauma fatigue. But when one is working in a caregiving capacity, perhaps these feelings should be given more in depth scrutiny – just in case.

Animal advocates and rescuers deal on the daily, not just with sick and maimed animals which is bad enough, but also with the non-compassionate mindset of the “great unwashed masses” who do not ascribe to more humane considerations. We are exposed, on the daily, to people who simply don’t care that male baby chicks are ground alive because there is no use for them; that sheep are punched and pummeled to subdue them when they are shaved for their wool; when pigs are kicked, punched and poked with sharp instruments to herd them into the gas chambers prior to slaughter; that chickens are kept in small crates with multiple other hens, no room to move as they grow into over-sized, hormone ridden adults for our plates.

This is how your ham and bacon is raised. 

Those of us enlightened in the ways of factory farms and wild animals in captivity deal with not only the animals’ treatment but the attitudes of others who choose to ignore the facts so they can enjoy their rare steak at a bbq. We are insulted, demeaned, ridiculed, and laughed at for our beliefs by many of these folks in our life. We are unfriended on social media because people just don’t want to know the truth. (Yes many people are sickened by the images, and rightly so, but they choose to look away and continue living in the same way despite knowing the truth. This is called Cognitive Dissonance) Some peoples’ own family members treat them horribly at family gatherings, just because they eat differently.

But we stand our ground. No matter how tired we are, how saddened by the violent images we see, how exhausted by the demonstrations and vigils at slaughterhouses. We keep going because it’s for the animals. It’s for life. It’s for all our lives.

But next time you feel all annoyed and judgy about someone choosing not to eat meat at a bbq or asking for soy milk at a coffee shop, remember, these are the same people who fight for the better treatment of your dogs and cats, animals we ALL accept as pets and as family members. Maybe think about the stress and upset they take on in a day for the betterment of all living beings in the world – including humans. Maybe put the judgment hat away and be glad someone is fighting for those who can’t speak for themselves.

 

 

 

 

Tweet Tweet!

Peeps, I just created a Twitter account. Apparently, that’s where all the cool kids go to connect and get noticed in their fields and build their brand.

Since I am trying to build my followers, I thought that seemed like a good thing to do with my blog. If you are interested I’m @BadpuppyBlogs.

Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, are the basic three; the mirepoix of social media. Just like in a recipe, if you don’t have these three as the basis for your brand, you will not have the fundamental groundwork to be successful. So they say.

I’d had a Twitter account before, and I could never get on top of it. I was lost in all the @s and hashtags and everything moved so quickly, I simply couldn’t keep up with it. It seemed all everyone did was share sports stories or push their brand exclusively. It didn’t interest me, and sure as hell didn’t absorb me, so after a few months I just thought what the fuck, and deleted it.

But supposedly, the more social media platforms you join the better, and it seems EVERYBODY is tweeting crap all over the place. Twitter is proven to be a direct, speedy, and effective way to say your piece and get noticed – if you have the right followers and are following the right people. You see, if you have a list of Joe-Blow buddies on your Twitter, you are basically going to be spouting off your astute meanderings and witty repartee to the people you are already spouting off to on Facebook. They are going to get sick of you and unfollow you, turning your already meagre list of followers into a mere skeleton of non-involved, disinterested rabble.

So I read up on shit, peeps, did some studying of marketing in this online world, and I found a new word: ENGAGEMENT. Not the ring kind, (been there, done that, not all it’s cracked up to be) but the kind where you insert yourself into a tweet with an intelligent statement or humourous retort and trigger others’ response to you. In this way, you put yourself out there for followers to fall in love with your bon mot, then follow you and hopefully “retweet” you to all of their followers and so the movement continues. THAT is how you gain followers and gain popularity.

So I signed in and immediately followed a few significant-to-me organizations: some animal justice accounts, a couple of news accounts, and I started “engaging”.

Low and behold, I got one follower almost right away, someone I did not know, but their handle was very similar to mine. However, it turns out, they are the “first and largest collection of Gay Male Adult Erotica” so that’s something! As the night wore on, one of my comments was getting liked over and over again, (not by Gay-Erotica Guy) even retweeted. I actually had one person comment that what I said should be made into a T-shirt!

Come on, peeps, that’s fucking amazing! Me!! Coining a phrase for a T-shirt that goes viral on Twitter. And that was only my first day.

Screen shot of my notifications. Champ Titty Sprinkles’ comment was eloquent too, don’t you think?

I will reveal to you my Twitter-famous comment here: “Everything about #ford is offensive”.

That’s it. That’s all. But what a response! Thank god Ford is a dick or my comment might not have gone over the way it did; it might have simply been absorbed into the flux and flow of multiple tweets, into the black Twitter hole of anonymity, and my first experience on Twitter would not have been so exciting.

I’m hooked now, though, peeps.

I mean, I know it will take some time, but I’m really looking forward to interjecting my thoughts in places they wouldn’t otherwise get noticed. I mean how many people can brag they are being followed by the “first and largest collection of Gay Male Adult Erotica” @Badpuppy?

Pffff not too many, I should think.

 

National Animal Rights Day March

It’s my one year “veggie-versary”! Yayyyy me! One year ago August 25 (my daughter’s birthday) I made a commitment to eat plant-based for compassionate and health reasons, and I have loved every minute of it. A whole new world opened up for me!

The world of animal activism.  

I did a lot of research while transitioning from vegetarian to vegan and it only took a few weeks for me to have one of those electric shock moments when I realized the horrific images of animals being slaughtered and abused was the same meat in the stores. That same meat that looks so innocuous and inert was, only days earlier, a living, breathing, sentient creature. An animal capable of feeling love, happiness, sadness, and pain. Like…..holy shit like my dog! My pet! My family! Even my freakin’ betta fish have soul, as I watch them cavort playfully, stalk predatorily, and interact with me for food.

All those years I ate meat, I was eating another living being. The connection was made and it was an abomination. I had been a pseudo-cannibal. Gross. And even worse, cruel.

I typically haven’t a cruel bone in my body; I cried at the Ugly Duckling cartoon, ffs – AS AN ADULT! So this truth hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks, with a couple of boulders thrown in just because.

But what could I do about it?

I became an activist. It started with Facebook: sharing posts about compassion, plant-based eating, and even the dreaded animal abuse articles (not many of those, as I’d rather teach and share with good news and positive energies to show a better way than clobber my friends, whom I love, with blood and guts). Then I joined some groups, Toronto Pig Save,  and I went to some vigils  

I spoke with Earthling Ed and James Aspey at one of these vigils, and was inspired by their messages. I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. Well not true: I wanted to be a writer, but there’s no money in that unless you produce a best seller, so in terms of a career, a vocation, a calling, I never really had a goal.

Until now.

At age 58, I am an animal activist and a blogger/writer. There’s no money in that either, but I don’t care now. My kids are grown up; I’m not interested in the rat race of commercialism; I don’t want a lot of stuff, just the necessities. So this is the perfect vocation for me!

So on my veggie-versary, I attended the National Animal Rights March in Toronto, Ontario. I attended with new friends I met on Facebook who were also travelling alone. We met up on the subway and marched along with a thousand other vegans and compassionate people, including children. 

It was an amazing event. It was powerful, gut wrenching, and emotional but so energizing at the same time. There was drumming, an organic pounding I felt deep in my being which gave me strength from somewhere inside; chanting which kept us focussed on why we were there and I knew what I was doing was right and good, as did we all. 

I was inspired by families, parents and children alike, wearing t-shirts and walking with their signs, holding hands in solidarity. Their strength was in their convictions that they are contributing to changing the world and making it better for all living beings. The children may actually see that transpire, although sadly, those of our age may not. 

People on the sidelines waved to us, cheered with us, filmed us, or ignored us. Far more connected with us than didn’t. I could see it in their faces as they stood quietly watching our procession; they read the signs, they looked at our faces, and I could see and feel their thoughts questioning reality. A seed was planted. It will sprout. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but it is a strong seed, planted with love and compassion, watered with the tears of slaughtered animals and caring people, so it has no choice but to grow. That is life. That is reality.

I’m back home now, cloistered with my dog, my kittens and my four mean fish, my adventure is over. Hang on – no it’s not over! The abominations of animal slaughter, animal cruelty, factory farming, genetic modifications, animal testing are still taking place.

As the rally chant said: “We are unstoppable; Another world is possible!”