Speaking The Truth

I was going to call this post “Speaking My Truth” but I decided my truth was actually THE truth, There are no perspectives here, despite certain people justifying their actions by using this as an excuse: it was what it was and that’s it.

I decided this year would be the year I would speak out, no longer hide the truth, the facts, notwithstanding how weak I might look to some, or how un-credible I might appear to others. One of my earlier posts introduced the subject and every now and then, I feel compelled to bring it up again. It’s part cleansing myself of the nastiness and part needing to let everyone know the truth of the matter. Because so many people still believe otherwise. I, however, have vowed to no longer be silent on the subject, and so I write this post.

As you know, I’m addicted to memes (yet another addiction!) and I found one today which brought a lot of things up from the deep emotional well in which they are buried. Here it is: 

My personal emotional emancipation began the day I started speaking about my experience as a victim of domestic abuse. At first, I thought it was my opening up about my addiction to alcohol, but that really didn’t start the healing process for me because that was no secret. I wasn’t opening up and coming clean about my drinking, fuck, everyone knew about that! What people didn’t know about, which for years I was deeply ashamed of, and traumatized by, was the abuse I suffered at the hands of my last long-term relationship.

Speaking out about that was epic, peeps. And THAT is what started the healing ball rolling. Speaking out about that was when my life started to begin again. Admitting that I, a strong, independent, intelligent woman could be so browbeaten by someone so emotionally inferior to me was really hard to do, because I should have known better, I should have been able to stop it. One would think, right?

Well all the known facts today state otherwise, of course. But still, inside me I felt so ashamed and stupid I didn’t want anyone to know. But then something magical happened to me. I quit drinking, changed my lifestyle to vegan, started to write again and do my art again, and suddenly there was a part of me that WANTED to tell everyone. I wanted to scream it to the world. I wanted everyone to know he is NOT WHAT YOU THINK! I wanted everyone to beware of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I couldn’t be silent about it anymore.

It became of paramount importance that I tell the world just what I went through, and I was no longer ashamed to admit what happened because I realized I hadn’t actually let it happen to me, HE HAD DONE IT TO ME. There’s a difference.

Now, that being said, there are things I will never tell. Things that I will take to my grave. There is enough material to be made public that those super private things don’t need to be announced. Maybe keeping those secrets will impede my healing, I don’t know. Maybe one day, I will speak of them, but not today. Not tomorrow.

In the meantime, this evil, vile man roams the streets, interacting with people as if NOTHING happened; acting as if he is the victim! His psychotic rants and diatribes aren’t aimed at me anymore, as far as I know, although I’m sure I resurface in there now and then as he extolls on his “perspective” (his perspective is fucked, his mind is like a rubix cube shuffled then stepped on by a rhino. His rants always reflected that). Facebook was his favourite place to vilify me while I was with him, and all his friends would sympathize and click “like” and say things like “there are more fish in the sea, brother”…(so I’m a fish??) and NO ONE knew the reality because I didn’t play those social media games. I didn’t publicly retaliate. I kept quiet and fought the battles privately, behind closed doors.

Him, though, he is so convinced he is right that he puts it out there publicly and challenges people to “show me I’m wrong” (ugh i so remember these posts) and then because no one engages in his insane tirade, he assumes he has once again proven himself most knowledgeable and therefore superior in his rhetoric.

And all his “followers” have no idea of the reality, of the psychosis, of the irrationality. He’d make a good cult leader, actually, now I think about it. Except he doesn’t have the ambition to follow through on anything, he has no sense of commitment or ethics, and prefers to drop projects half way through blaming someone or something else for his failure. A perpetual victim whilst sustaining his appetite to be the victimizer – because believe me, someone was victimized by him during this – client, friend, lover, someone.

That’s why I occasionally drop a post in about this part of my life, about him and what I suffered at his hands. I have to, peeps. It’s always with me. It never goes away. Every single fucking day I think of him or something he did. I try to put it out of my mind, I do. Mostly I’m successful, but it’s always there. His repugnant presence invades my peace of mind daily and nightly. I’ve never hated anyone in my life; but I hate him.

And I don’t think that’s going to change.

And now some well-meaning peeps are going to suggest therapy. This is my therapy, guys. My letting people know about what happened to me, about him, is all the therapy I need. Just knowing maybe one more person knows the truth is the best therapy I could have.

I don’t want to end this on a sad note, because I am not sad, at all. (Depressed, yes, but that’s chronic) I’m on a better path now; I’m realizing things, gaining friends, developing ambitions I never knew I had. It’s just every now and then, I wake up and I think, I have to talk about it again.

Thanks for listening. And be careful around him. He’s dangerous.

 

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The Silver Fox of P.E.I.

Everyone thinks of P.E.I as the Island of Potatoes, and although that is true, the province was also made rich – quite literally – on the backs of wild animals. Foxes. Silver Foxes to be specific.

While I was there, some dude pulled a pelt out of his bag. I was horrified as he blithely flipped it around, because my first thought, as always, was what the poor animal went through, but I did notice it was the most gorgeous fur I had ever seen. The Silver Fox is not a breed of fox: foxes on the island are all the same breed. It’s just a different colour, much like there are black labs, chocolate labs, and yellow labs.

So I looked into the Fox situation on the island and this is what I learned:

In the late 1800s, many islanders were poor, and hunted for subsistence, either food or fur. They noticed the Silver Fox pelt was sold for gargantuan prices compared to the red fox pelt, and found they were very popular amongst European nobility, such as the Hapsburgs.

So a couple of bright sparks decided to catch some silvers and create a fox farm, so acquisition of the furs would be easier. You see, the silver pelt is rare, a recessive gene of red foxes, so having two silvers to mate and procreate was the only guarantee of successful silver pelt farming. The interlopers discovered foxes were monogamous and territorial and built pens a pair could live and procreate in, privately, away from other foxes.

According to The National Post, the men “sold 25 pelts in London and made $34,649 at a time when the average yearly income for a Prince Edward Island farm labourer was about $320.” They became rich. As did many who followed suit in the fox fur industry. A shocking 1 in every 10 islander owned breeding foxes!

Fortunately for the foxes, although it took many years, some farmers started to sell breeding pairs for even larger sums. However, in doing so, their market collapsed upon itself because now the countries who craved the pelts had their own farms.

Sucks to be them.

Today, there are no fox farms left in P.E.I., in large part to their greed for selling breeding pairs, but also due to the demand dropping hugely as activists made their voices heard. But fox money made the island a wealthy place, and many families are living off fox fur money to this day, although they have diversified into other business.

So here’s the thing: what is the moral difference between keeping a fur farm and trapping? Nothing, obviously. The animal still dies, and it does so after being kept in a cage all its life. So…quality of life? Nil. More humane death? Nil. Absolutely nothing marks fur farming as a better alternative to wild trapping.

So many people object to fur nowadays, anyway. Many international designers are banning fur fashion; manufacturers are perfecting faux furs so beautiful they can’t be differentiated from the real thing. We have synthetic alternatives for warmth and style more so than ever before. There is absolutely no need to wear fur in this day and age. It’s an objectionable industry, and people from all walks of life agree fur looks best on the animal, not us.

So why is factory farming not thought of in the same way as fur farming? Why is it so hard for people to recognize the truth: if keeping animals in cages to eventually kill them for their fur is abhorrent, then surely keeping animals in cages to eventually kill them for food is equally as abhorrent. Especially given the conditions in which they are kept. Especially given that we DON’T NEED MEAT to live and thrive – the same as we don’t need fur to stay warm anymore.

There is such a huge disconnect between animals as commodity and animals as pets. Society doesn’t see them as the same thing. Dogs and cats are (and rightly so) protected by laws enforced on the daily, not just by authorities but by everyday people, too. We rise up in anger at seeing a dog in a car on a hot day. People smash car windows without a thought to consequence. Then they go into the store and purchase the best looking steaks they see, feeling smug and comfortable that they saved an animal’s life.

WTF?

I know, I know, I was that person once. I ate meat and I loved my pets. I’m guilty. I can’t deny it. I used to own a fur coat: farmed rabbit, which I wore while I walked my dog.

I GET IT!

But we can change! We can see and hear the truth that is being publicized more and more. We can choose not to turn away and ignore the facts because we have always done it that way; we can listen and learn. We have that capability. We did it for the fur industry – we listened, learned, and spoke up, and look! Now P.E.I. has no fur farms and people are still thriving! They changed! They did not sink into the sea, they grew and are still growing.

Their story is a real testament to people’s ability to make changes for the better. It’s do-able, peeps, we just have to keep an open mind and LISTEN, and allow ourselves to LEARN. Stop holding on to outmoded ideas and concepts and move forward with the times. Create a different way – a better way!

Millions of lives are at stake.

 

 

 

 

Pizza Reinvented

Sometimes, I think about pizza.

There I’ll be, minding my own business, and suddenly, there is a piece of pizza in my head. A hot, gooey, stretchy mess of cheese and fat. It was one of my most favourite foods.

I’m not gonna lie, peeps, vegan pizza is the one food I have not been able to recreate adequately to satisfy the heart and soul. But staunchly, I stayed the course, eating my rice and beans (which I actually really love!) while everyone else in the house noshed down on that finger-licking perfect pie of my past.

It’s ok – I’m more than happy knowing my food did not contribute to the pain and oppression of the meat and dairy industries – but still, the Culinary Creative Carol part of me was challenged to design a vegan pizza that even a carnivore would love.

It’s like when my ex used to tell me “no” or “don’t do that or else” – what was I supposed to do? Listen? Tow the line? Pfffff  hell no. Challenge accepted!

My epiphany about pizza occurred last week when I went to Toronto with my friend Joanne and her daughter, Tatiana. We had lunch at a pizza place called “Apiecolypse Now” There were a range of different pizzas that looked distinctly unpizza-like except for the crust, and suddenly, the skies opened up and beams of angelic light played down upon us like gentle harp strokes as the beatific choir sang “aaahhhhhhhhh” in perfect, melodic, harmony.

Not really. It was more like a slap upside the head as my brain yelled “Holy shit! I never thought about doing this to pizza! Amaze-balls!”

There were pizza topping combinations I couldn’t even imagine: there was a pizza topped with nachos; there was a big mac pizza; there was traditional cheese style; plant-based pepperonis, bacons, and ground not-meat; there were non-dairy feta cheeses, Notzzarellas, plant-based cheddars, tons of different veggies; different types of sauces; the permutations were endless and delicious and totally, completely, pushed traditional pizza boundaries.

So I realized, it wasn’t about recreating the pizza, IT WAS ABOUT REINVENTING IT! Creating a new type of pizza with it’s own flavours and with its own identity.

So I ordered the most unpizza-like pie on the menu: The Fat Mac (Big Mac copycat). This pizza had a plant-based meat topping, with onions, pickles, cheese, lettuce, special sauce on a sesame seed pie crust. I needed to taste it and see if it really did taste like a Big Mac, and more importantly, decide whether lettuce belonged on pizza! I needed to determine the ingredients used to recreate it at home. If it could be done at home, then I could recreate any other favourite food item into a pizza and revolutionize vegan pizzas completely so they no longer had to compete with the real thing, but could stand apart from and alone as its own entity.

Like I said: Challenge Accepted!

I was wielding my spatula like a samurai, peeps. Herbs, spices, plant-based proteins: check! Flour coated the surfaces, cast through the air like semolina wraiths. Vegan mayo transformed into Mac sauce with a few simple ingredients. Vidalia onions and sammich pickles found new life in a fine dice job. Pizza dough flew onto a pan like a UFO. It was a thing of beauty, peeps. I kid you not.

When it came out of the oven all bubbly and hamburgerly, I added the finely chopped lettuce and drizzled the Mac sauce all over it. The earth was created in seven days, according to Bible thumpers. In this case, Big Mac Perfection was created in an hour.

I did it.

The Big Mac Pizza was born. And I saw that it was good.

OMFG peeps, it was so tasty, if you like Big Macs, which I definitely do. The flavour was identical, but it was healthier (no animal fats, no cholesterol, lower in calories) and no one was harmed in the process. Win-win for all concerned.

And I learned an important lesson. Sometimes it’s better to embrace new things than hold onto and try to recreate old things. Sometimes old things are old things for a good reason, and maybe they should stay old things, because we’ve progressed beyond that.

Frankly, I’m lovin’ it!

 

 

Veganism meets Mary Ann & Ginger

It’s getting easier and easier to be vegan, right? I mean, there are tons of vegan restaurants out there now, loads of vegan products in stores – being vegan is more accessible than ever.  Well yes and no.

There are certainly tons more vegan restaurants; they are popping up all over – I’ve even seen one right next to a steakhouse – mmm pleasant….gak! Grocery stores are chock full of vegan products – and I don’t mean just fresh fruits and veggies. Vegan cheeses, salad dressings, ice creams, yogurts, milks, butters, whatever you enjoyed as an omnivore you can pretty much get plant-based now.

It would seem going vegan is as easy as saying: I’m vegan.

But I have noticed one anomalie. I daresay other vegans have too, but I haven’t really heard anyone mention it yet.

What’s with all the fucking “Beyond Meat” products going into our fav fast food outlets and coffee shops BUT NO ALTERNATE DAIRY OPTIONS?

There are signs up at our local Timmies (Tim Hortons Donuts) advertising a vegan Beyond Sausage patty sammich. “VEGAN” it says plastered in bright red across the top, but I can’t get soy milk in my coffee because THEY DON’T SERVE IT! So I can buy a breakfast sammich but not a coffee (unless it’s black). What the actual fuck?

That’s not even just a vegan option, peeps; many people are lactose intolerant. It’s not a choice for some people, it’s a necessity, but there is no non-dairy alternative. Unless you want to go to Starbucks and pay $25 for a gigante latte frappe with soy and a sprinkling of garbanzo beans…..whatever…. I can’t afford that joint. A lot of people I know can’t either. So if you’re poor but have a conscience OR a health condition, you can get a meat substitute sammich but not a simple coffee or tea.

Non-dairy alternatives should have happened years ago, long before anyone even knew about Beyond Meats. They should be on every menu. It’s not more expensive. It’s not hard to get. It’s not unnecessary.

But no. A meat substitute is the very first plant-based option on fast food menus. MEAT.

Why? Why did meat substitutes become the first thing to be adopted at these places and not a non-dairy beverage? Long before plant-based was a thing people were lactose intolerant. Why was this issue never catered to?

I’m confounded, peeps. Appalled and confounded.

I have no answers either. I think it has to do with money. Let’s think about this: (uh oh, she’s thinking again!) The vegan movement is growing; awareness of the abuse of animals and the negative impact of animal products on our health and environment are causing a lot of people to be awakened to reality. There is more money to be made off a meat sandwich than a cup of coffee, so obviously that is targeted. But also, the Beyond Meats are causing such a sensation at the moment EVERYWHERE anyone in the food industry would be a fool not to follow suit and include it on a menu.  The meat substitutes may be single handedly converting many omnivores to plant-based, something soy milk can’t brag to have done. (Nut milks aren’t an option: allergies and all that.) Soy milk isn’t making headway in our propaganda machine the same way meat substitutes are. Soy milk just isn’t exciting, peeps.

Soy milk is like the Mary Ann to Beyond Meat’s Ginger (Gilligan’s Island reference for all you millennials. Google it.)

But I am so freaking frustrated! All I want is a coffee with non-dairy alternative! Is that so much to ask? I ask for it in every Timmies to which I go. Finally, one of our shops here started serving soy milk. I was so excited! They probably had to turn their head phones down when I whooped. They are owned by the same people as the other shop up the street, so I checked there too, but that one doesn’t have soy milk. The clerk didn’t even know what it was – and yet when I explained, she said “oh well we have the Beyond Sausage patty. That’s vegan.” I said, “I just want a coffee tho…” and she simply didn’t understand my point. I told her to perhaps mention it to her employer and she gave me a dirty look and shut the window.

OMG What the actual fuck again? Same owners, same actual street, but no soy milk.

When will the world realize the Mary Anns of this world are the foundation the Gingers have used to soar to their pinnacle? That without the Mary Anns, the Gingers would have broken a nail or two in their ascent to stardom?

So, all this to say, in some ways, no it’s not that much easier to be vegan in a meat-eating world. When all you want is a coffee with non-dairy alternative – something that is not strictly vegan even – it shows the disconnect with which we still have to live.

 

 

 

A Summer Night in the City

I currently live in the ‘burbs, but once upon a time, I lived in the big city: Toronto. I really love it in Toronto. For someone who hates big crowds, this is an anomaly, but then I have never pretended to be anything other than myself: weird.

I actually love the diversity in people and in shops. Where else can you get vegan pizza sitting next to Ali’s Grocery and Cigarettes next to Hong’s Gift Shop next to Satan’s Eye Tattoos next to Mme. Dupont’s Ballet for Girls? I mean, come on, peeps.

So my forays into the city now are pretty special – and fun. Usually I go to see my girl, Moon, but this time, I went with my friend, Joanne, and her daughter, Tatiana. We had a fun day planned, including having some lunch out and a walking tour of Mount Pleasant Cemetery, (fucking blisters ahhhh) a landmark 200 acres in the heart of Toronto. Joanne also wanted to bring along some food and water to spend some time helping out the “homeless” downtown. Beyond giving some change, an occasional Timmie’s card or bag of dogfood (for the dogs) I haven’t really had much contact with the disenfranchised folks of the street.

not my photo

It was an eye-opener, peeps.

I kind of took a back seat to the whole thing, letting Joanne take the lead in approaching “likely looking” people (and let me tell you, the likely looking people may not be what you think they are). I handed out the pies and smiled a lot, cause, you know, anxious and shit. They were wonderful: friendly, happy to see us, grateful for the food and water. It felt good.

That was the day time.

We still had food left after our tour and decided to go back to the Yonge Street area where there seemed quite a few street people congregating after dark. Of course, in Toronto, it’s not really dark, it’s lit up like a carnival, but it was night and a whole different type of street person was taking up the prime spots.

Cue doomsday music crescendo.

Gone were the chubby little Romanian ladies in babushkas with their little signs; in their place were addicts, gun shot victims, hookers and alcoholics, with dealers and cops peppered in and around them.

I mean, I’ve been downtown at night before. I knew these people were there. But this was the first time I actually spoke to and interacted with any of them.

At first I was nervous. The scene before me was like something out of a TV show. Not Brooklyn 99, I can assure you. These people were no “Doug Judys”. The scene was more like Law & Order or even Mad Max: City Nights. (That could be a thing, peeps! Screen play anyone??)

So we went about and among them, handing out pies and Joanne’s homemade healthy date and nut balls, filling up water bottles, and chatting about them: their life, their situation, their feelings.

Yes, many were drunk or stoned. There were a couple of sex workers, a gun shot victim (shot in the ankle, hand and leg… not sure how that happened).

There were some smooth looking, man-bun wearing, slim square-toed shoe-sporting city slickers hopping in and out among them all, dealing drugs, under the watchful eye of a uniformed policeman. I guess the amounts were not enough to warrant a reaction or maybe it was understood this was home turf for these people, and what goes on at home is private. I don’t know. It seemed very weird to me, but I realize this was not the black and white world we live in, where we always have a comfy bed, good food, and wifi. This was a world of shadows, greys and blacks, cold cement, grit-riddled food, and rats. (Yes I saw a few, running behind where the action was).

I gotta say, though, I was impressed. I’ve known Joanne a very long time; I have always known her to be a kind person, who is truly interested in people. She is one of the few people I know who actually listen whens someone rambles on about stuff, she questions them and shows honest interest in them and what they have to say. ,

So we met a murderer (a real live one!) and his girlfriend, both Natives, and felt our hearts break as the fellow talked about his grown daughter with tears in his eyes (he was charged with murder after he defended his daughter from being raped); we learned the woman had a college certificate. They were not stupid, useless or bad. They were drinking alcohol disguised as koolaid in their water bottles, so I assume the drinking contributed to their situation. They had 2 large bags full of all their worldly possessions, and their “home” was a doorway big enough for the both of them, the sidewalk around them strewn with shards of glass and litter.

And around us, people in Armani and Ralph Lauren went about their business, bypassing the street people in their translucent houses.

We spent a couple of hours in all, sharing food, talking, laughing and even crying with these folks. They are people, just like us. They have children, just like us. They have feelings, just like us. They don’t want to be out on the street, but there is nowhere else for them to go.

On the streets it’s fairly warm, there are always bodies to cram up against for warmth; there’s food (not what we call food, but they get by), they have friends, colleagues, like-minded folks who “get” them, not look down on them; they have their addictions supplied, same as us. They have eyes to see – and they see much more than we give them credit for; they understand the reality of their world and what “we” think of it, but it’s their world, they own it, and they don’t own much else.

Now I am not a religious person, but all I kept thinking as I walked those city streets on this summer night was “but for the grace of god, go I….”

And that’s really the truth, peeps.

 

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!” 

 

 

 

Aspirations and Animals

Animals touch our lives in many ways. Not only do we co-exist with them on this planet, but they have sustained us through the eons as helpmates, companions, and protectors. Those who have pets think of them as family: we celebrate our successes with them at our side, we mourn our losses, and we mourn their loss just as any family member. We turn to them for comfort when life gets tough, knowing we have their unconditional love and support.

My son asked me to write about something he experienced recently. It surprised me because he typically keeps to himself and prefers his privacy. It was such a profound incident for him, though, he felt it was worth mentioning.

This summer he found himself hospitalized for a condition called Rhabdomyolysis, when the muscles react to being severely damaged by leaking protein enzymes (called CK) into the body which then floods the kidneys. If the damage is profound, the kidneys shut down, and in a worst case scenario, dialysis may be needed and permanent damage may be done. I know right? Who knew?

He was in for seven days, pumped up with thousands of litres of fluids to dilute and eventually flush his system and kidneys. Dialysis was a possibility in his case, and daily blood tests were done to track his CK levels, which never seemed to come down. He put 60 lbs. of weight on – all fluids being pumped into him. (It all came off afterwards, slowly). He feared not just for his kidneys health, but for his life. As did we.

He kept saying, “I just want to go home.”

It broke my heart that I couldn’t take him home, and make everything go away, but his life depended on resting and taking the treatment. You know, as mothers we pretty much become psychotic creatures where our kids are concerned. I lost track of how many times I felt myself putting on my invisible viking helmet and charging through the ward with my invisible sword called “Slicer” sweeping patients and orderlies out of my way in order to effect some treatment for my son that I felt was not being done fast enough. It’s what we do.

Once he did get home, his little dog, Arel, came to greet him. Arel is a Chihuahua, an immigrant from the Dominican Republic. He is a bit of a Casanova with an overbite, and thinks all the girl doggies love him. 

You can actually hear him, saying Joey-stylez, “How YOU doing?” when he meets a female doggy. Mostly he just annoys them. But his little Chihuahua lovings are as big as a Great Dane’s and when my son finally had a chance to greet him at home, he broke down. How happy and comforted that little dog made him feel broke the barrier of any register. It was at that point he actually felt he was going to get better – he had to get better – because Arel was rooting for him.

He told me I needed to write this story so other people would know how invaluable our animals are to us; how beneficial they are. He wanted the readers to know how enriched our lives are because we have these pets to love; how our goals and perspectives can change for the better because this little trusting being is putting their life in our hands and loving us so much for it. I think he realized at that point how precious life really is, everyone’s and everything’s; that our animals should be cherished as humankind’s partners, not dismissed as lesser beings, mistreated, used up, and then tossed away when they no longer serve us. 

My son is pretty much recovered now, and Arel is back to his aloof, I’m-a-cool-dude self, ensuring his suave image is intact, but I think of all the homeless dogs and cats in shelters, and all the factory farm animals being held hostage and mistreated, and I despair not only for them, but for the people out there who don’t have this kind of love in their life, who don’t understand this concept of animals not being there for us to use. My goal is for us all to embrace all animals as sentient creatures who have as much right to this earth as us: to co-exist with them peacefully, not dominate them and use them. 

What a wonderful world it would be!

 

#sorrynotsorry

Oops, I did it again! #sorrynotsorry

Thursday, I spent most of the day bearing witness to more victims of society’s food pyramid. In the morning, I was back at Fearman’s Pork providing water and succour to frightened, doomed baby pigs; and then we travelled to north Etobicoke, to demonstrate at a cattle slaughterhouse – and don’t kid yourself, they slaughtered for Halal beef and lamb there too. Despite a wonderful, fresh plant-based picnic in the park, catered by some of our group, the day itself was no picnic.

Me and Joanne before the arrest scare. #sorrynotsorry

It was my first time at a cow vigil; I didn’t really know what to expect. I understood we might not be able to offer water to the cows, and they might be frightened as much by our presence swarming the trailer as the journey itself. And of course, they would be assaulted by the same smell we were subjected to: the stench of blood, offal, bone, and death which permeated the block hundreds of yards before we actually reached the plant. It was a sickening, putrid smell, much like the garbage can on a hot day with maggots crawling all over, only worse because of the smell of drying blood under the hot sun. If I were still a meat-eater before this day, I would most certainly not be after. It was not clean. It was not hygienic. It was not healthy. Our MORGUES are more pleasant. Just sayin’.

the blood and offal sluice. it was really “offal” !

We were fortunate to be able to put a dab of peppermint essential oil under our noses; the cows, not so much. And the workers – how they were able to go from the disgusting work environment to a fast food truck across the road, then eat sitting right next to the blood sluice, I cannot even fathom.

the lunch table next to the blood sluice wall. yuck.

I tried to ask a worker if he liked working there (yes, I found myself accidentally peaking in a wire mesh window on the property to try to get a good photo – hey if they don’t want people looking in, they shouldn’t have a floor to ceiling opening in the side of their plant!) No one would talk to me, and then the police came threatening to charge those who had trespassed. I figured it was me, and I was actually going to be calling my parents for bail like I had jokingly threatened. (#sorrynotsorry) (I really don’t know how I endured six weeks in India without causing an international incident, but that is another post another day.) I’m just too curious for my own good. Don’t tell me I can’t or shouldn’t do something, ’cause that’s when I will do it, or die trying!

It was a horrible environment, and that was only outside the plant! We were able to peer into an opening right off the sidewalk (not trespassing) where the blood sluice was kept ready to dump drained blood and other bits into a bin, which would then most likely be sent to make dog food or maybe even hotdogs (#sorrynotsorry picture it!). Right next to the sluice was a picnic table for the employees to have their breaks outside in the sunshine….just so much ewwwww. 

The cows were packed into the same kind of trailer as the pigs, with vent holes so the really hot stinky air could breeze over them and ‘refresh’ them as they waited to die. They stood smashed up against each other, listless and sad. Now and then one or two would kick the side of the trailer in frustration and fear. They might not have known exactly what they were waiting for, but they sure as hell knew it wasn’t good.

For us humans, it was yet another example of the inhumanity we seem to have no problem subjecting others whom we deem lesser than us. Who makes that distinction? Apparently we, humans feel we have the right and the privilege to pass judgment on other species because we are “intelligent” beings. Definition of intelligent: clever, bright, brilliant, quick-witted, quick on the uptake, smart, canny, astute, intuitive, insightful, perceptive, perspicacious, discerning. Huh. Really. Doesn’t look that way to me.

The one bright spot on the day was visits from two vegan internationally renowned activists: Earthling Ed and James Aspey. Now THERE are some intelligent humans. They have both come across the world to spread their goals of compassion and health, for humans, animals and the earth. Ed is from England, and James, from Australia. Hyper links to more information on the two are included here. It was wonderful to meet them both and hear their message of hope for all living beings.

Joanne, Earthling Ed, and Me.

this might be your steak this week. He’s dead now.

The juxtaposition between speaking with them and hearing their encouraging stories and the plight of the pigs and cows in trailers not 10 feet away was mind-blowing. No one wants to die. No one wants to live in pain and terror. No one wants to be subjected to un-anaesthetised tail docking, dehorning, castration, perforation of stomach walls, automatic round-the-clock milking, skinning, plucking, beak cropping, baby removal and theft, cramped living quarters, no sunlight, feces covered bedding – no one I know, anyway. Would you?

So that’s why I’m #sorrynotsorry that I peaked in that window and pissed off some people. And I’m #sorrynotsorry that if you come to my house you will get a vegetarian meal – it will be delicious! but it will be plant-based. And I’m #sorrynotsorry if some of the things I say and post tweak your conscience and make you feel bad about eating meat. And I’m #sorrynotsorry if you get sick of listening to me post about these injustices to other living beings. And I’m #sorrynotsorry for all of this because maybe if each one teaches one, we won’t need to be #sorrynotsorry anymore.