A n i m a l W r i t e s ©
sm
The official ANIMAL
RIGHTS ONLINE newsletter
Established 1997
Editor ~ JJswans@aol.com
Issue # 02/15/04
Publisher ~ Susan
Roghair - EnglandGal@aol.com
Journalists ~ Greg Lawson -
ParkStRanger@aol.com
~ Michelle Rivera - MichelleRivera1@aol.com
~ Dr. Steve Best -
sbest1@elp.rr.com
THE ARTICLES IN THIS ISSUE ARE:
1 ~ Another Death in the Family
by Laura Moretti
2 ~ A Daily Reality by Cherine Bissinger
3 ~ Woodstock, NY Becomes Latest City to Adopt "Animal Guardian"
Language
4 ~ VP Uses Air Force Two to go Hunting
by John Goodwin
5 ~ Warning - Killer Dog Crate
6 ~ Good Sadness by Maria Tarquinio
7 ~ Memorable Quote
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~1~
Another Death in the Family
By Laura Moretti
www.lauramoretti.info/
It’s an unending, relentless grief.
And its triggers come in very obvious, sometimes subtle, sometimes
out-of-the-blue ways. Literally. They leave me with a bottomless depth of
crippling sadness. You know the one I mean.
The obvious: the pig factory I quietly got into. I wanted to try out my new
video camera in such a din of a place. It picked up the light well, exposing
the spots of pigmentation in the sow’s skin just beneath the brush of almost
translucent hair. The pink tongue as she opened her mouth and bit incessantly
at the bars of her prison. The white rim outlining her eye as she rolled it
carefully in my direction, wary, helpless. Pleading, may I say? And at my
mercy. At the mercy of human beings — creatures who, obviously, aren’t capable
of mercy — or she wouldn’t have been there in that coffin-sized crate, living
out her life in the barren, clinical, stench-filled warehouse into which she
herself had been born. An existence we wouldn’t sentence even upon psychopaths
whose crimes are too hideous to revisit.
Through the viewfinder, from the whites of her eyes, into my soul she grabs me.
And I know in that second, in that awfully tragic glimpse of a moment in which
she connects with me, from a loneliness surpassed only by her perpetual
frustration, that she will never let me go. Like that harp seal pup of my
youth, squirming in the bloody throes of dying. Like the bull in the inescapable
arena, down on his knees, coughing up blood to a cheering crowd. Like that
bludgeoned, boiled-alive white cat still trying to escape the skinning.
The dead are never buried for those of us who work to defend the weak against
the strong. For they die over and again, every day in obvious ways, leaving us
with this unending, relentless grief. You know the one I mean.
The subtle triggers: “So you’ve been inside a slaughterhouse? How gruesome.
Still, I don’t think it would affect me the way it’s affected you. It’s
probably really unpleasant, but I could handle it better than you could, I
think.” They are stronger, in other words, not weak, too sensitive, or so
easily moved by their emotions.
A volume of dialogue swims in my mind. The grief has me in its grip and I’m
unable to articulate. Why am I left so impotent? It is hours later that the
answer emerges. I realize it is incredibly easy to imagine the inside of a
slaughterhouse and not be so affected by it — for the human grasp is limited.
It can’t hear the sound of a large animal pushed against its will into a kill
chute, its frantic struggles, the reverberating pop of the captive-bolt pistol,
the heavy thump to the floor, the kicking against metal, the groaning of the
dying, the screech of pulleys and chains, the hydraulic release hiss, the
splashing blood, like water from a garden hose hitting cement. It can’t smell
the stench of manure and sweat, blood and putrefying flesh and organs. It can’t
feel the absolute fear, panic, terror. It can’t know the absolute will of each
and every life to desperately, frantically, vainly hold on.
The human mind can’t imagine the inside of a slaughterhouse; it is something
one can only experience — and it is utterly shocking. The so-called strong also
can’t understand that the dead are never buried. Only the soul, not the mind,
connects with those who have gone and are still passing from this world into
the next in unbelievably — and unimaginably — horrendous ways. They die over
and again, every day, in subtle, hidden ways, leaving those who are true to
their hearts with an unending, relentless grief. You know the one I mean.
From out-of-the-blue: The crying honks of geese overhead, in formation, headed
north. Hundreds of them wing homebound as I stare spellbound into a perfectly
crisp blue sky. They are the reminder of a force greater than any human
ambition or weapon. The powers that are. The birds take me with them on a
journey that transcends miles, and I am filled with the most pristine joy,
conceived by the immaculate connection to all that is, has been, will be, right
there, from out-of-the-blue.
And, then, just like that, I begin to sob, and the winged formation blurs
behind the tears in my eyes. For they are there, all around us, in the fields
and the sky and the oceans, crying out their souls, answering — unheard — that
age-old question that we’re not alone. And I think we will only be satisfied
with that answer when the very last one of them has been blasted every which
way into extinction: the passenger pigeons and dodo birds, the rhinos and
elephants, the big cats and snail darters, the Dusky Seaside Sparrow, who left
— forever — in my lifetime, not long ago.
The dead are never buried.
They die over and again, every day, in out-of-the-blue ways, leaving me with this
unending, relentless grief.
You know the one I mean.
The Animals Voice: Of Animal
Rights and Its Defenders
www.animalsvoice.com/PAGES/home.html
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~2~
A Daily Reality
By Cherine Bissinger -
doolexa@hotmail.com
Copyright 2003
As I wake up cozy and warm on this bitterly cold December
morning, I find myself anguishing over the same thoughts once again. Since the
weather turned to subzero temperatures, I cannot eliminate the overwhelming
feelings of empathy and desperation for the countless animals forced to endure
a torturous existence by the hands of cruel, sadistic “owners” who willfully
neglect their basic physiological and
psychological needs. I wish I didn’t care as much as I do because life for me
would be far more enjoyable living ignorantly and blissfully. But alas, I am
surrounded on a daily basis by selfish individuals who take care of themselves
without ever extending an act kindness towards other living, breathing
creatures. Whilst preparing my breakfast, I glance over and admire my two
glorious dogs snoring on the couch, and I tiptoe over to give them a kiss
without disrupting their peaceful sleep. Their coats are shiny, bellies well
nourished, bodies warm and spirits filled with a joie de vivre. This is how
pets should exist in our world. I feel lucky to have them, and I cherish their
presence.
Driving to work, I recall the most influential narrative concerning the
treatment of animals to have ever been relayed over the radio. Listening to my
favourite local station, I became profoundly moved by a story entitled “How
Could You?” by author Jim Willis. I sobbed inconsolably as the on-air radio
personality struggled his way through the powerful words. This time, I quickly
push the memory to the back of my mind in order not to arrive to work crying. I
suddenly shudder from the cold air absorbing deep in my bones and crippling my
extremities, so I immediately turn up the heat in my car. How fortunate to have
instantaneous relief. I gaze out the window at the barren countryside and
become stricken with disbelief at the never ending sight of helpless farm
animals wandering aimlessly without any visible shelter. Goats, cows and horses
standing in complete abandonment. I look at my watch and notice that it’s
only 6 a.m. Have these animals been enduring this frigid climate all night? As
I pass one farm, I glare at a frighteningly dilapidated barn house with apparent
movement inside. Surely there aren’t animals inside this exposed shack? It
seems that no matter where I look, animals would appear. Stray cats running
across the road, dogs chained to tiny wooden huts in already fenced-in yards.
“What is the matter with people,” I think to myself. “How can they sleep at
night with the knowledge that animals in their possession are suffering?” It’s
beyond comprehension.
Arriving into town, I drive around the neighbourhood and remark the same
observations: a total disregard for decency and blatant lack of compassion for
animal welfare on one of the coldest days this year. As I park my car at my
place of work, my attention is drawn over to the left at the sight of a dog
wagging his tail. The sun has not yet risen, and the home attached to the
enclosed yard housing the dog is unlit. My heart sinks with the insight that
this innocent dog has spent the night outside in the blustery wind and arctic
temperatures, all the while his human counterparts slept contently indoors, snuggled
comfortably in their beds, without once considering the painful effects of such
inhumanity on their loving dog who craves nothing more than a kind hand and
companionship. I walk over to the dog and perceive that he is, of course, tied
to a dog house. Perhaps the owners realize that the life they’re providing for
their pet is so unbearable that given a chance, the dog would rather jump the
fence and become homeless than be treated as an inanimate lawn fixture. The
closer I get to the fence, the more excited the furry tail becomes. From a few
feet away, I witness the look of anticipation on his face. I know he’s hoping
that someone has finally come to take him away from this misery. He jumps up
and barely places his front paws on the fence; as much as the length of the
chain will permit. He is shivering wildly and is cold to the touch. Tiny
icicles have formed around his whiskers. A backyard light from the neighbour’s
house provides sufficient luminescence for me to view the dog’s stainless steel
bowl filled solid with ice. The inside of his dog house is covered with snow.
The yard has never been shoveled. Children’s toys are scattered throughout the
yard. “Great,” I think to myself. “They’re also teaching children by example.”
My sadness turns to rage. How could they do that! Why do such heartless people
own animals? Pets or farm animals, there is no excuse for this merciless
neglect and intentional maltreatment. As the glacial wind howls in the
moonlight, my ears feel like pins and needles. I begin to whisper words of
comfort to the dog. I tell him how much I love him and express my sorrow for
his predicament. My tears of rage turn to ice, similar to the feelings of
animosity I maintain towards the dog’s owners. With a gentle pat on his head, I
regretfully turn to walk inside my workplace with innumerable thoughts whirling
in my mind. Each step I take away from the dog, I imagine his desolate look of
devastation for having been forgotten and ignored. The heartbreaking image
consumes me as I initiate my first plan of action and contact the humane
society to rescue this pup.
As my core body temperature warms up, I identify with the thousands of animals
suffering in silence. Life is unjust. A coworker spots me from a distance and
quickly comments on my visible air of distress. I recount the events of my
morning arrival, and I watch his face turn pale…the familiar look of another
animal lover. He assures me that he will keep an eye on the fenced dog to make
certain the canine is taken away from the home. Within the hour, the humane
society arrives and removes the dog. I follow up by telephone and am told that
the dog will eventually be placed for adoption. I find myself relieved to have
been able to help one animal, but what about the myriad of others? Like chained
animals, I feel as though my hands are tied by feeble anti-cruelty laws and
public apathy. As human beings, our conscience implores us to assist animals
that are physically abused and emotionally denied by altering public perception
and strengthening animal welfare bylaws. My purpose for channeling these
thoughts into writing is to avenge such inexcusable affliction with the
commanding honesty of words by advocating on behalf of those unable to
communicate in a language recognizable by people, with the greater goal that
more individuals extend their humanity to animals.
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~3~
Woodstock, NY Becomes Latest City
to Adopt "Animal Guardian" Language
By Lawrence Carter-Long - In
Defense of Animals (IDA)
Contact: Andy Glick (WARM) - Andy119@aol.com
On February 10, the Woodstock, NY city council adopted an
ordinance amending the city's municipal code to refer to people as
"guardian's" of their companion animals rather than the antiquated
term "owner." The action made Woodstock, NY the eighth city in the
nation (along with the State of Rhode Island) to acknowledge the right of
individuals to define themselves as guardians of their companion animals.
Boulder was the first city to pass a measure to replace the word
"owner" with the term "guardian" in their municipal
ordinances in 2001. Since then, seven other cities; San Francisco, West
Hollywood and Berkeley, CA; Sherwood, AR; Menomonee Falls, WI; Amherst, MA; and
now Woodstock, NY and the state of Rhode Island have officially recognized the
important part animal companions play in our society by passing legislation
that incorporates the term "guardian" into all their animal related
ordinances.
"The Town of Woodstock is very proud to initiate actions, such as our
recently adopted animal control law, that will potentially lead to more
compassionate treatment of animals," said Jeremy Wilbur, Town Supervisor
of Woodstock. "Brian Shapiro, in one of his last acts as a councilman for
the Town of Woodstock, performed a great service in helping the Town craft this
legislation. We, humans and animals alike, are all God's creatures and are
equally deserving of humane treatment. If this newly enacted law helps to raise
consciousness with respect to treatment of animals ... then I shall consider it
a great success and would recommend its adoption by other communities."
"Throughout the process of presenting the guardian campaign and the
ensuing public hearings, we were impressed with the respectful attitude towards
animals expressed by the Woodstock Town Board members," added Woodstock
residents Kirsti Gholson and Andy Glick, of the Woodstock Animal Rights
Movement (Warm) who campaigned for the changes, in a joint statement. "Not
only did the board vote unanimously to adopt the language change, it also took
the opportunity to broaden and strengthen local laws protecting animals. A
special thank-you goes to Brian Shapiro for his vocal support and for drafting
the ordinance revisions. Replacing "owner" with the term
"guardian" is a vital part of changing attitudes about non-human
beings. We're very proud of Woodstock for recognizing the significance of this
language change. We hope that other cities and towns in New York will follow Woodstock's
caring example."
In Defense of Animals President, Elliot M. Katz, DVM, -- who initiated the
campaign nationally -- also praised Woodstock's Council, "I am delighted
that the City of Woodstock has joined the State of Rhode Island and seven other
cities in acknowledging the vital role of language in seeking social change.
Almost all animal abuse and exploitation stems from viewing animals as mere
property, objects or things. Updating our language is an important first step
in recognizing the changing consciousness of the American public regarding our
relationships to the animals with whom we share our lives."
For more information about the campaign, go to: www.GuardianCampaign.com
<><><><><>
[Editor's note: We at Animal Rights Online also want to commend the above
mentioned Andy Glick, who happens to also be one of our staff members, for his
hard work in making this happen. We're very proud of him.]
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~4~
VP Uses Air Force Two to go Hunting!
By John Goodwin, HSUS, Humane Activist
Network
Submitted by Michelle Rivera and Reprinted with permission--
(first appeared in Memphis Animal Times, January 2004)
Vice President Dick Cheney went pheasant shooting recently but
unlike most of his fellow hunters across America, he didn't have to spend hours
or even days tramping the fields and hedgerows in hopes of bagging a brace for
the dinner table. Shortly before he and his hunting party arrived at the Rolling
Rock Club in Ligonier Township, gamekeepers released 500 pen-raised pheasants
and Cheney brought down more than 70 birds. During the morning shooting spree,
his group killed 417 of the exotic Asian ringnecks with their beautiful
iridescent feathers and 20-inch tails. After lunch, they spent the afternoon
shooting mallard ducks, also produced as a crop to be "harvested"
like so many live skeet.
Rolling Rock is an exclusive private club for the wealthy with a world
class golf course and a closed membership list. It is also a "canned
hunt" operation, a place where you can blast away to your heart's content
at confined birds and animals with kills guaranteed or your money back.
As the fall hunting seasons draw to a close, many hunters dedicated to traditional
outdoor field craft and shooting skill will get their deer, elk, pheasant or
turkey. Some will go home empty handed. Others will patronize canned hunts to
kill half-tame, human-habituated native game or exotic animals as they stroll
up to a feeder. Like Vice President Cheney, some will shoot farm-raised
pheasants that are about as wary as urban pigeons. It's essentially live target
practice, as sporting as shooting birds in Pittsburgh's National Aviary.
Outdoor writer Ted Williams estimates that some 500,000 individual
patronize canned-hunts at the nation's more than 4,000 shooting preserves. At
many bird operations, flocks of pheasant, quail and other feathered game are
tossed from towers toward shotguns arrayed below, or dizzied and disoriented before
being placed in front of the hunters. Time Magazine reports that perhaps 2,000
are game ranches stocked with both exotic mammals and native wildlife. Some are
surplus animals purchased from zoos, circuses, roadside menageries, safari
parks, and wildlife dealers. Others are bred as raw material for this
particularly repugnant form of trophy acquisition, to be shot and stuffed by
would-be nimrods with the effrontery to call themselves "hunters." A
total of 13 states have banned canned hunts as inhumane and unsporting.
For centuries, European blue-bloods have shot captive game in private
hunting parks. The practice began in the United States some 30 years ago,
driven by a variety of factors: habitat shrinking as sprawl proliferates;
landowners posting their property against hunting; public lands becoming more
crowded, not only with hunters but with campers, hikers, birders,
photographers, and off-road-vehicle enthusiasts.
Canned hunting is an affront to human decency. There is a general public
consensus against canned hunting, and in fact even most hunters oppose canned
hunts according to a survey conducted by Field and Stream magazine.
Animal advocates can end canned hunting. It is time that we demand our
elected officials take action to end this despicable behavior. Please write to
Senator Bill Frist and ask him to take action to end canned hunting. Remind him
that both animal advocates, and responsible hunters alike, object to killing
penned animals.
Senator Bill Frist
United States Senate
Washington, DC 20510
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~5~
Warning - Killer Dog Crate
Please check out the following website, which tells about
the dangers of a specific crate or kennel and how it was the cause of death of
a puppy. If you have this type of crate, please discontinue use or use with
extreme caution and vigilance.
Dog Kennel
Safety - Petmate Kennel Kills Puppy! - Dog Kennel Training.
http://www.kennelsafety.com/PetmateKennelResultsInDeath.asp
Petmate Kennel update
http://www.kennelsafety.com/
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~6~
Good Sadness
by Maria Tarquinio -
VEGAN4ALLVICTIMS@aol.com
(8 of 14 verses)
Sadness is our stepping stone, and stair,
never a sharp rock, nor stumbling block.
Our sadness is our strength, a smooth rock,
a solid cornerstone of unbreakable compassion.
Sadness is our rock to break-open cages;
snap chains, heal wounds, soothe fears,
bring health to victims infected deliberately;
share sunlight and moonlight with prisoners set free.
Be inspired by your sadness,
wonderful friends.
Gather and plan, plot and pray,
dance in praise of abolition's coming day.
Respect sadness, bring it to the sunshine.
Rest and revive on this good warm rock.
Sadness is sister to rage, and mother of action.
Blush not about tears, we all carry this rock.
We carry it where our conscience leads us.
We rest on it, not on shifting sands.
We leap from it into ethics' heights.
Its weight propels us into holy works.
Don't die of sadness, gentle friends;
it's a life-force propelling you to integrity's ways.
It fans the flames of your compassion,
and brightens your soul to show others the light.
Laughter, celebration, love almost too sweet to bear,
honeysuckle-pleasured humane victories to share.
These are sun-rays dancing around sadness' clouds,
helping our hearts to hope for all whom terror shrouds.
Sadness calls us to action, dear kindhearted friends.
Educate, legislate, inspire, demonstrate, defy, and disgrace.
Sadness is our prayer for victims in every evil place.
Carry others, be carried, embrace one-another, we all cry sometimes.
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~7~
Memorable Quote
"The world is a dangerous place,
not because of those who do evil,
but because of those who look on
and do nothing."
~ Albert Einstein
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Susan Roghair - EnglandGal@aol.com
Animal Rights Online
http://www.oocities.org/RainForest/1395/
-=Animal
Rights Online=-
«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»§«¤»¥«¤»
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