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8/8/2019 AR Articles

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Most vegans value their own lives, the lives of their family members, and thelives of nonhuman mammals more than they value the lives of ticks, fleas, orpoisonous snakes, Milne notes. Most vegans and other humans also valuetheir own lives and the lives of their family members more than the lives of other humans . So what? That doesn't mean that some humans should havemore rights than others. Nor do Milne's preferences mean that mammals aremore entitled to life and liberty than insects and other nonmammals.

"I don't think we are going to get far by advocating that a spider's life is asprecious as a human being's," Milne comments, misrepresenting myargument. I've never indicated that we're obligated to consider a spider's lifeas precious as the life of a human, a moth, a trout, or anyone else. WhatI've stated is that "a spider has as much right to life" as any other sentientbeing. I'll repeat: Milne has failed to grasp the crucial difference betweenwhat he or any other human personally values and what constitutes a fair,valid criterion for equal consideration and protection. The only such criterionis sentience.

"Humans have the highest consciousness," Milne asserts. In some waysother animals' mental lives are less sophisticated than ours, in some ways

more sophisticated. It's presumptuous and narcissistic to declare our type of consciousness the best. Evolutionary reality conflicts with Milne's notion of alinear progression in consciousness from plants to humans. Nonhumanintelligence doesn't correlate with biological relatedness to humans, even if we define intelligence as human-like intelligence. For example, octopusesapparently possess more human-like intelligence than frogs, but we're farmore closely related to frogs. Animals don't evolve toward humanness buttoward greater adaptiveness in their ecological niche. A centipede or snailembodies as long a period of evolution as a human: since the beginning of life on earth.

Milne regards reptiles as lesser than mammals. Although we have reptilian

ancestors, we didn't descend from reptiles of any species alive today. Thefirst turtles, lizards, crocodiles, and snakes appeared after the firstmammals. The notion of higher and lower beings lacks scientific validity. Inan 1858 letter, Charles Darwin expressed his intention to avoid referring tosome animals as "higher" than others. As stated by neuroscientist WilliamHodos, ranking species in some linear order that suggests evolutionaryprogress has "no scientific status." Most importantly, supposed superiorityisn't relevant to equal consideration. Like human equality, animal equalitymeans equal protection, not equal abilities or merit.

Milne especially values animals who show capacities for social relationships,abstract reasoning, and complex communication. Numerous animals other

than mammals and birds show those capacities--including invertebrates suchas honeybees. Again, however, such capacities shouldn't bear on equalprotection. Under the law the most reclusive, unloved humans have thesame basic rights as the most social and cherished; humans unable toreason abstractly and use language have the same basic rights as thoseable to conceptualise and articulate with brilliance. Sentient beings (and only sentient beings) can suffer. For sentient beings (and only sentient beings)death ends all experience. All sentient beings have an equal right to beprotected from needless, human-inflicted suffering and death.

Milne questions, "Does this mean that if I kill a flea that [ sic ] is on my dogthen I am as morally reprehensible as I would be if I killed the dog, or a

Speciesist http://www.animalliberationfront.com/Philosophy/Morality/Speciesism/P

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uman s ype o og c s go ng o e seen as r cu ous y e averageperson, including myself." The "logic" is Milne's, not mine. As heacknowledges, I don't object to killing parasites when they can't be removedbenignly. Except that we shouldn't interfere in natural relationships amongfree-living nonhumans (for example, predator-prey relationships), we have amoral right to kill an animal who is invading someone's body. Killing parasitesis justifiable defence of self or another, such as a dog. A right to libertyincludes a right to bodily integrity.

Milne finds it inconsistent that I don't disapprove of killing in self-defence orto avoid starvation. "Sounds like she is valuing the life of one being overanother," he says. Yet again he's confusing valuing one life more thananother with failing to give equal consideration. It isn't speciesist to valuesome individuals (nonhuman or human) more than others. It is speciesist todeny any sentient being an equal right to life. If a lion leaps at my throat,I'm entitled to kill the lion, but I'm equally entitled to kill a human attacker. If I'm starving in the Arctic, I'm entitled to kill and eat a polar bear, but I'malso morally entitled to kill and eat a human. In such rare circumstances ahuman's right to life genuinely competes with someone else's equal right tolife. If I have no other food source, I--like a polar bear--must kill prey if Iwant to survive. There's nothing speciesist about that.

"Are we going to have monkeys on murder charges for killing insects?" Milneasks. In Speciesism I state, "Laws restrict human behavior." I make it veryclear that nonhumans should be protected, but not accountable, under thelaw. That isn't a double standard. The law doesn't hold young children ormentally incompetent human adults accountable when they needlessly injureor kill others. Similarly, because nonhumans who inflict apparently gratuitousharm may have no sense of wrongdoing, the law must regard them asinnocent.

Milne admits to being confused as to what is and is not speciesist. He's soconfused that he thinks it's speciesist not to allow a crocodile onto a railcar

with human passengers. Such a policy doesn't deny crocodiles equalconsideration. It simply considers all passengers and recognizes that acrocodile would pose a serious threat to others. What is speciesist is to havethe crocodile in captivity in the first place.

Partly because Singer and I define speciesism in different ways, Milnedismisses the concept as too confusing to be helpful. If Milne had botheredto read Speciesism before writing about my alleged views, he'd be lessconfused. As I explain in the book, Singer defines speciesism as prejudiceagainst all nonhuman beings. By that overly narrow definition, species-basedprejudice against some --even most--nonhuman beings isn't speciesism. Incontrast to Singer, I define speciesism as species-based prejudice against

anyone . Whereas Singer advocates rights to life and liberty only for humans,other great apes, and possibly other mammals, I advocate such rights for allsentient beings. By his own definition Singer isn't speciesist. By my definitionhe is.

The concept of speciesism is young and continues to develop. Ourunderstanding of, and sensitivity to, speciesism will increase, but the same istrue of sexism, racism, and other forms of human-directed prejudice. Just asthe concepts of sexism and racism have been vitally important to advancinghuman rights, the concept of speciesism is vitally important to advancingnonhuman rights.

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,"terrible" or "as reprehensible as racism." The vast majority of living beingsare nonhuman. By far, speciesism causes more needless suffering and deaththan any other form of prejudice. Fishing, food-industry captivity andslaughter, hunting, vivisection--all such abuse of nonhumans is speciesism inaction. Speciesism underlies all the cruelty and injustice toward nonhumansthat Milne deplores. Until many more people recognize and rejectspeciesism, that cruelty and injustice will continue on a massive scale.

Joan Dunayer is the author of Animal Equality (2001) and Speciesism (2004).


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When I Look Into Animals' Eyes, I See What I Feltby Elisabeth Lewin

Today, when I look into the eyes of animals in the meat industry or animalsbeing hunted or otherwise terrorized, I see what I felt.

I was 4 years old, living with my parents in the Warsaw ghetto. Hitler's troopswere going from house to house, taking the children from their parents, just asthe people in the meat industry take baby animals from their mothers. Thechildren who could walk were taken away, and no one ever saw them again.The despair of these parents and their children was horrible, and I know with allmy heart the despair of the millions of mother and baby animals the meatindustry separates every day.

The "downers" in the meat industry are the same as the older people, thegrandparents, were then - the German troops would go after them, screaming,"For soap, for soap!" and drag their feeble bodies onto the train. The same trainkept coming back and being filled again with people. They were packed together

into freight cars just as the animals are packed together for transport today.One week, they loaded my grandparents onto that train, and I never saw themagain.

My mother smuggled me out of the ghetto and into a Polish family's Warsawhome. But soon Hitler's troops filled the entire city of Warsaw. I rememberpeeking out a window of my benefactor's house at a little fenced park with agarden and bushes and a sandbox. I saw German soldiers shoot the mothersand children there, as they tried to hide behind the bushes. It was just like acanned hunt, where the men shoot the fenced-in and defenceless animals - Iknow just how terrified these animals feel. It's exactly the same. I saw buildingsgoing up in flames. The train came back every day to be filled with the people of

Warsaw, Jews and non-Jews alike. They were prodded and packed tightlytogether on it to go to the concentration camp and be killed, just as the animalsare packed together today for transport to the slaughterhouse.

Then one day my Polish benefactor, her sister (with her little dog hidden underher coat), and I were loaded onto the train. Like cattle, we were given numbersto wear. Just like animals in the meat industry, we were packed so tightlytogether that we couldn't move. Some children were sick, wrapped in blankets,and had to be carried. We had nothing to eat or drink and barely enough air tobreathe. People were coughing, crying, and panicking - just as animals, petrifiedand confused, scream in agony and panic aboard transport trucks. After manyhours, the train slowed down and the German soldiers jumped off to make sure

no one would try to jump from the train.

But some people did jump, and the Germans shot them. My mother's friend toldme, "Jump", but I was afraid. Then her sister threw her dog off the train and

jumped off after the dog. When I saw that the little dog had made it, I jumpedtoo. Then my benefactor jumped. By a miracle, we all escaped, and this is why Iam alive today. My mother was a journalist, and she kept a journal abouteverything going on. She wrote at night, by candlelight. She was killed, but myaunt published her journal, and today it is in every public library in Poland. It isalso published in German, with my mother's picture on the cover.

Because of what ha ened to me durin the Holocaust because I was once a

I Look Into Animals' Eyes, I See What I Felt http://www.animalliberationfront.com/Saints/Authors/Essays/AnimalEyes.ht

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victim while others were silent about my pain, I don't eat animals and I don'twear animals. Every life is precious. Our silence must end

I Look Into Animals' Eyes, I See What I Felt http://www.animalliberationfront.com/Saints/Authors/Essays/AnimalEyes.ht

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It was Monday, October 13, 2008. The scene was the People's Building Centerparking lot in Dayton, Texas. The SNAP mobile clinic was full of dogs and cats 22of them to be spayed or neutered. Dr. Johnson had arrived, and Chris andMichele were prepping a dog for surgery.

There was a lot of barking coming from outside. The crew looked out thewindow and saw a little brown five-pound Chihuahua barking at a dark blue JeepLiberty. This dog literally would NOT let this car move. The driver started edgingforward very slowly, but the Chihuahua got right in front of the front wheel. Thelittle fellow kept barking and wouldn't budge. Soon a crowd gathered in theparking lot. One of the onlookers suggested the driver back up. When she tried,the Chihuahua quickly ran around to the back of the car and wouldn't let thedriver go backwards either.

A few moments later a Dayton policeman arrived. Everyone thought that theproblem would quickly be solved because the dog had a collar and tag. TheChihuahua wouldn't let the officer or anyone else come near enough to read itthough.

The standoff went on for 45 minutes or so. The lady kept saying she needed tobe somewhere. The SNAP team offered ideas on how to secure the pup andeven supplied food to be used to bribe him away from the Jeep. The Chihuahuawould have none of it.

Finally the parking lot group decided on a plan. The lady in the dark blue JeepLiberty started driving ahead very slowly with the passenger door open veryslowly as in one mile per hour. The Chihuahua ran along the passenger side of the car. The Dayton Police car followed, and behind him were two other cars.They led the Chihuahua in this way to a fenced area behind the People's BuildingCenter supermarket. There they were finally able to catch the Chihuahua andread the tag on his collar.

Imagine everyone's surprise when the Chihuahua's guardian turned out to bethe owner of a dark green Jeep Liberty! They had driven to a Walgreens drugstore near the People's Building Center a day or so earlier. There, unbeknownstto the guardian, the Chihuahua had jumped out of the car. The guardian haddiscovered the dog was missing after returning home and had returned to thedrug store several times to try to find him but without success.

Once the whole story was known, everyone realized just how smart the littleChihuahua had been. He recognized that the Jeep matched his guardian's car.(The color was off a bit, but dogs can't distinguish most colors.) He alsorecognized that the person in the car was the wrong person. He thus decidedthat the best approach was to keep the car there until the right person came

along. It was his intelligence that ultimately enabled the smart little guy to findhis way home. He taught us how smart a dog can be in the process.

g's Life http://www.animalliberationfront.com/Saints/Authors/Stories/ADogsLife.ht

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Basic Philosophy.Compassion and Ethics.

BASIC ARGUMENT

Regardless of what religious view you hold to, whatever your philosophical leanings, thebasic principle in accepted ethical conduct is to try to be as compassionate as possible toothers, as opposed to as cruel as possible.

If you believe in human rights you must, therefore, as a matter of ethical consistency,believe in animal rights.

The burden for the human supremacist (or lets say animal exploitation proponent) is thathe wants to have his cake and eat it too. He wants to be able to say that it is ethically

justifiable to exploit non human animals in ways that would be immoral if done to humans.The problem is--how do you bring forth an argument that shuns racism/sexism etc butcondones speciesism?

All the criteria used--"reason," " free will," "a soul," "deity says so," are subject to doubt,not only in how it applies to al l humans vs all non-humans, but also in its absolute objectivesignificance. There is no absolutes here (or rather, if there are--they are still subject toquestioning -- and how can an absolute be questioned?). If every human possesses somefaculty x that other species lack, why then would this "faculty x " make them superior invalue--and then free to do what they want to those outside that circle?

It's a purely human value and claim. (i.e. reason. This criteria is subjective. Its worth is avalue judgment. It only has discernable value to humans (just as skin color only has valueto racists, or a certain interpretation of the Bible only has value to Christian fanatics). Theuniverse itself cannot be shown to "favor" humans over non-humans since we are subject tothe elements, diseases, and mortality just as other species are. Where then is this"objective superiority" demonstrated? No where. We say it is so, so it i s so.

But a racist or sexist or religious fanatic can make the very same claim--using a criteria thatis non objective, non absolute and say it is okay for their perceived group(s) to discriminateagainst those humans who don't meet the special standard of value.

How can the speciesist say, using ethics, that what he says is so, is superior to what theracist says is so?

The only choice that an animal exploitation proponent has, to preserve some moralintegrity, is to allow anyone to do what they want and discriminate against whomever theywant (this would allow both animal experiments and human experiments), or to expand thecircle of compassion to include those that were left out.

Now--it doesn't mean the line is drawn at animals--you can very well say that it is wrong toexploit trees and other plants...the problem is implementing such a policy. No ethicalview--no matter how consistent, can take into account the interests of everyone at alltimes--especially when you come down to a microscopic level. No one can be perfect, eitherin compassion or cruelty. BUT the failure to be morally perfect does not then mean one hasto fall back to some safe line like species. If one argues for that--then there is no reasonwhy the line cannot be drawn at race, or religion, or family also. So the same problem forthe speciesist still applies. He or she is shackled to it.

All you can do as a compassionate person is to try your best according to each situation,following a moral standard that endeavors to be fair and just--allowing you to be ascompassionate as possible, as opposed to the alternative.

ct Philo http://www.animalliberationfront.com/Saints/Authors/Stories/Perfect Phil

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Elvis and Luna thunder uphill for an apple

Elvis settled in remarkably well, given that I've never had a steer before. Anintensely social creature, he reminds me a bit of Shrek: All he wants, besidesgrass, is love and attention, yet everyone flees at his approach. Which isunderstandable. Whenever someone opens the gate, no matter where in thepasture Elvis is, he comes thundering down the slope toward his visitor.

It's a true test of nerves. Elvis weighs nearly 2,300 pounds: It isn't easy for himto slow or stop. He leaves skid marks. I've taught him to "stay" (more or less)when I approach, but once or twice he's gotten overexcited, swung his hugehead, and sent me sprawling. He shows remorse, leaning over to lick me withhis enormous, drooly tongue, like a two-story Newfoundland.

I was surprised at my own considerable affection for him. We had some sweetlypeaceful moments, with me scratching his side while he bellowed softly. When Icame out in the morning, he was always waiting for me, and same thing justbefore dusk, when I made my final rounds. Sometimes he would put hisgargantuan head on my shoulder and drool great globs on my shirt, or lower hisnose nearly to the ground so that I could scratch his massive head. His sweetspot is right on the top of it, and a few scratches calm him instantly. I never

imagined that I could love a steer.

Still, Annie DiLeo, my farm helper, worried Elvis was lonely. I shared herconcern. Elvis had spent his whole life with a herd of dairy cows, and now hewas alone in the paddock behind the big barn, watching for me or Annie orstaring mournfully at the other animals.

Several times a day, he came up to the pasture gate--now electrified like a stateprison's--to get closer to the donkeys and the sheep. Except for the babydonkey Jesus, who was willing to check Elvis out from the other side of thefence, they would all quickly scuttle as far away as they could get.

And as fond as I was of Elvis, I didn't really want him strolling around the farmtrying to make friends. He could (and did) walk through any unelectrified fence Ihad, practically without noticing. He would wreak havoc if he wandered into thehamlet near my farm. Elvis would think nothing of putting his head through akitchen window if he smelled something good to eat. And he was more than amatch for the muscle cars and juiced-up pickups that roared around my farm.Elvis was lacking in social graces. While getting scratched, he might suddenlydrop an enormous cowpie that landed like a giant boulder on the ground. Orunleash a prodigious whiz that trickled down to the road. He didn't eat hay somuch as inhale entire bales.

He didn't really know how to play well with animals of normal size. A few times,I'd tried bringing the donkeys and the sheep into the paddock with him. Heappeared delighted to have company, but when he galloped into their midst, thesheep fled and the donkeys hid behind trees. He looked disappointed.

Sometimes I would hear Elvis' lowing early in the morning or late at night, and itseemed as though he were calling out to something. When I went out to see, hecame skidding down the hill, as I dove out of the way.

A few months ago, I got a telephone call from Annie's best friend, Nicki. She andher husband owned a beautiful farm just outside the hamlet, where her smallherd of cows and horses were fed the best hay and grain and sheltered inwarm, spotless barns.

Love http://www.animalliberationfront.com/Saints/Authors/Stories/CowLove.ht

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Elvis wants to, but Luna says no

Now Nicki's husband was being transferred, and they had to move. Amid thechaos and tears, she was frantic to find good homes for her animals, particularlyher favorite cow, Luna, a brown and white mixed-breed 3-year-old. Nicki didn'twant to send Luna to a dairy farm. She wanted her to live where she couldgraze freely and continue to get special grain treats, and where some idiotwould feed her forever. Naturally, I agreed.

I called farmer Pete Hanks, who'd sold me Elvis, and asked if he could transportLuna in his livestock trailer. He and his brother Dean and Annie drove over toNicki's to drop off the trailer and see whether Luna (a slip of a lass at 900pounds) would agree to climb aboard. As it happened, when Nicki brought out atub of grain, Luna hopped onto the trailer without two seconds' hesitation. Nickisaid a tearful goodbye, and the entire entourage drove to my place (includingNicki, who wanted to say another farewell to Luna).

A delicious cultural collision ensued at my gate when the trailer backed in. Peterand Dean Hanks, dairymen descended from generations of other dairymen,stood watching incredulously in their Big Green Farms shirts. Moving cows wasnot previously an emotional experience for Dean and Peter. Annie and Nicki,

animal lovers from another realm, stood by with grain to ensure that Luna wasnot pressured, molested, coerced, or distressed.

My wife, a committed New Yorker, watched and muttered about the odd turnslife with her husband took. ("It's like being married to a runaway train," shegrumbled bitterly.) And I stood, trying to recall precisely what I was thinkingwhen I agreed to this expanding menagerie.

Then, I was suddenly reminded of one my favorite childhood movies, B ride of Frankenstein . Elvis' head came up as soon as he saw the trailer and heardLuna's moo. Hers was a guttural alto bray; his was deeper. He began to dancearound. A friend like me! Maybe a girlfriend! The two animals started talking to

each other right away.Elvis' dancing around the pasture was a sobering sight, causing woodchucks todive into holes, the sparrows to flee the barn, and all the humans to back upquickly. I went over and tapped him on the nose, saying, "Yo, dude, chill." Hebacked up a bit, and we swung the gate open. Luna, with no coercion of anysort, trotted down off the trailer into the pasture.

Elvis was beside himself with joy. He sniffed Luna, and then the two of themtook off, frisking around the pasture. I'm not sure what a happy pair of cowsought to look like, exactly, but these two seemed quite pleased to meet. Elvisliterally kicked up his heels. His manners improved. He was disarmingly sweet.When the good green hay--second cut--was brought out, he let Luna get thefirst chomp before shoulder-butting her halfway across the meadow. When itwas time for grain, he stood at one end of the trough, she at the other untiltheir heads and noses met in the middle.

From the first day, they were inseparable. Elvis towers over Luna, but now wenever see one without the other close by. At night, they go off to sleep under anapple tree, Luna sometimes resting her head on Elvis' monstrous back. In themorning, I see the two of them at the top of the hill, taking in the view.

Luna is no pushover, though. Once, when Elvis started to get fresh--a trulydaunting sight--she swung her smaller head around and brained him in the nose.


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.

Elvis still comes running when I show up in the pasture, especially since Istarted bring carrots, potatoes, or Snickers bars, all of which he is crazy about.But I am no longer the center of his universe, and he no longer stands waitingfor me. There are no more lonely moos.

To our horror, Katz has had Elvis (and Harold) slaughtered.

Here is his hypocritical, self-centred "rationale" for this heinous act of betrayal:http:// blog.bedlamfarm.com/index.cfm/2008/12/15/An-ethical-conversation-with-a-place-A-decision


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Every day at Sarvey Wildlife Center we witness first hand the incredible battlefor life that our animal brothers and sisters go through. This is a story of oneBald Eagle's magnificent spirit and sheer will to live.

It was mid-summer when a call came in reporting a fledgling Bald Eagle hadfallen out of a nest on a Seattle golf course. Our very own Crazy Bob went tothe rescue and transported her to the Center. She arrived with two brokenwings. When asked to take her to the vet, I jump at the chance.

When I load this hurt and terrified baby into the car, she neither whimpers norfights; she can't even stand. This is not a good sign; she is obviously in very badshape. As I drive to Sno-Wood Veterinary Hospital, I constantly look back tocheck on my very special passenger. She stares at me with big beautiful browneyes, her mouth slightly agape. I drive a little faster this Bald Eagle must live!

She is operated on and has both wings pinned; they are now immobile. Back atSarvey we lay her in the bottom half of a huge carrier filled with shreddednewspaper for support The fight for her life begins.

Twice a day a tube is pushed down her throat so that food and medicine can bepumped into her. A week goes by with no change; she still cannot stand up. Atthree weeks, there's a slight change, but it's for the worse. I'm getting scaredfor this young Bald Eagle.

Working at the Center, you begin to recognize a look, a look that indicates deathis winning. This bruised and broken Bald Eagle was losing the battle but not herdignity. The struggle for her life was not over.

Every chance I get I talk softly to her, telling her to hold on, to fight, to live.Why I felt such a connection to this particular eagle, I do not know.

Four weeks go by and she is still on her belly. There is nothing so heartbreaking

as seeing the life force of this majestic bird slowly slip away. At five weeks we are approaching the end.

Sarvey Wildlife Center believes in giving every soul that comes in a chance tolive; but when it is painfully clear that death is the only way out, the decision ismade to let that particular spirit continue on its journey. We were at this

juncture; this beautiful baby eagle was given one week to see if she could, orwould, stand up. This was a crushing blow. Every day that next week I checkedto see if she was up. The answer was always the same... "No."

On the following Thursday I could barely face going to the Center. As I walkedin not a word was spoken but everyone wore a huge grin. I raced back to theyoung Bald Eagle's cage, and there she stood in all her glory!

She was standing! She had won. This girl had cheated death by a mere 24hours. She was going to make it. She was going to get her second chance.

After another week the pins in her wings were removed. Her right wing wasperfect, but her left was not. She couldn't fully extend it. We tried physicaltherapy and hoped a little time was all she needed, but there was no significantprogress. Her wing was too badly damaged. She would never fly, never soar theskies with her people. At least her life was saved, but for what? Was she

om, the Eagle http://www.animalliberationfront.com/Saints/Authors/Stories/Freedom-th.

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doomed to live her life in a cage? Not exactly, for this was a special soul.

Bald Eagles normally want nothing to do with humans and will go to greatlengths to get away from them. This girl liked people; she wanted to see whatyou were doing, to follow where you were going, and to see whom you weregoing with. She was very curious.

About this time our director suggested that I try to glove train her. She had theright temperament; maybe she could do educational programs. Wouldn't that besomething? Very few eagles are able or willing to be handled, much less remaincalm in front of large crowds. The work began.

I started getting her used to the glove, a little at a time. At first she wasthinking, "OK, I'll step on your hand but only with one foot." Then, "OK, I'll useboth feet but only for a second." Later, "Yeah you can take me part way out of my cage, then I'll jump right back in." And finally, "OK, I'll let you walk aroundwith me on your arm. Hey, this is fun!"

At this point, every day a volunteer would take this Bald Eagle out for a cruisearound the clinic. It was time for her final test jesses, the leather straps thatattach to the ankles of birds-of-prey to give control to the handler and toprotect the bird from injury or escape. I put the jesses on her a piece of cake.It was as if she were born with them on. This was certainly a very mellow BaldEagle.

Now it was almost time for her first program, but she needed a name. Nonethat we could come up with seemed right, and then Paula, a volunteer, said,"Hey, what about Freedom?" That was it; that was her spirit and her spirit waswhy grandfather sent her to us. She was ready.

Freedom is now four years old and one of Sarvey Wildlife Center's premierambassadors. She clearly enjoys our programs and really knows how to turn onthe charm. She is a star. Freedom has been on national television, on the frontpage of major newspapers, and is known across the country.

She is also one of the great loves of my life. She will touch her beak to the tip of my nose and stare into my eyes. At that moment our spirits are one.

I am the luckiest person on Earth. Thank you, Freedom.

(editor's note)...Jeff said, "Why I felt such a connection to this particular eagle, Ido not know."

Now we all know why:

Freedom is alive because Jeff fought for her life, and there is no doubt thatFreedom sensed his love and commitment. Jeff gave Freedom the support sheneeded to want to live.

When Jeff was later diagnosed with a serious illness requiring chemotherapy, hefound himself turning to Freedom for support. Two or three times a week,whenever he felt well enough, he would drive from Bothell to Arlington to walk with Freedom around the grounds. Now it was Freedom's turn to give Jeff areason to fight for his life.

Only a short time ago Jeff was informed there was no trace of the disease left


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in his body. He immediately left for the Center.

When he took Freedom out of her flight, she did something she had never donebefore: She extended her wings and wrapped them around him.

The circle of healing was now complete.

Freedom and Jeff Freedom and I have been together 10 years this summer. She came in as a baby in 1998 with twobroken wings. Her left wing doesn't open all the way even after surgery, it was broken in 4places. She's my baby.

When Freedom came in she could not stand and both wings werebroken. She was emaciated and covered in lice. We made the decisionto give her a chance at life, so I took her to the vets office. From thenon, I was always around her. We had her in a huge dog carrier with thetop off, and it was loaded up with shredded newspaper for her to layin. I used to sit and talk to her, urging her to live, to fight; and shewould lay there looking at me with those big brown eyes. We also hadto tube feed her for weeks.

This went on for 4-6 weeks, and by then she still couldn't stand. Itgot to the point where the decision was made to euthanize her ifshe couldn't stand in a week. You know you don't want to cross thatline between torture and rehab, and it looked like death waswinning. She was going to be put down that Friday, and I wassupposed to come in on that Thursday afternoon. I didn't want to goto the center that Thursday, because I couldn't bear the thought

of her being euthanized; but I went anyway, and when I walked ineveryone was grinning from ear to ear. I went immediately back toher cage; and there she was, standing on her own, a big beautifuleagle. She was ready to live. I was just about in tears by then.That was a very good day.

We knew she could never fly, so the director asked me to glovetrain her. I got her used to the glove, and then to jesses, and westarted doing education programs for schools in westernWashington . We wound up in the newspapers, radio (believe it ornot) and some TV. Miracle Pets even did a show about us.

In the spring of 2000, I was diagnosed with non-hodgkinslymphoma. I had stage 3, which is not good (one major organ pluseverywhere), so I wound up doing 8 months of Chemo. Lost the hair- the whole bit. I missed a lot of work. When I felt good enough,I would go to Sarvey and take Freedom out for walks. Freedomwould also come to me in my dreams and help me fight the cancer..This happened time and time again.


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Fast forward to November 2000, the day after Thanksgiving. Iwent in for my last checkup.. I was told that if the cancer was notall gone after 8 rounds of Chemo, then my last option was a stemcell transplant. Anyway, they did the tests; and I had to come backMonday for the results. I went in Monday, and I was told that allthe cancer was gone.

So the first thing I did was get up to Sarvey and take the big girl out for a walk. It was misty and cold. I went to her flight and jessed her up,and we went out front to the top of the hill. I hadn't said a word toFreedom, but somehow she knew. She looked at me and wrapped bothher wings around me to where I could feel them pressing in on myback (I was engulfed in eagle wings), and she touched my nose withher beak and stared into my eyes, and we just stood there like that for Idon't know how long. That was a magic moment. We have been soulmates ever since she came in. This is a very special bird.

On a side note: I have had people who were sick come up to us whenwe are out, and Freedom has some kind of hold on them. I once hada guy who was terminal come up to us and I let him hold her. Hisknees just about buckled and he swore he could feel her power coarsethrough his body. I have so many stories like that.

I never forget the honor I have of being so close to such a magnificentspirit as Freedom.

Hope you enjoy this.

Jeff


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I nnocence (An Elephant's Story)by Donna Anderson

Janna ran heavily over the African plain, her huge feet hitting the dusty earth. Her frenziedcries penetrated the wind as loudly as cannon fire, though it did not overpower the screamsof shotgun blasts. She feared the reason the men were chasing her. Did they want herprized tusks? All she was aware of was the immediate danger she was in, having seen thesame men take her son, Foster, away last year.

She pushed hard, dodging the smaller beings with fear of hurting them. A path lay upahead...an escape...but it was barricaded by the natives she saw every day. Yet this day,they also wanted her. The souring taste of fear trickled down her throat. Is this what Fosterwent through? She missed him dearly and halted the chase out of exhaustion and of hopethe men would take her to him.

Dizzying spots danced in front of Janna's eyes as she struggled to her weary, gray feet. Shewas unaware of her location, only noticing the shaking of the ground that caused her tobump painfully into the sides of the small, dark, enclosure. The frightened howls of theother animals streamed through the air. Was Foster's cry among the masses? Desperate forcompanionship, she summoned him. All was quiet in return, except for a faint, sickly cry atthe opposite end of the train's compartment. A whisper of hope touched her despairingthoughts, while an ear-piercing screech jolted the moving ground to a sudden stop.

She struggled to regain her footing and felt the restraint of metal around her ankles. Shedid not understand its purpose, since there was nowhere she could go. The humble soundsof her home no longer sang to her ears, the love of her family was gone forever, andfreedom was only a minute memory. She experienced the unwanted emotions of dismay,confusion, and weariness, in defiance of the heartwarming sun that now poured into herdark box. Its illumination showed her the other elephant sharing her space...Foster? It washim, though his weakened body did not permit him to stand.

The bustling men from outside entered the train. Janna watched with unbounded horror asthey kicked and scolded Foster to a stand. He looked into her soul with empty eyes,seeming to somehow know both his fate and hers. The men came to her next, replacing the

metal cuffs with an abundance of heavier metal. She fought them only for a few moments,tired to obedience and knowing the battle was an unwinnable one.

The next four years of her life were filled with ceaseless bribes from her trainer to do thingsshe found painful and uncomfortable to do. She loathed her new life in the circus, for theonly creatures that received joy from her performance were the people. In fact, joy onlyentered her heart when she and Foster spent their nights in the holding tent, chained to themetal rings in the ground. She was alone with him then, though through that small joy shesaw the depression in young Foster's eyes. They had broken his spirit with pain and harshwords and she vowed with vengeance to not let them destroy her.

Oh, how she longed to nuzzle Foster...to stand above him and protect him from the evils of man. She felt his defeat and prayed for him with words of encouragement. Unlike her, he

had surrendered his soul to the people who enslaved him. He stopped eating, drinking, andeven performing to their orders. Janna struggled day after day to keep her own soul fromfollowing his. She needed to stay secretly strong to survive.

This strength she hid was tested on a steamy day during a parade. As she marched downthe crowded avenue of laughing and cheering people, she searched frantically for heryoungster. He was nowhere in sight, having been dismissed from the parade and returnedto the holding tent. She rushed through the parade, eager to get to her ill son.

Her motherhood was gone, echoed through the entire city by her screams of sorrow. Beforeher, covered in dirt and hay, was the barbaric sight of Foster's beaten body. They had takenaway her only true token of life. Revenge, or was it simply fairness, took the place of her

ence (An Elephant's Story) http://www.animalliberationfront.com/Saints/Authors/Stories/Innocence (...

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.break easily free from the men trying to hold her. With ominous shouts, she stampeded intothe streets of frightened people. Her eyes were blinded by the cruel vision of her son.Nothing, not even the value of life, mattered any more. She did not know where she wasgoing, for her destination was anywhere but back into the hands of humans. Bulletsshattered her majestic body within moments, finally releasing her from the emotional andphysical torture her life had become...

Janna is free now. Blessed by the peacefulness of the heavens...and her son. Her fate wasdestined before she fell into the clutches of man, for it is man who wrongly thinks he is rulerof the world.

ence (An Elephant's Story) http://www.animalliberationfront.com/Saints/Authors/Stories/Innocence (...

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Jonah's Story--my friend pit bullby Fil Manley

A few weeks ago, I heard Jeff Styles of Talk Radio say something on the airthat really bothered me. He was talking about dogs, and said something to theeffect that all pit bulls should be killed, and that he would do it himself.

I've heard sentiments expressed like this so often, and might have agreed withthem at one point in my life. I would like to tell you how one of these dogsaffected my life, so that Jeff and maybe others can learn from my experience.

Five years ago, I was walking through the parking lot of Sam's Club, when I sawan awful looking dog, head down, cowed and broken. People skirted him,walking wide circles around him as I watched from a safe distance. As Iexamined him more closely, I realized that he was a pit-bull. He was about kneehigh, white all over, with one big brindle patch on his haunches. His head was aswide as my thigh. When I saw him, and his behavior, I was instantly curious andtouched by the way he was acting. I had heard all of the stories about pits. I'vealways heard it said that they are savage monsters who maul and kill withoutwarning. It's said that they are inherently bad and that they are mean no matterwhat. It was obvious to me, even though I had just met this dog that he wasn'tlooking for someone to bite, but for someone to love and for help. Not everyoneis a "dog" person, but I've owned dogs my whole life. I've lived with a grumpy

jack russell terrier for 11 years. I walk with him miles every week.

When I first saw this pit bull, I was shocked at his condition. The most obviousproblem he had was malnourishment. His ribs stood out like steps. His spine wascurved in a long odd shape and he walked sideways because of it. The ridge of his spine stood high over his back, with each individual bone standing, easilydiscerned from the next. I looked at him as he searched that parking lot for

human kindness and it did something to me that I've never completelyrecovered from. It started a chain of events in my life, which would bring greatchange and great joy into my life. I knew at that very moment that I was eithergoing to have to help him, or have him put down.

There was no way I could walk away from him, and know that this wonderfulanimal, who had so effortlessly reached out and touched me, a total stranger,would continue to live in such suffering. I went to my truck, and retrieved apiece of rope. I then went and sat on a curb near the side of the building. Whenhe saw me, he came directly to me, and sat right beside me, as if we had cometo the park to sit and talk.

This is the part that was hard to explain and it sounds silly to say it out loud. Itseemed, though, that he knew immediately that I was interested in helping him,and it seemed as if it's what he had been looking for.

I was afraid. His appearance was intimidating to say the least. I decided that Iwould first lay the rope around the back of his neck and see if it made himangry. If it did, I would have to think of some other way to help him.

That gesture had an immediate and obvious effect on him. He sagged towardme, leaning on my right side, and seemed to deflate. The effect of the ropearound his neck would have been comical if he weren't in such bad shape. Heseemed relieved. There was nothing I could do. I tied the rope around his neck,

s Story--my friend pit bull http://www.animalliberationfront.com/Saints/Authors/Stories/JonahsStory.htm

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an e m to my truc . y tt e suzu truc was very ow to t e groun , ut ewas too weak to jump into the back of it. I had to pick him up. I knew that Icouldn't put this strange animal in my little two seat truck cab for the ride home,so my girlfriend drove, and I rode in the back with my new friend. My girlfriendwas trying to remember how to drive a manual as the dog and I held on in theback, trying not to get whiplash. As we drove, I had a chance to look him over.

He was a wreck. He had only one front tooth, which was broken in half. Therest had been ground down to nubs. He appeared to have a large growth orinfection under his skin, around his neck. It looked as if someone had inserted at10 inch long piece of garden hose under the skin of his neck. It occurred to methat he had spent a lot of time on a chain that was too tight, and that it had cutinto his skin. His right front foot was fractured. An 8- inch long gash had healed

just under his right armpit on his chest. It had healed with no stitches, so it wasa large lump of fused flesh. His head was covered with hundreds of toothmarks, as were his back and flanks. One of his nipples had been rippedcompletely off, and had healed back as a flap of skin hanging down. He hadliterally been chewed all over. His right ear was a stump, the rest chewedalmost completely off. He was covered with other scars, big and small. Hismalnourishment was severe. There was no bone in his body that you couldn'ttrace on paper.

Despite all of this, this dog never, ever, in any way, shape, form or fashion,showed me the slightest hint of anger or violence, then or ever. From that dayforward, this dog, gave me love. He gave me more love than any other dogever has. There was a subtle intelligence in this animal and it was as if herealized that I had rescued him. I sensed gratitude in him that I never expectedto sense in an animal. From that day forward he was my boon companion.

Our first task was to get him to the vet. The vet ended up costing us $2,200.We named him Jonah. For those of you who know your Bible, Jonah wasswallowed by a whale, and lived through it. The pit bull reminded of Jonahbecause the artifacts of a past life, a past suffering I could only guess at, wereetched into his skin and shined from his eyes.

Jonah was big for a pit bull. Emaciated, he tipped the scales at 49 pounds. Lateron, he would bulk up to a healthy 64 pounds. That day at the vet, when we took him in, Dr. Federico just shook his head. They ran tests, poked and prodded. Dr.Federico, in his matter of fact way, felt him all over, and quickly grew to likehim, as I had. Jonah took all of this, with that same look of gratitude. He neversnarled, he never bit, he never showed anything but love to anyone at any time.

The diagnosis was severe. Heartworms, Infection, emaciation and starvationwere our battle. He had hip and joint deterioration due to poor nutrition. He hadall of these things, and he had them bad. The cost would be high, and we weregiven the option to put him down, but I just couldn't do it. We decided to fight.

You could sense that he wanted to live, and we wanted him to. The doctor gavehim a shot of something to kill the heartworms. There was a good chance thathe would die during this treatment. Jonah had had the worms for years. Theadults live in the heart, and when they die, the release from the wall of thearteries and travel downstream until they reach an area too narrow for them topass, where they create a blockage in the arteries of the lungs. When thishappens, lung tissue begins to die from blood starvation.

They gave him the medicine, and we waited. The next night, Jonah almost died.He could barely breathe. I lay beside him on his bed on the floor, holding his


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ea as e gaspe or a r or ours. na y, a pm on a r ay n g ,couldn't take it anymore, and I took him to the emergency vet. They gave him ashot of steroids, and after a while he was ok again. We had one other scare,and one other trip to the emergency vet before he was finally cured of theheartworms, and through all this, he endured.

Most of the other problems, the infection, the cracked paw, got better overtime. A round of antibiotics seemed to really help. Within 6 months, he was likea completely different dog and I loved him more than ever. I would walk withhim, often. I live in North Chattanooga, and back then it was risky to walk lateat night. With Jonah, I walked with relish, late into the night and early in themorning. There used to be a crack-head who lived on my street. He was a giantman with a bottle of booze always in one hand, half naked. He would break intoempty houses and have "parties" with his girlfriends. I was on speaking termswith him and gave him a wide berth. One night, Jonah and I went out walking.We came down the hill at the bottom of my street and were bathed in darkness.There's a spot down there where the lights are far apart, and it's very dark.

Ahead of us, my neighbor was walking with a strange, jittery man I had neverseen before. The jittery man, looked back at us, and did a double take. He saidsomething to my neighbor, and they had a brief struggle. It seemed the jitteryman was saying something and my neighbor was saying no. The man turnedback toward us and began to march up the hill. He walked in an aggressivemanner. The set of his shoulders and the way he moved made me feel that thisman was about to rob me.

We continued walking, and the man stomped toward us, I took comfort fromthe feel of the leash in my hand. I held Jonah close by my knee. The manapproached to within 50 feet of us and suddenly saw Jonah. His back stiffened,he straightened up and stopped dead in his tracks. We continued walkingtoward him and then Jonah picked up his scent. I knew Jonah had beenwatching him. He was like that, he watched, and missed nothing. Miscreantnumber two, ahead of us, abruptly did an about face on a dime and walk/ranback down the hill. Jonah and I walked many, many miles together, at all timesof the day and night.

Jonah's appearance, once he was no longer sick and suffering, reminded me of the old world war II Sherman tank. His head was bigger around than my thigh. Iliked to call it his alligator head. His chest rippled with muscles and he walkedwith a panther like grace that can only be understood when it is seen. Jonahwas with me for 5 years.

After he healed, Jonah was as strong as a mule. He could pull a car up a hill, if he had the right kind of harness. Jonah was great with people and children, buthad little tolerance for other male dogs. Pits are bred as hunting and fightingdogs. They are bred to fight other animals, not people. I believe that he hadbeen fought. His scars spoke volumes. Jonah would usually be tolerant of otherdogs, but they would always approach, snarling and barking and he would onlyignore it for so long. I think his appearance intimidated them. They would goafter him but there always seemed to be an air of desperation in. It alwaysseemed like they were barking at him because they were afraid of him. His bark reverberated down the spine in a primal way. It had a chopped, meaty soundthat commanded respect.

Once we walked downtown to the coffee house and Carl and his dog Cowboywere across from us. I needed to use the phone and a guy offered to holdJonah's leash for me. I told him to be careful. He swore to me that he used to

" "


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ra se o we ers, an a e new ow o an e ogs. e m a e eleash, and he wrapped it around his arm. Cowboy must have looked at Jonahfunny because before I knew it, Jonah had snatched the 220 pound, Rottweilerwrangler out of his chair and dragged him under a bench and across thesidewalk, trying to get to Cowboy. Jonah was great with people, but boy dogswere anathema to him. Jonah pulled that man like a paper cutout. I had to usea special collar with him, called a "pinch" collar. It's a collar that looks cruel, withmetal spikes on the inside, but it's the only way I could keep him from chokinghimself on the leash. It's also the only way I could walk him on a reel leash and

keep him from dragging me around.

He was forced to live in a tiny part of the front of my house. My other dog,Rocky, who I've had for 11 years and who was born in my closet, would notallow Jonah to be a part our regular life. On the few occasions, when I let Jonahinto Rock's part of the house, Jonah would ignore him, for a while. He would behappy to be at the "big peoples table." He would stumble, dance and jumparound gleefully, always ending up on my bed. Rocky would immediately lose hismind. He would attack Jonah, biting at him, snarling.

Once Rocky ended up with a broken jaw. He went after Jonah, and Jonahclosed Rock's little mouth in his big one and one bite was all it took. Jonah wouldalways ignore him for a little while. Usually it took about 5 minutes, and then thefight would start. So for five years, Jonah lived in half of my house, and Rockylived in the other half. I can't explain to you how complicated this made my life,but I just couldn't bring myself to let go of Jonah, or to have him put to sleep.His zest for life now that he was healthy was wonderful to behold. There wassomething joyous about the way he greeted people and things around him. Heseemed grateful for each day.

Jonah had so many wonderful and funny character traits. He was terrified of lightning. Any time the thunder rolled, I would go into the other room and findhim in the bottom of the utility storage cabinet, with cans of wd-40 and paintknocked over and fallen on his head. He would push aside car wash buckets,paint-brushes and anything else that was in his way to burrow down into a dark space to get away from the noise and the flashes. Sometimes I would go sitbeside him on the floor and hold his big alligator head in my lap when he wasscared. He would shiver and shake.

Over the years, Jonah and I really got to know each other. Jonah was sotolerant of me. He loved to play. I would push him on the chest to get himworked up, and he would run at me, jump up in the air, and hit me hard withthe side of his body. It was like a broadside tackle, and when he did it, it wouldknock you off your feet. When he really got going, he would run frantic circlesaround the tiny front yard, tearing large chunks of turf up from the ground.When he would get tired because of his worm damaged heart and lungs, hewould run up to me and stop on a dime, leaning down on those giant frontpaws, butt sticking up in the air, tongue lolling, eyes rolling and daring me to doit again. He would jump up at me and play bite, always going for the undersideof my arms. He would pinch me a little sometimes with his 1/2 tooth, but evenwith that he managed to tear holes in two of my shirts. He loved to play.

He took scolding very hard. Any time he did something I didn't like, I wouldscold him verbally and give him a slap on the butt. He took this so hard. His facewould melt, his eyes would squeeze shut and he would cow down to the floor.He would turn his head and look up at me, trying to gauge the depth of myanger. For months after he came to live with me, he didn't bark. It was a long


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. ,he saw me carrying something, be it a broom or a wrench in my hand.

Often, I would go into his little space to say goodnight to him, and sit on thefloor beside his blanket. He would lay his head in my lap and we would sit therein the silence and the darkness. Sometimes, I would grab him his big head andhis bony rear end, scoop him up and roll him over so that he lay face up on mylap. He hated this position, but he tolerated my doing it. He would lay in my laplooking put upon and uncomfortable, as I cradled him like an infant. His big

orange brown eyes would be inches from mine and he would take one big pawand place it up against my chin, trying to keep my face away from his.

I liked to kiss him on the face. I would sometimes kiss him right on the lips, justto bug him, and he absolutely hated it. It bothered him so much. I would playgames where I would try to get my face close to his, and the way he wouldavoid it was comical. He would always keep that stiff arm up against my chin, toensure that I didn't try to kiss him on the face. He always stared at me fromthose eyes, which had seen so much suffering and they never changed. Theywere always full of tolerance and love for me.

My tiny yard was never enough for him. He wasn't fixed, and occasionally theurge to roam would overwhelm him. He would go to work on my fence like theexpert escape artist he was. There were two doors in his part of my house.Once I locked him in the laundry room to keep him separate for a night. I can'tremember the reason, but he was so upset by it that he ripped a hole in thedoor with his gums. Remember, he only had one tooth in the front. That doorstill has a sheet of plywood on it.

When he decided he needed to get out of the fence, he could do it. It took me awhile to figure out how he did it, but once I did, I was amazed. Jonah would runhis side along the fence, pushing, feeling for a weak spot. When he found theappropriate spot in the fence, he would use his one tooth, to pry a piece of chain link out like a thread from a sweater. He would then grasp that metalribbon in his pink gums and work it back and forth, back and forth untileventually it would snap. He would then take his soft, black, wet nose, and jamit as hard as he could into the wiry hole made by the broken piece of chain link.He continued to push his face into this hole, working his head back and forth, asthe hole grew larger and larger. Once the hole was big enough for him to gethis entire snout in, he knew that he had won. He worked, eyes squeezed shut,pushing with his back feet, as hard as he could, until finally, bleeding and torn,he would jam his entire alligator head out of that tiny hole. Next, one foot wouldcome through, then another. He would push until he crammed his entire 60pound body through a hole in a fence that was barely 6 inches across.

The first time he did this, I found him missing from the front yard but I had noidea how he had gotten out. He escaped from my yard a total of 4 times. Thelongest he was ever gone was 45 minutes, but it always terrified me. I hadgrown so attached to this animal, that the thought of him back in the world,where he was mistreated made me want to pull out my hair. The animal shelterdoesn't adopt out old pit's. They just kill them.

The first time he escaped, I examined the fence before setting out after him,and I saw nothing wrong with it. I thought that he must have climbed over,which he was certainly capable of. So, I put him back in the fence, and watchedfrom the window to see where he was climbing over. As I watched from myperch, I saw him go back to the same hole he had gotten out of the first time. I


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, .was shocked that this animal could make it out through that hole. Later on, as Iexamined the hole, I realized that it was perfectly round. It's edges were tight,and it had the look of a drawstring bag. It took me 20 minutes with pliers andwire cutters to pull the fence back together and wire it closed.

Jonah and I spent some really good years together. He taught me somethingabout animals that I'm trying to share with you now, but which is something youcan really only learn from experience. If there are any of you out there who

think that pit bulls are bad, I'm here to tell you that they aren't. People are bad,and they sometimes shape animals in their own image. Pit's ban be mean, andvicious and all of those things, but they aren't born that way. That behavior isalmost always the result of training.

Twice people approached me on the street and asked me if they could breedtheir female pit with Jonah, and I would smile a toothy, angry grin and say no. Icould just picture this person throwing the puppy he raised into the ring to fightto the death, while he placed bets from the sideline. I would thank God at thatmoment for my self control, because I would wish in my heart that I could beathim within an inch of his life before he caused an animal like Jonah one momentof suffering.

This sounds extreme, I know, but I came by it honestly. After Jonah and I foundeach other, I began to do a lot of research on Pits and the way some peopletreat them. The pictures I've seen will make you sick and if you love animals,they will make you burn with rage. I think that people who fight pits should betreated just like they treat their animals. If you've ever seen a dog strangled todeath with baling wire for losing a fight, after being beaten, starved and abusedfor years, you might know how I feel.

The old saying is true. You can't judge a book by its cover. I would've neverguessed that Jonah would have the effect on me that he did. While I'm surethat I did a lot to help him, in a really important way, he did more for me than Iever did for him. He helped me. He showed me a depth of compassion,gratitude and love that I thought impossible in an animal. It wasn't something Ican really express to you. It's not something you can hear. It's something thatyou have to feel to understand.

Have you ever met a person who always seemed to have a dark cloud hangingover their head? Jonah was the exact opposite of that. He always seemed to bewalking around in a little bubble of sunny weather, where the wind was alwayscool and the flowers were always in bloom. Just being around him made peoplehappy. He was like a big, goofy kid.

I had him put to sleep, Jan. 23rd, 2004. One final effect of the malnourishmenthe had suffered was arthritis. All of the cartilage had disappeared from his hip

joints. It was bone against bone, and the pain he suffered was terrible. Finally,he began to succumb to paralysis. It came on him quickly, and I had seen itcoming, but when it finally did, I wasn't prepared for it.

One day I looked outside and saw him walking on the knuckles of his back feet,impervious to the fact that his feet weren't flat on the ground. I knew then thathis time was done. I wasn't going to watch him suffer through long final days,so I gave myself a few hours to say goodbye and then loaded him into the truck for one final ride to Dr. Federicos. When we arrived at the Dr's, I walked over tothe drug store and bought a giant magic marker and some note cards. I coated

-


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write this.

I gently lifted Jonah out of the truck, and we walked inside as I saw him wincefrom the pain in his back. It took me a few minutes to make Dr. Federicounderstand how I wanted to do it, and he never really did until I showed him.He put a catheter into a vein in Jonahs front leg and taped it tight. I sat cross-legged on the floor.

I pulled Jonah, flipping him upside down into my lap and held him tight in myarms. His alligator head lay in the crook of my right arm, and I pulled his noseto mine one final time. I wept. I howled. I held him in a vice grip in my right armand stared into his eyes, while Dr. Federico gave him first the shot that druggedhim, then the one that stopped his heart. His eyes never strayed from mine andmine never moved from his. I stared into his eyes as his life slipped away andlong after he was gone.

That night I laid him out on a blanket in my front yard where he had lived. Ikissed him a final time on the cheek and a friend and I dug a hole in the dark night, under the glare of a halogen work light. I let Rocky out into the frontyard, and he sniffed at and growled at the dead form in jealousy. Even dead,

Jonah intimidated Rocky.

That day I became an amputee. I lost a limb and I can still feel the phantompains of it when I flex the muscles that were the overwhelming love that grewin me for this pit, this dog.

Jeff, you're wrong. If you want to point and rail against something, do it againstthe people who abuse innocent creatures for fun and profit. Get angry at them.

There are many myths about pits. One is that they are more likely to bite thanother dogs.. Take a look at these statistics!

In Ohio in 1987 a breed restriction was placed on the Pit Bull because of claimsthat it was vicious. When reviewing Ohio's dog bite statistics within a 20-yearperiod it was found breed restrictions do nothing to reduce dog bites fromspecific breeds targeted.

Ohio's Dog Bite Statistic (2001-2002)Mixed Breeds ~ 34%Shepherds ~ 7%Labs ~ 7%Rottweilers ~ 6%Boxers ~ 4%Chows ~ 3%Pit Bulls ~ 2 % (ACF2003)


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A few days ago, I received this exceptional story from a friend. The twist atthe end is especially noteworthy. Until about a year ago, I was fairlyignorant about these animals. Stories like this changed my mind.

If this story affects you, please visit an excellent website which is sponsoredby NJARA at: www.askuswhy.com/home.htm

I am sometimes asked 'Why do you spent so much of your time and moneytalking about kindness to animals when there is so much cruelty to men?' Ianswer: 'I am working at the roots.'"-- George T.Angell (1823-1909)

This Lesson in Compassion Weighs Just One OunceBy Neil Barnard, M.D.

For some years, the last full week in April has been set aside to recognizethe suffering of animals used in experiments. I never think about WorldWeek for Animals in Laboratories without thinking about Ratsky.

Ratsky is the name I gave a small white rat I took home from the collegepsychology lab many years ago. My first lesson in animal rights was taughtby this little animal.

The introductory course in psychology at my college used rats who weredeprived of water for three days and then put in a "Skinner box" (a cagedeveloped by B.F. Skinner that delivers a few drops of water when a bar ispressed by the thirsty animal inside). At the end of the course, the rats areput together in a trashcan, chloroform is poured over them and the lid isclosed.

Students could sign up to implant electrodes into a rat's skull to show thatelectrical stimulation of the brain can affect behavior. During theimplantation procedure, a stereotaxic device holds the rat's head still, itsmetal bars thrust into both ear canals, breaking the eardrums. Myprofessor's response to my concern about the effects of this procedure onthe rats was a joke. "Well, I guess he won't be able to listen to his stereo inthe morning." But while I was struck by the callousness of his remark, I wassufficiently desensitized myself that I proceeded without batting an eyelash.

One day, I took a rat home from the lab. "Ratsky," as she came to beknown, lived for some months in a cage in my bedroom. And in her cage,she behaved the way I assumed rats behave. But when I started leaving thecage door open so she could walk around I began to see things I hadn'tanticipated. After several days of cautious sniffing about at the cage door,she began to investigate the world outside. As she explored my apartment,under my watchful eye, she took an interest in me and my friends.

She gradually became more and more friendly. If I was lying on my back reading, she would come and stand on my chest. She would wait to bepetted and if I didn't pay her enough attention, she would lightly nip mynose and run away. I knew that her sharp teeth could have gone rightthrough my skin, but she was always playfully careful.

I realized that street rats are to rats as street people are to people. Given

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, , , , .If not forced to live in an unclean cage, their skin has a distinct perfume-likescent. Like a cat, she spent hours carefully grooming herself.

One day, I noticed a lump in her skin. With time, it grew, and it was all butimpossible to find a veterinarian who would treat her, since she was not adog, cat or farm animal. Finally, I convinced a vet, who specialized inlaboratory animals, to take the lump out. It was a tumor.

Because rats are meticulous about their bodies and work tirelessly to ridthemselves of any bits of dirt, they have to be put in body casts aftersurgery to prevent them from removing their sutures. When I cut Ratsky outof the cast, she painfully tottered a few steps, trembling. I discovered thatthe vet had not only removed the tumor, but had also inadvertently removedher urethra, the tube that leads to the bladder, so that urine spilled from herbladder into the abdominal cavity and was a caustic irritation under her skin.

The vet tried to correct his mistake in a second operation, but he was veryuncertain whether it would succeed.

When friends could understand caring for larger animals, I found that few

people could understand the suffering of this little mammal. Nonetheless, hersuffering was very apparent. At night I slept with her in the palm of myhand so I would wake up if she tried to chew out her sutures.

Before long it became clear that Ratsky's condition was worsening. Thereconstructed urethra closed off, causing her great distress. Finally, I hadher euthanized.

I carry with me the vivid image of this tiny animal tottering painfully outfrom her cast, of her in the palm of my hand trying to pull out the suturesthat were a constant irritation to her. In the months that followed, I beganto think about all the other animals whose suffering I had taken sodispassionately and I realized that each one was an individual who cansuffer as acutely as the little rat I had held in my hand. And that sufferingwas just as real whether the animal was "bred for the purpose" or chainedin someone's back yard.

Now, as a practicing physician, I continue to be puzzled about the resistanceto compassion that I see so commonly in others and that I, too, experiencedfor so long. Cruelty to animals is diagnosed as a psychiatric symptompredictive of antisocial personality, yet we fail to recognize the cruelties weperpetuate so casually in our own lives.

Not too long ago, my alma mater sent me a survey asking who had been mymost effective teacher. I'm not sure that they understood my reply.

(Neal Barnard, M.D. is the president of the Physicians Committee forResponsible Medicine and is author of "Foods That Fight Pain: RevolutionaryNew Strategies for Maximum Pain Relief.")

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ON LEARNING FROM ANIMALSCopyright Jim Willis 2001

[email protected]://jimwillis0.tripod.com/tiergarten/

Anyone who has ever worked with animals, particularly with formerly abused or neglectedanimals, has observed their capacity for adaptability, their ability to forget their former livesand to respond to love. Many of these animals come to us with "baggage," and after a

certain amount of reliable good care, they display little evidence of their former lives. Mostanimals even have the capacity to adapt following a medical trauma, such as amputation of a limb, and most throw themselves back into life as successfully on three legs as they oncedid on four. As they age, they do what they can do until they can't do anymore.

Animals live in the here and now, they live for the moment. They don't spend time broodingabout the past, they don't worry about the future, and except in the face of clear andpresent danger, they aren't concerned about their own mortality.

Animals are honest. When they are happy they make the appropriate noises and they play. A warning growl is a warning to be heeded. A cry of pain means genuine pain. A lick and acaress mean affection and trust. There is no duplicity in their world and what you see iswhat you get.

Animals nurture their young and their lives and world revolve around their young until theiryoung are able to go out into the world on their own, well prepared for everything they willface. Animals respect seniority and realize that their mature members have much to teach.For many animals, their lifelong relationship with their mate will be the most importantrelationship they will have.

Animals never ignore their own needs, they achieve balance and pursue nothing to excess.When they are hungry, they hunt or forage and eat, and they always eat what isappropriate. Because they balance nutrition and exercise, they are almost always fit. Whenthey are tired they sleep. They pay attention to their grooming and most help to groomeach other, partly for hygiene, partly as a ritual of companionship. Animals divide their dayand their activities according to what it must be for them, what is good for each as anindividual, what is good for all as a whole. They rebel against confinement, they own theworld and they want access to it. There is no confusion in the animal world. A foe, prey, a friendly fellow species are allimmediately apparent and most are able to drink together at a common watering hole.

Animals communicate constantly and effectively. Every member of their group is at all timescompletely informed about the moods and needs of each member, and their presentsituation in their environment. When they want company, they seek it; when they want tobe alone, they remove themselves from the group. There are no meaningless social gracesin the animal world, every movement and action has meaning. There is no insincerity. Theyhave maximized their senses and they drink information from the world around them.

Animals are innocent. They don't ravage the Earth. They don't hate or plot the annihilationof another species. They don't take more than they need of resources. They don't

jeopardize their own survival and they accept what they cannot change.

Animals don't agonize over the existence of a Creator, or how the world came to be. Theyare in this world, they symbolize the best of creation and all of creation beats in theirbreasts. Creation is for them evidence of a Creator. They are in tune, they each play a partin the rhythm of life and they are each as necessary to the music as is every instrument in asymphony. One species has risen to the position of conductor - the Human, and like a symphonyconductor we face in the o osite direction from the musicians.

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Rather than adapting and surviving, we've filled our vocabulary with "I can't," "I won't." Welive lives of regret and bemoan our pasts. We don't live in the present, we exist in amind-numbing condition of stress and second-hand information. We worry about the future,about dying, to the point that we no longer know how to live. We need outside sources of entertainment because we've forgotten how to entertain ourselves. We create imaginaryworlds because we can't cope with the real world. We can hate solely on the basis of appearances without understanding the inner being. We aren't very good at expressing ourneeds and we are blind to recognizing needs in others. We give confusing signals - we say

"yes," when we mean "no." We say "good morning" and we don't mean it. We lie toourselves and we hide our true feelings from others. We don't get enough sleep. We either eat too much of everything, or not enough of whatour bodies require. We are poisoning ourselves with chemicals, preservatives, antibioticsand hormones hidden in our diets. We are raping the Earth. We spray every square inch of our plots of land with fertilizers and pesticides. We have wiped out whole species of animalsintentionally, and others through sheer ignorance, and Earth's ecology hangs precariously inthe balance. We are cruel to animals. We don't live by our senses, we've subjugated them to a senseless degree. We don't listento our instincts, we use prejudicial reasoning. We deny our animal nature, creation issomething we control and manipulate, and we don't recognize our relationship with the restof creation, or that the Creator lives in us, because we've set ourselves apart. We use theexcuse that modern life no longer allows us to be who we once were, when we know thatwe have the power to make l ife anything we wish it to be. Perhaps our greatest sin is what we do to our young, who still begin life in innocence. Weignore them, force them to fend for themselves. We don't teach them the lessons they willneed to know in order to live successfully. We fill our days and lives with the wrong values,we have no time for ourselves or our children, and we hand the children adultresponsibilities before they are prepared for them. We teach greed and selfishness. Drugsand addictions have become our way of dealing with the stress of the lives we create, andthey've become the lessons we teach our young. We teach them to repeat our mistakes.Odd that we could do that to children and still live in a culture of youthfulness where theaged are not respected for their wisdom, they are forgotten. It is not too late to learn lessons from the animals. Be good to yourself. Play more. Sleepmore. Bask in the sun. Live each day fully and balanced. Be honest and sincere, tell themembers of your group what you need and ask them about what they need. Touch...hold ahand, feel a leaf, let the stream run over your fingers. Smell, listen, see the world aroundyou. Arrange your lives around nurturing your young. Respect and love your mate. Learnwhat the old have to teach. Let go of greed. Protect and stop poisoning your environment.Eat only when you are hungry and only what you should eat. Adapt and survive. Realizethat you are not alone and accept that you have something to contribute to the pack. Turnoff the artificial noise, the mechanical drone and be here now, in this world. It is a beautifulworld and you are a part of creation, and in your heart beats all that the Creator intended.

The world is waiting for us to get back in step with the music, to fearlessly turn our backs tothe musicians and to face in the same direction as they. To once again gather at the samewatering hole.

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Th e Magic MomentBy Jennifer Anderson

It was like many Maui mornings, the sun rising over Haleakala as wegreeted our divers for the day's charter. As my captain and I explained thedive procedures, I noticed the wind line moving into Molokini, a small,crescent-shaped island that harbors a large reef. I slid through the briefing,then prompted my divers to gear up, careful to do everything right so thedivers would feel confident with me, the dive leader.

The dive went pretty close to how I had described it: The garden eelsperformed their underwater ballet, the parrot fish grazed on the coral, andthe ever-elusive male flame wrasse flared their colors to defend theirterritory.

Three of us caught the current and drifted along the outside of the reef,slowly beginning our ascent until, far below, something caught my eye. Aftera few moments, I made out the white shoulder patches of a manta ray inabout one hundred and twenty feet of water.

Manta rays are one of my greatest loves, but very little is known about

them. They can be identified by the distinctive pattern on their belly, with notwo rays alike. In 1992, I had been identifying the manta rays that wereseen at Molokini and found that some were known, but many more weresighted only once, and then gone.

I started calling through my regulator, "Hey, come up and see me!" I hadtried this before to attract the attention of whales and dolphins, who arevery chatty underwater and will come sometimes just to see what the noiseis about.

After a minute, she lifted away from where she had been riding the currentand began to make a wide circular glide until she was closer to me. I kept

watching as she slowly moved back and forth, rising higher, until she wasdirectly beneath me.

Looking to the ray, I realized she was much bigger than what we were usedto around Molokini - a good fifteen feet from wing tip to wing tip, and not afamiliar-looking ray. I had not seen this animal before. There was somethingelse odd about her. I just couldn't figure out what it was.

Once my brain clicked in and I was able to concentrate, I saw deep V-shaped marks of her flesh missing from her backside. Other marks ran upand down her body. At first I thought a boat had hit her. As she camecloser, now with only ten feet separating us, I realized what was wrong.

She had fishing hooks embedded in her head by her eye, with very thick fishing line running to her tail. She had rolled with the line and was wrappedhead to tail about five or six times. The line had torn into her body at theback, and those were the V-shaped chunks that were missing. I felt sick and, for a moment, paralyzed. I knew wild animals in pain would nevertolerate a human to inflict more pain. But I had to do something.

Forgetting about my air, my divers and where I was, I went to the manta. Imoved very slowly and talked to her the whole time, like she was one of thehorses I had grown up with. When I touched her, her whole body quivered,

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talking to her the whole time. I knew that she could knock me off at anytime with one flick of her great wing.

When she had steadied, I took out the knife that I carry on my inflator hoseand lifted one of the lines. It was tight and difficult to get my finger under,almost like a guitar string. She shook, which told me to be gentle. It wasobvious that the slightest pressure was painful. As I cut through the firstline, it pulled into her wounds.

With one beat of her mighty wings, she dumped me and bolted away. Ifigured that she was gone and was amazed when she turned and came rightback to me, gliding under my body. I went to work. She seemed to know itwould hurt, and somehow, she also knew that I could help. Imagine theintelligence of that creature, to come for help and to trust!

I cut through one line and into the next until she had all she could take of me and would move away, only to return in a moment or two. I neverchased her. I would never chase any animal. I never grabbed her. I allowedher to be in charge, and she always came back.

When all the lines were cut on top, on her next pass, I went under her topull the lines through the wounds at the back of her body. The tissue hadstarted to grow around them, and they were difficult to get loose. I heldmyself against her body, with my hand on her lower jaw.

She held as motionless as she could. When it was all loose, I let her go andwatched her swim in a circle. She could have gone then, and it would haveall fallen away. She came back, and I went back on top of her.

The fishing hooks were still in her. One was barely hanging on, which Iremoved easily. The other was buried by her eye at least two inches pastthe barb. Carefully, I began to take it out, hoping I wasn't damaging

anything. She did open and close her eye while I worked on her, and finally,it was out. I held the hooks in one hand, while I gathered the fishing line inthe other hand, my weight on the manta.

I could have stayed there forever! I was totally oblivious to everything butthat moment. I loved this manta. I was so moved that she would allow meto do this to her. But reality came screaming down on me. With my airrunning out, I reluctantly came to my senses and pushed myself away.

At first, she stayed below me. And then, when she realized that she wasfree, she came to life like I never would have imagined she could. I thoughtshe was sick and weak, since her mouth had been tied closed, and she

hadn't been able to feed for however long the lines had been on her.

I thought wrong! With two beats of those powerful wings, she rocketedalong the wall of Molokini and then directly out to sea! I lost view of herand, remembering my divers, turned to look for them.

Remarkably, we hadn't traveled very far. My divers were right above meand had witnessed the whole event, thankfully! No one would have believedme alone. It seemed too amazing to have really happened. But as I lookedat the hooks and line in my hands and felt the torn calluses from her roughskin, I knew that, yes, it really had happened.

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I kicked in the direction of my divers, whose eyes were still wide from theencounter, only to have them signal me to stop and turn around. Until thismoment, the whole experience had been phenomenal, but I could explain it.Now, the moment turned magical.

I turned and saw her slowly gliding toward me. With barely an effort, sheapproached me and stopped, her wing just touching my head. I looked intoher round, dark eye, and she looked deeply into me. I felt a rush of

something that so overpowered me, I have yet to find the words to describeit, except a warm and loving flow of energy from her into me.

She stayed with me for a moment. I don't know if it was a second or anhour. Then, as sweetly as she came back, she lifted her wing over my headand was gone. A manta thank-you.

Sadly, I have not seen her since that day, and I am still looking. For thelongest time, though my wetsuit was tattered and torn, I would not changeit because I

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