OK, everyone. THIS IS A WARNING ABOUT HORRIFIC ABUSE. We must stop this. What the hell is wrong with humans?
Oliver The Broken Bear:
Oliver was one of 10 bears rescued from a bear bile farm in Shandong province, China. 33 years old, he had spent 30 of those in this cage, with a heavy metal jacket and daily painful bile extractions… 
Oliver the brown bear have a stunted body, arthritis and mobility problems. His stiff old limbs can never extend normally like a healthy bear. He has compressed lungs from wearing a full metal jacket so tightly around his chest for decades on the farm, and an enlarged heart as a result of it working harder throughout these years. His teeth are broken , and an eye with lens luxation which made him blind and causing him pain, so it had to be removed by surgery. 
When Animal Asia rescued him they were very concerned about the state of him. His long, misshapen body was flat to the bottom of his…
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You’re going hear a lot about this topic as it gets closer to the time I fly to Sacramento to stand with Defenders of Wildlife to testify at a public hearing.
Is this the legacy we wish to leave to the next generation? A climate of cruelty?
Can you live with yourselves knowing that animals are being tortured with steel-jawed traps? I hope not. I know I can’t.
As much as I want to devote all my time to my usual superficial pursuits of shopping and reading celebrity tabloids, this has become my life’s mission.
Here’s some important information:
The killing has resumed.
Montana’s hunting season began in earnest on September 15th. Last year hunters and trappers killed off more than one third of the state’s entire wolf population.
With a host of new and deadly hunting and trapping provisions, Montana is set to become a wolf tragedy in the making. We can’t let that happen.
Please help save wolves and other imperiled wildlife with a generous gift to Defenders of Wildlife.
Anti-wolf forces are determined to drive wolf populations down to the bare minimum. Earlier this year, they introduced a shameful batch of anti-wolf measures in the Montana legislature.
And they could spell disaster for Montana’s wolves:
Montana is adopting more extreme wolf management tactics, making it cheaper and easier to kill wolves.
Please donate today to help save Montana’s wolves from a future of increased and ruthless killing.
With your help we’re fighting for the wolves.
The war to save wolves now spans the country…from the Northern Rockies, where the killing has claimed nearly 1,200 wolves since 2011…to the Southwest, where the Mexican gray wolf is struggling to survive…to Washington, D.C., where anti-wolf forces are driving a misguided delisting proposal through the federal bureaucracy.
Your help will never come at a more important moment. Won’t you donate today?
Thanks for all you do,
Is it really Wednesday already? On my way to a Pilates class, here’s my contribution:
Moose Resting in Tall Grass in Grand Tetons.
He didn’t move all day. He was about ten feet from the trail when we began our hike and four hours later, he was still there. We watched him for a while, admiring his rack (ha ha) and wondered how anyone could kill such a beautiful creature and mount the antlers on a wall for decoration.
It hurt our heart and soul to think that if this lovely animal wandered off the protected lands of Grand Tetons National Park, he’d be slaughtered.
If I was anti-hunting before this trip, I have become (if possible) even more militantly against animal murder.
At the risk of offending anyone, I’d like to suggest that hunters have sociopathic tendencies. That opinion was derived from an animal rights group and it resonates with me.
I guess this wasn’t so wordless after all.
THIS IS PART THREE
Read Part One: “Spirit Squirrel™ is Back”
Read Part Two: “More Adventures of Spirit Squirrel™”
_________________________________________________________________________
“Hello, there’s a sick squirrel slowly walking around my yard. His tail is dragging. He doesn’t look right. He’s all squinty. He’s not bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Now he’s reclining under a rose bush. Can you please come and rescue him? “
Sitting on a comfy boat cushion with a garden spade in my hand, I was in a state of Zen transplanting clary sage seedlings in the rear part of our yard. A lovely day; quiet except for the crows, I see out of the corner of my eye — less than a foot away from my hand — something that doesn’t look like a plant, but it’s not moving. At the exact moment my brain registers that it’s a squirrel, I can tell there’s something really, really wrong with it. Here in SoCal, we’re used to ground squirrels digging holes in our yard, eating bird seed, and being annoying. They always run away when a human’s around. But not this poor little guy.
What are you supposed to do when you find a sick adult squirrel?
Now we’ll proceed to commence the frustrating and annoying round of telephone calls to useless governmental agencies who pass you on and on like a game of “Hot Potato”.
“No” says the City of Carlsbad Environmental Services,
“We don’t do that”. “You should call Animal Control.”
Nope, San Diego County Animal Control can’t do anything either, but they say that because it could possibly have or carry the bubonic plague, I should call the County of San Diego Vector Control. Vector Control specialist Chris informs me with a chuckle that only the squirrels on Palomar Mountain test posiitve for the plague and it’s impossible this one has the plague, maybe he “ate some bad food” but they won’t help this little critter.
“Let Mother Nature take its course”, he says.
When I tell him that, as a compassionate animal advocate, I’m having a hard time grasping that concept, and while I’m at it, I’m wondering what exactly it is that Vector Control does,…he suggests I try to call Project Wildlife — but, he cautions, I shouldn’t get my hopes up because squirrels don’t rate very highly on their list of animals they like to rescue. However, if I could trap it in a box and bring it to them, they would have to accept it.
If you can’t picture me somehow trapping a potentially extremely sick animal and putting it in my car and driving it to Project Wildlife, that’s because it would never happen in a zillion years. A bird, yes; a dog, cat, coyote, bobcat even, but not a squirrel or a rat or a racoon that’s listlessly walking around in circles with squinty eyes.
Isn’t that what these city/county agencies are for? Isn’t that why we pay taxes?
I called Chris back, unwilling to believe that he can’t see the potential public harm from a squirrel that is obviously not acting like a normal squirrel, and he suggests that I “get a family member or a neighbor to put it out of its misery or just wait until it dies and put it in the trash.”
I hung up before I said anything that could be classified as a threat.
I called a few exterminators and no one seemed interested in humanely trapping the little guy.
Finally, I went next door and told my neighbor about this situation because they always have grandkids around and asked him if he wanted to come over and take a look at it.
He came over and kind of shooed it with a broom under the fence into his yard and went back home.
A few minutes later he returned and said it was gone — as in GONE — as in GONE FOREVER and I owed him a pan of brownies or chocolate chip cookies or something…
I didn’t want details; I’m just glad the little guy isn’t suffering anymore.
And that’s the end of Spirit Squirrel™…. RIP little buddy.
UPDATE: On the news this morning…a segment about squirrels and the plague, referring everyone to the San Diego County Department of Health’s News Release.
SQUIRREL ON PALOMAR MOUNTAIN TESTS POSITIVE FOR PLAGUE
Campers and Hikers Warned to Take Precautions
The story of Victor did not end on July 15, 2006. We planned a memorial service for a couple of months later, the next time my son and DIL were in town.
I tasked everyone with remembering a favorite anecdote or fond memory and we’d light candles and give him a proper farewell. DIL is very crafty in addition to being a super-brain and she created a wind chime with driftwood and seashells and his tags and other jangly metal thingys.
We gathered by Vic’s favorite spot in the yard with his deflated soccer ball and his ever-present bucket. Boy oh boy, did he love to throw that bucket around!
My son read Last Words to a Dumb Friend by Thomas Hardy. There wasn’t a dry eye around this yard, I can tell you.
Pet was never mourned as you,
Purrer of the spotless hue,
Plumy tail, and wistful gaze
While you humoured our queer ways,
Or outshrilled your morning call
Up the stairs and through the hall –
Foot suspended in its fall –
While, expectant, you would stand
Arched, to meet the stroking hand;
Till your way you chose to wend
Yonder, to your tragic end.Never another pet for me!
Let your place all vacant be;
Better blankness day by day
Than companion torn away.
Better bid his memory fade,
Better blot each mark he made,
Selfishly escape distress
By contrived forgetfulness,
Than preserve his prints to make
Every morn and eve an ache.From the chair whereon he sat
Sweep his fur, nor wince thereat;
Rake his little pathways out
Mid the bushes roundabout;
Smooth away his talons’ mark
From the claw-worn pine-tree bark,
Where he climbed as dusk embrowned,
Waiting us who loitered round.Strange it is this speechless thing,
Subject to our mastering,
Subject for his life and food
To our gift, and time, and mood;
Timid pensioner of us Powers,
His existence ruled by ours,
Should–by crossing at a breath
Into safe and shielded death,
By the merely taking hence
Of his insignificance –
Loom as largened to the sense,
Shape as part, above man’s will,
Of the Imperturbable.As a prisoner, flight debarred,
Exercising in a yard,
Still retain I, troubled, shaken,
Mean estate, by him forsaken;
And this home, which scarcely took
Impress from his little look,
By his faring to the Dim
Grows all eloquent of him.Housemate, I can think you still
Bounding to the window-sill,
Over which I vaguely see
Your small mound beneath the tree,
Showing in the autumn shade
That you moulder where you played.
I talked about how he easily accepted the cats we brought home; smart as a Border Collie is, he quickly learned how to befriend them–the cats were a little slower to warm up to him but soon everyone was on board. Whenever they would “play attack” his tail or swipe at him with a paw, he would look down at them with such a bewildered look in his eyes, as if to say, “Hey guys, I’m not allowed to hit back, no fair!”
Of course, the cats knew they could get away with anything, even sleeping in the middle of his bed. He would patiently lie (lay?) down next to them on the cold tile floor until I came in and shooed them away. Vic loved to eat just about anything; grapes, carrots, watermelon–it was fun to test his palate. The one thing he could not abide was thunder or fireworks. The poor dear would tremble and hide under the computer desk and no amount of reassurance could erase the sheer terror in his eyes.
You can teach a BC pretty much anything. I taught him some herding commands just for fun, no sheep around here, but it’s a great way to exercise their brains and they love to work.
We used to play hide and seek. My son would hide and we’d say to Victor, “Where’s J? Go find J!” and he’d take off running up and down the stairs, and he’d almost always be able to find him, no matter where he was.
Oh, I tell you, a dog like that is priceless.
DIL’s memories were the most recent. She didn’t start out loving dogs as our family most certainly does, but I believe she worked hard to overcome whatever obstacles she had in her heart. I mean, who could not love an animal whose only joy in life was to be so happy to see you when you came home, wagging a tail like mad, if you had been gone five minutes or five hours or five months? Maybe it was a bit of fear, too, at the time she met Vic, he was quite old, had some dental and skin issues–he was a senior citizen after all– but I wasn’t going to allow her to miss out on the joy of a pet! We cooked up a deal, a negotiation. She’s a great one for deals, I’ve found out. A master (mistress?) of negotiation, she outlined the arrangement: IF she fed Victor from her mouth, (I know it’s gross but I used to do it all the time) then her reward would be a facial at the spa. Darned if she didn’t put a piece of bread in her mouth, get down on all fours, and let him ever-so-gently take the bread from her mouth. Immediately after that, she screamed bloody murder which scared the hell out of Victor and he ran off, but she had held up her part of the bargain, so yes, DIL got her facial.
Goodbye, sweet Victor. You were so loved.
Spirit Squirrel™ is my name for the squirrel I first saw at dawn the morning after our beloved Victor passed away at the emergency animal hospital.
(First of all, I’ve lived in SoCal since 1969. I don’t recall it has ever been this hot. We live about three miles from the beach and a quarter mile from a lagoon and it has got to be at least 110 degrees in the sun. And so dry, such a dry heat, and all morning I’ve heard sirens, which is never a good thing when it’s this hot and dry.)
There’s nothing as awesome as a boy and his dog
It was on a day like this that our beloved Border Collie died.
My son was ten-years-old when we got this little black and white fluffy fur ball. He chose the name, having recently read “to the victor belong the spoils” and thought that would be a good name for his new puppy.
In 2006, Victor was sixteen-years-old and had been in failing health for about two or three years. Every time he had a setback, we tried to prepare ourselves for the end–I’d call my son wherever he was in the world and give him an update and the opportunity to say goodbye, if only by telephone, because Victor was his dog, his buddy, and even hearing my son’s voice would elicit a wag, a thump of his beautiful feathery tail. (another reason amongst fourteen billion why it is such an act of animal cruelty to butcher (bob) tails or clip (butcher) ears.)
This time I was awakened at 2:00 a.m. by a repetitive knocking sound near the back door. That’s where old Vic slept, just inside the patio doors on a dog bed that was soft and supportive enough to cushion his old arthritic joints. The poor dear was almost deaf and had growing cataracts but he still loved to play soccer and throw his bucket around. He was eating and eliminating OK, but every extra day with him was cherished. I was afraid to go out in the family room, afraid of what I might see; I had a kind of premonition. I will never forget what I found. Poor, poor Vic was fully involved in a Gran Mal epileptic seizure. The knocking was his back legs hitting the glass door as he was seizing. I rushed to him, pulling his bed away from the door so he couldn’t injure himself and gently moved his tongue so he wouldn’t choke. I tried to be calm but my heart was breaking. I called the 24 hour hospital to let them know we were on our way. We took turns staying by his side while we got ready. By the time we got dressed, the seizing had ended, but he was unresponsive and probably comatose; barely breathing, his chest rose and fell, not agitated and not in any apparent pain. He weighed sixty-five pounds, kind of big for a BC even though he had a pedigree. He looked just like he was peacefully asleep.
Apparently, his organs were shutting down; the vet said it could have been triggered by the heat or cancer or old age, but we all agreed that it would be cruel to subject him to any diagnostic or invasive procedures. For whatever reason, it was his time to go and our job to make it as pain-free as possible.
We covered him with kisses and tears as the vet performed euthanasia, and we were there for his final inhale and his final exhale. The compassionate vet left us alone as we sobbed and stroked him. I think he might have teared up a bit as he watched us say goodbye. Although we knew this day would come, we were not prepared for the depth of our despair.
Victor would never again wake up. We were never again to be greeted by his jumping on the bed, his cold nose prodding us awake. We were never again going to watch him get chased around the house by our cat, Bandit, in one of their games that he always lovingly let her win. Never again was I going to have to spell the word”walk” so he wouldn’t know we were going to go out without him. I would never again gaze into his massive brown eyes and feel so much love. There will be other dogs in our life, but there will never be another Victor. We still love you, buddy.
Young Victor, Bandit as a kitten
I have had other dogs and loved every one of them but Victor and I had a special bond, maybe because when my son left for college and I was an empty nester and newly alone, Victor became that child who would never leave.
Victor’s favorite toy, the bucket!
Which brings me to Spirit Squirrel. By the time we got home, it was almost dawn and I couldn’t go back to sleep. There was such an emptiness in the house- it was palpable. I had made sure that Bandit had said her goodbyes but now she was looking all over the house for her friend, and I tried to explain that Vic wasn’t coming back, but she just ran under the bed for the rest of the day. I honestly think she never recovered from that loss. Neither did I, to be honest.
I thought perhaps the best thing to do would be to remove all of Vic’s belongings; and I pinky swear this happened: I was standing at the back door and saw a ground squirrel climb up over the side of the deck and take Victor’s rawhide chew bone and run off with it. Right before my eyes! I had never seen a squirrel before so near the house–I knew we had them around but never so bold. One of the perks of a dog is their skill as a deterrent. I named him Spirit Squirrel™ and fantasized that he was really Victor’s spirit brother whose job was to transport the bone to Victor in dog heaven. Since then, and since so far I haven’t brought home another dogchild, other squirrels have taken up residence in our yard, and I know they are unwanted vermin, yet I can’t for the life of me find a good, rational, scientific explanation for the whys and hows of that event on that particular day at that particular time.
A great day for all of us who love animals. It’s about time.
An international group of prominent scientists has signed The Cambridge Declaration on Consciousness in which they are proclaiming their support for the idea that animals are conscious and aware to the degree that humans are – a list of animals that includes all mammals, birds, and even the octopus.
On this day of July 7, 2012, a prominent international group of cognitive neuroscientists, neuropharmacologists, neurophysiologists, neuroanatomists and computational neuroscientists gathered at The University of Cambridge to reassess the neurobiological substrates of conscious experience and related behaviors in human and non-human animals…
We declare the following: “The absence of a neocortex does not appear to preclude an organism from experiencing affective states. Convergent evidence indicates that non-human animals have the neuroanatomical, neurochemical, and neurophysiological substrates of conscious states along with the capacity to exhibit intentional behaviors. Consequently, the weight of evidence indicates that humans are not unique in possessing the neurological substrates that generate consciousness. Nonhuman animals, including all mammals and birds, and many other creatures, including octopuses, also possess these neurological substrates.”
Read more at Convearth
I’m no Russel Ray Photos but I think this is a pretty good picture of a beautiful red dragonfly that touches down for brief moments of pure joy all around my deck.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 