Feb. 27 Best and Worst

So these best and worst blogs are rapidly becoming a place to vent or complain, so I'll try and keep that to a minimum. The worst of my week was feeling incredibly stressed about school an the future in general. Of Course. Again. I got a test grade back for Biology that was terrible. Granted, most everyone else's were also terrible. But this is a plan II, non-major Biology course! This should not be the class that ruins all of our GPAs. Seriously, what the hell? I would be less angry and more determined to do better if I felt like this was an isolated incident, but it seems to me like there's not a whole lot we can do to predict how well we do on those tests. I studied, knew the material well, but forgot to include a few things that she believed were key that I evidently did not. So obviously, I felt incredibly powerless and in no control of the outcome of this course. For a Plan II kid, this is a nightmare. What's more, there's also been the usual identity crises, seeing too many options and not having an answer yet for what I wanted. I feel like I've defined more where I want to go, but don't know how I get there. And I am constantly fighting between the passionate and practical aspects of my personality. The two are so dichotomous that I feel like I have to choose one side if myself just to pick a career. So these "crises" have increased in frequency and intensity as time has gone on, to the point that I'm almost constantly close to a breakdown. One thing I have realized though, is most of being unsure is simply wanting to be a part of something challenging, something that really tests my limits. And something I feel I'm good at and am valued as a part of. Which also makes me terrified that I made a mistake in choosing to drop music as a major. Should I have stayed in and done Music Business? The very thought has lately put my stomach in knots. It's a lot harder to transfer back into Butler once you've transferred out. I just miss being good at something at something, that feeling of confidence that it elicits. And I'd rather work harder and not have to decide than to specialize. Hence taking 18 hours. So basically, I'm tired, stressed, and in serious need of a break from reality. Or just some perspective.

All that being said, the best of my week actually came as a direct result of these frequent panic attacks. It all sort of came to a head last night, in the midst of a debate between Music Business and Computer Science. I realized that I had fallen back into a habit I'd gotten into in high school of obsessively fixating on anything I couldn't control, or any mistake I might have made. Right now, I'm doing everything I can, and these questions I have can't be solved by beating my head against a rock. And I'm doing it over and over, expecting a different result: insanity. I'm literally driving myself insane. So I finally said, "Dude, chill the fuck out." And suddenly, I did. Once I allowed myself not to worry, I stopped doing it so damn much. That, accompanied with actually getting enough sleep, has led me to a completely different outlook. Suddenly I realize again how lucky I am to be here and doing the things I'm doing. For crying out loud, this is a damn good school and I'm doing some badass things: Plan II, the Oxford Program, Texas 4000, even the Broccoli Project. And no one can succeed who has never known failure. So, I'm doing my best to stop killing myself, and the world has changed. I'm a better friend, son, brother, boyfriend, and I'm happier in general. It's crazy what letting go and having a little faith can do. So that's that, and I'm moving forward. Finally.

Coetzee Part III

There is no doubt in my mind that poetry and literature in regard to animal rights can illicit extremely emotional responses. Literature, especially novels, require a certain investment of time and attention that is not necessarily present when watching film. That is to say, it usually requires less energy and focus than does a novel or poem. Therefore, when one takes the time to read a novel or even a poem, they tend to have gotten more from it than they would have an ordinary film. The purpose of a film, generally speaking, is to entertain. Most get nothing more from them than that. Literature, however, because of the investment involved, yields real comprehension. We are forced while reading to interact with the material and place ourselves among its subjects. When we are put into the mind of a narrator, we are usually prone to empathy. Furthermore, the affects of a novel usually have longer-lasting affects. We think about them for a long time after we've read them. There are many exceptions in film, of course, but the general movie-goer is looking for an escape from reality. As this escape is absolutely impossible when watching a film on animal rights, people will tend to ignore those, or get up and leave. Those who read animal rights literature have actively sought it out, and usually are already open to its ideas. Why else would they be reading it? So intellectually, we are engrossed in the subject and will retain more of the information.

But we aren't looking for a high retention rate here, we're trying to elicit an emotional response. Not only that, but our goal is to affect large numbers of people, as quickly as possible. It's not enough that they know the information, they have to be moved to act. In my opinion, we have no greater medium today for conveying or eliciting emotion than film. Sure, I felt a tinge of hurt while reading Disgrace, especially throughout Lurie's interaction with the young dog. "Yes, I am giving him up."It hurt to see those words, and also to realize that everything Lurie went through seemingly wasn't enough. And those words will probably stick with me for a long time. But the images I saw in  Earthlings will stay burned into my memory forever, whether I want them or not. And I can't accept what I saw passively either: I am overcome by the need to act and somehow change the situation. It's the combination of images, rhetoric, and music that caused those emotions. Prior to the invention of film (as in movies), poetry and other literature were the main source for information, entertainment, and persuasion. But now, the average person reads much less than they watch t.v. or see movies. While this is obviously unfortunate, we have to know our target audience and, as that's the entirety of humanity, cater to those preferences. It's a simple truth that film as a medium is more broadly accessible to a modern audience. The uneducated man may not understand that "Hughes [is] in a line of poets who celebrate the primitive and repudiate the Western bias toward abstract thought."(Anthology 144) More than likely they would not have read Blake, Lawrence, or Hemingway, and so would have no context. But force anyone, educated or not, to watch Earthlings, and they will walk away extremely affected. In this way, the fact that reading takes a greater investment is both its advantage and disadvantage. It's much easier to not read something than to push images of hacked and sawed dolphins from your mind. So I would say that film is the first step, and literature is the next. Let multimedia be the door through which they enter the subject of animal rights, and hopefully they will move from there to poetry and literature. All too often have I done just this: seen a film that sparked an interest, and done the subsequent research. From there they can read Kafka and Rilke and Coetzee. Then they can better vocalize their emotions, with more evidence for their claims. But if we are to persuade the general public of this cause, the first step is to hit their hearts, and that will start with film.

P3- Marney

The woman shoves me firmly through a wood and wire gate into what looks to be a fenced-in yard. I look around warily, attempting to find some context for where I was and why I was here. I’d been on my own for a long while. The bad-man had just opened the door to the fence for a second, to let his other dogs in, but that was all that I had needed. I dodged beneath his meaty legs, pelted down the alley and out of the neighborhood as fast as I could. The bad-man called angrily after me, but I ran so fast that his voice was barely more than a whisper of the wind. He may have tried to come after me, but he was too slow. I was too quick for him! Finally I was free. Free from the bad-man’s harsh words and even harsher blows. The wind blew my ears up, my tongue lolling whimsically out of my mouth. For the first time I could ever remember, I was happy. No more would I be hurt, beaten, starved or otherwise abused. And I could fend for myself. I knew I could. I had to.

It lasted this way for a few days before the pangs of hunger began to sink in. I scavenged from trashcans when I could, but anyone who caught me would shoo me away, sometimes kindly, others with exasperation. So I would try to catch an occasional rabbit or squirrel, but they were too fast, and I quickly lost interest in them. I could drink water from puddles when it rained, but I ran out of places to look for food. I became emaciated, my hair matted, nose cracked and dry. At times I almost went back to the bad-man. Almost.

One day I ran a little farther into the wild than I ever had before. I could barely do more than trot I was so hungry and tired, but I’d spotted a small rabbit and followed it as quickly as I could. Now I’d lost it, had no idea where it had gone. A pitiful whine escaped me. I finally shook and collapsed on the side of a dirt road, unable to walk any further. I was frightened, and utterly alone. My eyes began to feel heavy and droop. I was so, immeasurably tired. Maybe a quick nap, and I could find the rabbit later. Just a nap was all I needed!

I woke, panicked by the realization that I’d fallen asleep. Suddenly, I realized I was being carried. This was terrifying, and I did the best I could to protest, give some sign of a struggle. But I couldn’t; I could barely move, much less escape once again from who I was sure was the bad-man again. He was going to punish me for my escape, chain me so that I could never do so again. How had he found me?

I spent the next few days recuperating in a small house, in the corner on and beneath a blanket that smelled unmistakably of other dogs. To my utter surprise, it hadn’t been the bad-man who found me after all. It was a female, with firm but careful hands and a calming demeanor. She fed me, had washed me, and I slowly regained my strength, a sense of my former self. For a while I didn’t trust her. The only humans I’d come in contact with before had hurt me, or ignored me completely. A part of me still worried that she was fixing me up so I could go right back to my owner. She knew my name somehow: Marney. So she must have known the bad-man too. But he never came around, and slowly I began to trust and even to love the woman that had taken me in.

And now she places me in a large yard, messy and overridden with other dogs. Strays, just like me, I suppose. They came toward me in a writhing heap, dust and fur a cloud in their wake. So here it was. This was the bad-man’s punishment at last. I roll over onto my stomach, a gesture of supplication. The dogs sniff at me for a moment, a few stare a little defensively, and they all disperse. Suddenly I was just a part of the pack. I could run and play and sleep and eat whenever I wished. For the first time, I feel something akin to peace. But is this a home forever? It’s so much better than what I’ve had before, but still there is no one looking just for me. I wanted to know what it was like to be truly loved. I shake this feeling off and run to join the rest in the shade of a tree. 

A few weeks later, I sit under the very same tree, and watch as a group of people I’d never seen before open the gate and ease themselves cautiously into our yard. They spend some time greeting the dogs that meet them there, but I am too content in the warmth to follow suit. One of the males, the tall one, comes over to my and squats down by my side. He scratches my ears and moves on. I like him. So when he sits down on the porch, I walk over to his side and hop into his lap. Maybe he likes me too. Maybe he’ll take me home?

I sat down on the front porch of the SARA Rescue Farm, and one of the multitudinous dogs I’d met that day: a slender, black and brown female whom I was informed was named Marney, walked cautiously over to my side. “Hi! Hi sweetie!” I said, hoping she would understand by my tone that I wasn’t here to hurt her. This fear was short lived, as she immediately came up and put her front paws in my lap.  At first I was simply stunned. I had assumed all of these animals would be somewhat shy of humans, especially of tall males like myself. Yet she seemed perfectly at ease in my presence. Simply looking for someone’s attention. And with Marney, her propping up on my lap wasn’t wild or jarring and did not seem to come from an overabundance of energy. She wasn’t hopping up and down or licking my face. She just wanted to be there with me. I have a dog at home, Huck, who does this exact thing. Perhaps that’s why I was so taken with Marney. It seemed: polite. “Would you mind scratching my ears, please?” I imagined her saying. “Thank you so much.”

I sat with Marney for about twenty minutes. After three of four of those, she decided there were other pressing matters that warranted her attention, and began to walk around the porch of the small house within the fenced-in yard. She sniffed a cushion, nuzzled around for a stray bit of food, and would come back every now and again for me to give her another scratch. Never once did I hear her bark or growl at anything, but it wasn’t for fear of any of the animals. From the brief window of time I spent with her, Marney was matter-of-fact, completely at ease, and a fabulous communicator. All in all, she was one of the most immediately likeable dogs I’d ever encountered. It made me wonder how she ever could have ended up there. Was she given away? Surely not. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to be rid of her. Yet here she was.

I called her over to me, and did my best to look into her eyes, looking for some sort of connection. What made this so difficult was my tendency to project what I thought she felt onto her, rather than truly taking in what I found. The image that I got from her overall was simple loneliness. She was surrounded by hundreds of other animals but had no one looking out for specifically her. Just as a human being would feel if they were alone in a crowded room. I left a melancholy sensation in the pit of my stomach. Then I tried to imagine my way into her history: what events could have led her to SARA and to the personality she developed. Interestingly enough, my dog Huck, whom she so reminded me of, was rescued from a similar situation. We rescued him from a pound when he was already about 18 months old, an age comparable to Marney’s. Is that where she was, in a pound? Or possibly Huck had been in an abusive home prior to this and his subsequent adoption, and as such so was Marney? The thought sickens me a little. Their personalities may have originated from a need to please an angry or vicious owner, to keep themselves unobtrusive and out of the way. That being said-- and going on the assumption that Huck and Marney are from similar backgrounds-- there is hope. Huck has been in my family now for about four years. Although he still is extraordinarily polite and sensitive to his owners’ feelings, he also expresses the kind of carefree joviality that one can only hope all dogs get to feel. He runs and plays energetically with our other dogs, and lets loose of round of booming barks when he sees you get out of your car. Maybe one day Marney will get to experience this same range of emotions.

But that’s just it. She and Huck may be similar, but he is in a loving home, and she is not. At this point in her life, she most likely has no idea what it’s like to be given regular and undivided attention. As fantastic as the people at SARA undoubtedly are, they simply do not have the time or resources to meet every single dog’s needs. I feel that many people must think when dropping off unwanted animals at a rescue such as this that the animal will be in a better place. While that animal may have its most basic needs met—food, water, and shelter—there is still a great need in that animal for individual affection. Not to mention that it is nearly impossible to tend to every animal’s health needs on so large a scale. A dog may get taken to the veterinarian when sick, but it would most likely take much longer to notice than if it were in a private household. Marney needs to be adopted by a loving family, and soon. She deserves that kind of affection, and in return, that family will receive one of the most amicable and sensitive dogs I will ever meet.

WORD COUNT: 1789. Sorry.

Appendix:
Link to Video- Marney
P3A
Images

Earthlings Part II

My experience while watching the second part of earthlings was somehow very different from the first. That first day, I was affected equally by everything that I saw, and my emotional responses were due to shock and gradual accumulation of similar feelings. In contrast, the second day I swung back and forth between two extremes. In some instances, I found myself numb, resigned, and overall less connected with the suffering I was witnessing than I’d been a couple of days before. In others, I found myself upon what seemed like the very brink of my ability to hurt and feel, which was overwhelming and almost unbearable.

The instances in which I was less connected with the suffering I was watching were during the fishing clip and in some areas during the segment on animal testing. The fishing segment, unlike what had been shown previously, attempted to make you hate commercial fishing more because of the health risks it could place you and others in than for the animals themselves. “Just remember how much irretrievable waste and contaminated sediments are dumped into our oceans.” (Anthology 209) This is obviously a legitimate argument, as was the issues brought up about overfishing, but my ability to connect with the creatures themselves were inhibited because I was worried about myself more than them. I felt selfish for thinking this way. But it’s difficult to empathize with a fish. I find it much harder to put myself into the place of a fish than I do with another mammal. Their minds and lives are so alien to our own that it seems nearly impossible to imagine life as a fish.

The emotions I experienced during the animal-testing segment were extremely stratified. One of the worst images I saw during the film was one of a Chihuahua that had undergone testing. It had stitches of some kind in its head, looked starved and neglected. But when the cameraman looked at it, the dog wagged its tail feebly, believing it was finally about to get some attention. My eyes stung and then fogged over, and I had to look down for a minute to regain my composure. I fail to see how testing on a dog would be necessary for the cure of human disease. Not only that, but much of the testing done is solely for cosmetic purposes. We are literally willing to subject another being to a life of torment so that we can look good when we go out. That is despicable. However, the breakdown with animal testing for me is that some of it might actually be necessary. Trauma experimentation on baboons? No. Infectious disease research? Possibly. I don’t know. I’d like to say there was a better way, but what is the alternative?  So here I felt numb and resigned, and ashamed for not having a better answer.

The defining moment of this film for me, the one that has changed everything, occurred during the segment on the fur trade. “WE SEE A CHINESE FUR FARM WHERE AN ANIMAL IS SKINNED ALIVE. ONCE THE SKIN IS REMOVED IT LAYS IN A BLOODY HEAP; ITS EYES STILL BLINKING IN SHOCK.” (Anthology 215) The fox was skinned alive. How dare they. How fucking dare they. I couldn’t take that. It took everything I had not to jump up, to scream, to leave the room. It was beyond cruel, beyond reason and comprehension.  And we are allowing this. “There is complicity.” I had to go home this weekend, and when asked by my family to explain why I’d elected not to order meat at a restaurant, the very memory of this image left me almost speechless. I couldn’t even tell my mother and sister, and when I explained this to my father, it was in barely more than a choked whisper. Because telling someone else meant acknowledging that what I’d seen had actually occurred, that it wasn’t just some horrible dream.

 Knowing how little at this time I can do to change this horrific truth makes me feel more helpless and angry than I can express. But seeing these things did change my perception, rip the veil from my eyes. I can no longer ignore it, and now feel that it is my moral obligation to actively try and change this. Yes, right now there’s not a lot I can do. But I can make choices that do not condone this behavior, and I can try to tell others about what I saw. (not like the PETA people) And someday, there will be something more I can do.

Earthlings Part I

I sat here, at my computer, for a good while, staring at the screen, the emptiness of the page staring up at me expectantly. I am at a complete loss for words. Since Tuesday, I have tried to fit the images we saw into some sort of context within my life, equate it to something I've seen before. In doing so, I am attempting to file away the experience of watching this film among other memories or experiences. I am trying to create distance between myself and what I saw. I am desperately trying to hide from it, pretend those images don't exits and have never existed. But the truth is, I've never seen anything like it before, and I can't get it out of my head. The thoughts make me physically, PHYSICALLY, nauseous. Anyway, I'll to do the best I can to express how this film made me feel. While writing my reactions down, there were four feelings that came forth in succession, at least that were definable, so I'll break this blog up into those four categories.

My initial, visceral reaction was horror. I have never before used this word in order to describe a feeling I myself  have had. But I was horrified. I cannot recall actually forming coherent thoughts throughout this stage. I just stared up at the screen, or down into my lap, eyes wide and full of, not terror, not fear, but horror. It was an unprecedented feeling, and as such I had no more idea of how to cope with the realization itself than I did with its catalyst. "CONTINUED FOOTAGE OF DOMESTIC PETS BEING GASSED, POISONED, SHOT, AND IN ONE CASE, THROWN INTO THE TRASH COMPACTOR OF A GARBAGE TRUCK." (Anthology 201) Thrown into the trash compactor of a garbage truck. At this point, my entire being literally refused to accept that what I was watching was real. It couldn't be. Even now I am floored. Rendered incoherent. I was horrified because of the shock I felt at the fact that anyone could be capable of this. Not only that, but that I was unknowingly a part of it. I tried to put myself in the place of these animals, of the dog, helpless, was thrown into the compactor. I have never experienced pain or terror of that magnitude in my life, not a fraction of it. I had no basis which to empathize because it was beyond my capacity to comprehend. The only connection I could draw was to the animals in cages. What it would feel like to be locked away forever with no idea what I'd done to deserve it. To deserve it? I'd be that dog continually pacing, the chicken that rubs it head raw against its cage. Not even a loss of freedom, but never having it in the first place. How could I truly connect and not go insane?

Next, violent rage. "Oh I missed, I missed you honey. But I'll get you again! . . . "I got you! Good boy!" (Anthology 202) Images of animals' throats being slit, and left to bleed out on a hanging hook, of an inverted cow breathing in its own blood as it dies, the "Kosher" way. I was possessed with a desire to watch carefully every move these men made, everything they did to every animal, and systematically pay them in kind, in precisely those ways. I wanted to hang these men from a hook and slit their throats, to beat them with hatchets or whip them repeatedly. I wanted to hurt, emasculate, and humiliate them all. One of the most affecting scenes was the man goading the elephant, flinging curses at him while forcing him to stand on his hind legs. "Hurt him. Don't touch him. Make him scream! If you're scared to hurt him, don't come in this room. . . You motherfucker. Get your motherfuckin' --- get up here!" (Anthology 219) Then we watched as one of the elephants finally attempted escape. To the onlookers, it seems a monster, defiant and angry. But if they had seen the eye of that elephant as it died from the countless bullets shot into it, they would've seen who the real monsters were. The "trainers", the participants, the onlookers, the humans. 

Then I was ashamed. I'm ashamed to be of the same species as those people, and also ashamed of the violence with which I responded. I instantly did everything I could to separate myself from them in my mind. I no longer even want to curse, because it would liken me to them somehow.  was disgusted by their stupid cruelty, but in the end I am no better. I wished for them to be hurt in kind, knew they deserved it, willed those men to get trampled by the elephant who broke free. I didn't know what I could do, but I wanted to do something, and violence seemed like a satisfying option. But it would do no good, except for maybe a transient, furious, adrenaline fueled, fierce, joy. But what would immediately follow? My own loss of freedom, and nothing better for the animals. 

These thoughts of "what can I do" led me them to a desperate and exhausted helplessness. If there was nothing I could do, then I didn't want to know. But what has been seen cannot be unseen, and if this was everyone's reaction, then nothing would ever change. But the abstention from meat is simply not, and never will be, enough. So what can I do? WHAT CAN I DO? I have do do something. I could make it a mission to tell people about all of this. But the only people open to hearing about these atrocities, have already made choices in opposition to it, are already receptive and knowledgeable. Most people know, but choose not to see, turn themselves away. How do you combat that?

This is what I'm left with. Exhaustion, helplessness, and dread for what is coming next. 

Coetzee Part II

One of the first times I went camping as a young child, I went fishing with my father. we caught a few good-sized fish, and I heard my father say he was going to clean them when we got back to camp. I was around four years-old at the time, and had absolutely no idea what that meant. I just thought my dad was really cool for catching the fish. We got back to the campsite, and for a while I meandered around the cabin and the fire, playing with the dogs or roasting a marshmallow. Then I walked into the cabin, and saw exactly what "cleaning" the fish meant. I was completely horrified. Somehow, my four year-old brain had not connected eating the fish with the act of killing them. ". . . of course children all over the world consort quite naturally with animals. They don't see any dividing line. That is something they have to be taught, just as they have to be taught it is alright to kill and eat them." (Anthology 160)

caption says: "Moments of connection between children and animals"

What I find so interesting about this is that most people eat meat in this fashion. They never connect the idea of eating meat with the idea of being the one to kill it. My four-year old state of mind was not far off from any teenager that has never been hunting. Even more interestingly, this did not have much of an affect on my later meat consumption. I was horrified, yes, but I saw my father doing it, and at four-years old everything your father does is perfect (that being said, I would never condemn my father for cleaning a fish). Even that young, I possessed an astounding ability to ignore the cruelty or pain that I did not wish to see. This is not necessarily something that ever changes, unless we will it to. And even then, in regard to animals, most would never extend the same compassion toward a pig that they would to another human. This is evolutionary: caring more for the "in" species than for the "out". It's how we've survived. Furthermore, most people believe, when pressed, that "dying is, for an animal, just something that happens, something against which there may be a revolt of the organism but not a revolt of the soul. . . the old-fashioned way of saying this is that animals do not have immortal souls." (Anthology 161) In short, people have always eaten meat, and probably always will. I don't intend to sound callused, but that's the simple truth, and not necessarily the problem. The problem is the disconnect between what we see at our table and recognizing how it got there. There are many words one could use to describe the meat industry, but none could argue, if knowledgeable, that it is unnecessarily cruel.

How do we alleviate this problem? A few people have given answers, whether improbable, theoretical, or optimistic. But in response to Black bear's most eloquent thoughts, I would say don't give up hope just yet. What we would be asking requires a change of heart in a majority of the population, yes, but this has been done before. What people need is patience, the right situation, and most of all, to be educated. 

When Upton Sinclair wrote the Jungle, on the horrors of the Chicago meat-packing industry, he inspired a wave of legislation for better treatment of animals and meat in slaughter houses. The people reacted so uproariously because they suddenly became aware of what they were eating, how it was getting to their tables. The novel made each individual who read it personally involved, because they all felt personally victimized. They were not asked to sign a petition, nor yelled at by some self-righteous activist whom looked down on them. Someone gave them the information, and they responded. True, it was more about them than the animals, but does it really matter in the end? Of course it would be preferable it it were about animals, and for some it will be, but not all. Put this information out there in a way that it is impossible to ignore. Show them what's being done and what they are putting into their bodies, and they'll respond. A selfish reaction that happens collectively can do much more good than intended.  Will people ever stop eating meat? Probably not. But the idea that we could alter the way people view meat consumption--the type of meat we find it acceptable to eat--  and thereby greatly reduce cruelty in the industry? Not so far out of reach.

Coetzee Part I

Although I've always inherently understood the logic behind the decision to eat meat or abstain from it, until now I've never heard the arguments presented to me in plain English. Thus far the writer has presented two opposing lifestyles, laid out argumentation for both sides, and allowed you your own opinions. This is to me why Elizabeth is so far characterized as so disagreeable a character. The author isn't allowing you to side with a specific character, and thus presents their opposing views as objectively as possible. Although I love animals, I have ever been a meat eater, until now never forced to confront the implications of valuing my own or specific animals' lives over others'. I lived with a "don't ask, don't tell" policy when it came to knowing how the meat provided me arrived at the table. Hearing the author attribute this same subconsciously purposeful ignorance to those whom allowed Nazi death camps to operate near them was a jarring comparison. "It marked those citizens. . . who had committed evil actions, but also those who, for whatever reason, were in ignorance of those actions." (Anthology 139) This does seem a bit of an overstep, and obviously made the audience defensive. But the object of the analogy was not to insult, but to raise a specific question. what inherently makes the killing of a fellow human abhorrent, and the death of animals commonplace? What, if anything, makes their lives worth so much less than ours, that which legitimately sets them beneath us?

The answer that was given and then debated was reason. The narrator's wife, Norma, responds to Elizabeth's insistence that reason is not what sets us apart from animals-- as reason is a human created way of grasping the universe and cannot be projected onto a being that cannot agree or understand-- with a certain amount of derision. "There is no position outside of reason where you can stand and lecture about reason and pass judgement on reason." (Anthology 153) Norma seems also to believe that "You cannot, in the abstract, distinguish between an animal mind and a machine stimulating an animal mind." (Anthology 152) While all of this is interesting, any conclusion one could draw is secondary to its application: whether they can reason or not, does proving that you are "above" another being make it acceptable to slaughter them in droves? Thats the real question to be answered, the real question Elizabeth is asking. Superiority should not automatically lend itself to total domination, much less to consumption of the other species. Humans do not eat animals because they feel it is morally correct or obligatory (okay some do, but those would be the more conservative or super-religious of individuals.) We eat meat because it is natural, at times necessary, and because we can. While that may be true, it is distinctly unnatural to treat them as we do, or slaughter with no apparent respect for life. This is why I struggle with eating meat in today's world.  It's cruelty. Whether an animal can reason or not, it most certainly can feel. To be frank, if I killed myself what I ate, doing so as humanely as possible, I would have no trouble. We are omnivorous animals, evolutionarily designed to ingest meat, just as a lion or a wolf is. I would never force an animal to eat only vegetables, as it would be unhealthy for many of them. But the manner of treatment makes all the difference. Compassion, that ever present word, should be in everything we do. The native Americans used to praise the animals they killed, a sign of respect and equality, and never wasted a bit. Yet we no longer live in this world, and instead stand by as animals are tortured unnecessarily for our benefit. It's time we stopped ignoring it.

Marney

Marney

Have a young family and are looking for a first family pet, or an addition to a growing animal family? Then Marney is the perfect pup for you! Marney is no longer quite a puppy, but she loves playing and meeting new friends. She is very affectionate, yet quite calm and gentle, great for young children or as a first dog. She is very quiet, takes direction well, and lives to be scratched behind the ears! Marney is also very accustomed to having lots of canine company, so no worrying about introducing her to dogs or other animals. She is a medium build dog, with a small frame, light brown, short fur, and a black muzzle. Marney is quite friendly and as such has no trouble going up to strangers and, if allowed, hopping onto their knees with her front paws and raising her head, in askance of a good scratching. This happened to be my first experience with her and I was extremely surprised by her apparent trust and comfort around new people. Marney's story prior to her stay at SARA is mostly unknown, but the dogs that end up there are usually neglected or mistreated. As such, her personality amazed me, and while she may have been hurt or unhappy before, she doesn't show it. All Marney needs now is a good home, people who will appreciate her gentle, kind and loving nature, and can give her the attention she deserves. You'll immediately be charmed by her genuine wish for companionship and play. She really is the ideal dog for young children new owners to get acclimated to animals, and will teach you what unconditional love really means.

Pets and the Sympathetic Imagination

“The question is not, "Can they reason?" nor, "Can they talk?" but "Can they suffer?” --Jeremy Bentham, The Principles of Morals and Legislation

I'll admit, I had a difficult time with these readings. As I've grown older, I've felt that the more compassionate or empathetic aspects of my personality have faded away due to the cruelty of everyday life. I'm sure this is true for most people: it gets to you after a while. Life in all its facets can be difficult to face, and it simply becomes easier to numb yourself to the suffering we see every day than to acknowledge it.  That's why I think it is so easy for some of us to ignore the mistreatment of animals, specifically the animals that we eat. However, the suffering that people seem to find it the hardest to ignore, is their pets'. Anyone will know what you're referring to when you quote those gut-wrenching commercial. "Hi, I'm Sarah  Mclachlan. Will you be an Angel for an animal in need?" We see one of these, we all scramble for the remote, trying desperately to change the channel before seeing clips of dogs that have been severely injured or maimed. 

All that being said, I found that delving into the mind of an animal, hearing them say to someone "I love you", was equally difficult to stomach. "Alone without you beside me. Come back soon. I still love you." (Anthology, 59) Well, if the purpose here was to fill my eyes with tears, it was effective. Those parts of us that over time we've learned to shove downward, to never let see the light of day because reality is too painful for us to contemplate, resurrect themselves with full force. We may not even realize how deeply we'd buried those most innately compassionate parts of human nature until we're forced to confront them. Ordinarily, empathy is something most people save for a select few. Until this class, I was the same. It's still a gut reaction for me to ignore the suffering I can't alleviate, something I must consciously make myself aware of. Yet when it comes to pets, especially dogs, I'm powerless. "Only a dog, you'd say, missing the mark by a hair-- a dog, yes, indeed, but only? I think not." (Anthology, 70) It struck me next that this is the importance of the sympathetic imagination. It is empathy encapsulated. Seeing through the lens of an animal, one whom is suffering, allows us to connect in a way that might be artificial but feels utterly organic. We are literally suffering with a non-human being. Not only does this experience accomplish the desired goal of mobilizing people to help, it aids in "widening out circle of compassion", as we talk about so often. These poems force you to confront the pain of an innocent being face-to-face. And once you're there with pets, it's one small step to all living beings. I've found myself, over time, unable to ignore things like this any longer. It's difficult and gradual, because removing the veil makes me uncomfortable, and changing my lifestyle accordingly would uproot some of the most basic aspects of my perspective and character. But I've come to the conclusion that experiencing the suffering of a dog is not so different from what it would be like for cattle or chicken, those dietary staples. Anyway, emotional self-exploration aside, when I write the sympathetically imagined portion of P3, there will now be new purpose and fervor behind the words. It's possibly the most important, meaning most affecting, piece of that puzzle. I hope I can do Marney justice. 

We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves Part III

Today, I spent much of my time over at my girlfriend's apartment. About six months ago, she got a puppy, one whom her family's dog had birthed, that she named Daisy. Although she is not really my dog, I spend a lot of time with Daisy: helped train and care for her, and as such like to pretend she's equally mine. I'd always been surrounded by pets growing up, but when we got them I was too young to really assist in their development, so this was an entirely new experience. Although I adore our dogs at home, being a key player in the process- a parent rather than a sibling- led to a vastly different dynamic. I love Daisy. Not in any sort of exaggerated "she's so cute OH-MY-GOD I LOVE HER" kind of way. The connection that I feel toward her I would equate to what I feel for a family member. We have a distinct relationship, and quite honestly I spoil her rotten. So anyway, back to today. I'd been playing with her for a while, a game of fetch that in reality was more like tug-of-war. She'd had enough, and instead of bounding back with the toy laid down and did a puppy army crawl back toward me. I laid down on the carpet, and she crawled up on my chest, licked my face a few times, and promptly fell asleep. This had become a sort of ritual with us. The contentment and security she seems to feel with me is incredibly fulfilling. It may all seem very hyperbolic, but if I never were to have children, the companionship and trust between Daisy and I is about as close as one can come to that type of relationship. She is as much family as any human relation or close friend.

I also recognize that while she may rely on us for food, shelter, and protection, I'd be hard pressed to say that she gets more out of the relationship than I. At the very least it is mutually beneficial. But what if Daisy didn't necessarily need me to survive? Would my ownership of her still be ethical? The answer to this question can quickly become muddled and hard to discern. "But Mr. Hayes said that the significant, the critical finding of their study. . . was this: that language was the only way in which Viki differed much from a normal human child." (Fowler 288) If Fern had been left in the wild, or with her own kind, she never would have needed the care of humans, could've been totally self-sufficient. But in adopting Fern, Rosemary's family created a need in her for them. This to me is despicable. One should never take on the responsibility of raising an animal if they do not intend to do so for the duration of that animal's life. What's more, due to Fern's intelligence and the way in which she was raised, the situation is more correlated with the giving away of one's own child. Only the lowest and most empty of human beings do this for selfish reasons.  A more ethical decision would have been either to keep Fern as a family member for her life, or to never have adopted her at all.

The more basic question that this situation raises is, what right do humans have to own other beings at all? Rosemary's brother Lowell believed the answer to that question was, none. He recognized that every being has a will for freedom and the desire to control their own lives. "Lowell's life has been the direct result of his very best qualities, our very best qualities-- empathy, compassion, loyalty, and love." (Fowler 307) He was willing to break the law, and sacrifice his own freedom, for theirs. Although on paper we do own Daisy, I do not believe she feels as though she has no free will, nor do I believe this is the case. But how can an animal in a cage, the bars a visible barrier to the world, not feel trapped? "These six chimps are cared for in the best way possible, and yet their lives are not enviable. . . They need more surprise in their lives." (Fowler 310) Treating an animal "well" (relative to previous treatment at least) is very different than making decisions that are in their best interest. It is only human arrogance that presumes the ownership of another being is better for the animal than it would've been without us. There is no easy answer to these questions, but one simple fact remains: no one wants to be put in a cage.