Animal Ethics

I’m having a crisis of faith in the human race.

Mahatma Gandhi once said ‘The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated’.

If this is the case we, as a country are on a path to ruin and despair.

I was speaking with L. today, she works in small animal rescue. She told me that recently a baby guinea pig came into her care after the box it was in (with the rest of it's litter mates) was fished out of the river. It was the only one to survive.

My friend N, recently came into procession of a six week old kitten after it was found in a dumpster, cuddled up to his dead sister.

Dogs being surrendered to the pound and being kicked and beaten between the car and the office. This I have seen with my own eyes.

I was told of a Maltese that came to the pound so matted it had barbed wire stuck in its coat. The dog had to be shaved and several infected wounds were treated.

What kind of animal would do that to another? The Human Animal, that's who.

***

Anne Sewell (1820 - 1878), author of the novel Black Beauty said,
‘We call them dumb animals, and so they are, for they cannot tell us how they feel, but they do not suffer less because they have no words.’

I believe this to be true; they simple are unable to tell us. They don’t have a voice that we understand, it doesn’t mean that they don’t have a voice. I’m convinced they know when a kind human crosses their path and helps them. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. After months and years of abuse, animals will present themselves to be helped. Dogs will let you dress wounds, even though they are clearly in pain. I have had cats that fight when you give them a worming tablet, but when injured will let you administer antibiotics and cleanse wounds.

I’ve been called a mad cat lady for helping out. I've had friends turn their backs to me and fall from contact because of my desire to help out.

I know others that have been told they’re wasting their time fighting for new laws about puppy farming.

I’ve had conversations with animal rescuers that have had friends turn their backs on them because of their obsession with helping animals.

I’ve been told, ‘it’s just a dog’. It's not just a dog, she's a member of the family, my pack.

***

Anyone who tries to improve the lives of animals invariably comes in for criticism from those who believe such efforts are misplaced in a world of suffering humanity.
Jane Goodall (1934 - )

Why are humans so dismissive of the suffering of animals? Is it because it’s so easy to avoid the gaze of a distressed puppy?
I’ve seen this look, it’s devastating. They may not be able to speak the words, ‘I’m hurting’ but their eyes speak volumes.

I’ve come to the realisation that I do not need people in my life that think I’m a fruitcake for caring about animals more than I care for humans.

Humans, for the most part can fend for themselves, animals can’t. They need a kind and loving hand to feed them, house them and provide a safe environment that keeps them from harm, but they also need family.

Dogs are pack animals, and humans form that pack if there are no other dogs around. If they are beaten, they will still be loyal but not because they don’t care about being beaten, not because they don’t feel the pain and betrayal of it, it’s because the crave the pack life. Be a kind pack leader or don’t bring a dog into your life. Certainly don’t use them as money machines just because they can’t tell you they’re in pain and would love to see the sunshine.

Alas I fear that the human condition is that we treat the voiceless with contempt and not just animals. I will continue to be that mad animal lady, whether it be cats, dogs, chooks, or whatever comes my way. If it needs caring for I will do my best and it will break my heart to let them go when it’s time.

I will continue to talk to my animals regardless of the looks and comments I receive from strangers and friends alike. I may not understand their reply in words, but I know they understand me and that I only wish them well.

As for all my friends that continue the pursuit of rights for animals in the belief that all animals deserve to be treated with respect. You go for it. I’m behind you all the way and will help in any way I can.

I’m going to go home tonight, i'll hug the cats, once again ask Oren why she keeps chasing Jack but get no reply except the look that says, I just don't like his face', feed the chooks and give them their favourite food, cracked corn and all weekend I shall continue to pursue my hunt for Cara. If I have no other human contact I won’t feel like I’ve missed out, because frankly the more I deal with some humans, the more I like animals. They have no hidden agenda.

Will

There are days when the will to live is dealt a severe blow. When you are consistently shadowed by a big black dog, the blow may be something small to ordinary man, but as far as you’re concerned you may as well have had a house fall on you.

I had every intention of being to work for nine this morning. I even managed an early night by being in bed and light out before 11pm. I was up, showered and all animals fed and watered by 8pm, I was parking the car outside number 16 by ten past eight.

First blow. Number 16 is nearly three-quarters of kilometre away from the station. It’s pretty much as close as you can get. At that time I should have been down around number 6 or 8, but these big houses have wide street frontage and I was basically twice as far away as I should have been.
I had to run down the hill for the train.

Second blow. There were men in uniform checking tickets. Stopping everyone. I had to dig in my bag for my weekly, usually done on the train between stations and just before I get off the train. Today, I missed the train I was aiming for by a couple of seconds.

It was OK…the next train would get me into the office just after 9am.

If only the train hadn’t been significantly delayed due a mechanical failure.

I stepped on the train at 8.44.

I got into the office at 9.38. And the desk I was supposed to be sitting at was occupied. At least the computer was. So I had to hunt for a spare desk.

My will to live on a scale of 1 – 10 is currently sitting at about 4.

And yes, I'm aware on the grander scale of world problems it ranks roughly as a nothing. It's my world I concerned with right this minute. I'll deal with bigger issues later, when I'm feeling up to it.

I really hate days like this. It can only get better.

Are you really sorry?

When you hear the phrase, ‘I hate to do this to you, but…’ you know the next words are going to be something you will not like.

There really is nothing like being told you have to move because someone more important than you is being employed and they need to sit in ‘that’ seat because they are a permanent member of staff and you, well, you’re just a contractor, to make you feel welcome.

The rumblings of movement had started on Tuesday when I was asked, ‘I hate to do this to you, but …is this your permanently assigned desk?’

‘As far as I’ve been told yes, at least until your department moves to xxx at the end of July and then the team I work with will be resettled together.’

Of course that wasn’t the first thing that went through my head. The first thing was more like – If you really hated to do it, you wouldn’t, but you’re going to anyway because really you have no feelings on the issue except to get what you want.

‘Oh, I have a permanent employee starting next week, you need to move.’

‘In that case you’ll need to speak with A. to discuss seating arrangements.’ I said.

I had to pack up the contents of the desk on Friday and shove my belongings into a cupboard.

***

Why do people say sorry for things they really aren’t sorry for?

It’s a word that is losing its meaning through over and incorrect use. If you let the door close on someone on purpose, don’t say sorry, say, ‘I’m an ignorant arse.’ If on the other hand you genuinely didn’t see the people directly behind you, apologise.

When you push in the queue, don’t speak the word of apology as you jump in front of others, say it like it really is, ‘I really do believe that my time is more valuable than yours, so I’m not waiting’.

Everyone knows what you’re thinking, so please speak the truth and stop devaluing the sorry word.

***

Today I have been moved on twice. I will be ‘hot-desking’ for at least 30 days. It’s going to be so much fun because I’ll meet people I’ve never met before when they see me sat at their desk and ask, ‘Why are you sitting here?’

I won’t be apologising, I’ll be speaking the truth. ‘I’m sitting here because there is nowhere else for me to sit and for some reason I’m not allowed t work at home.’

Lottery Win

Natasha was from Spain. I thought she was the absolute bees-knees. She had an exotic accent and lovely skin. She was my friend and her Mum would make little cakes whenever I went over after school. Also, Natasha had three recorders, a normal sized one, a medium and a big one, all of which she could play. She could read music too. The recorders were mostly black but had creamy detailing on the mouth piece and banding towards the top and at the bottom. Aulos made these masterpieces of music, in all their smooth plastic glory. I remember that because they were so much prettier than the wooden ones the school lent to others.

I wanted to learn the recorder, but being from a big family I got to learn the guitar because we had one in the loft. It was massive and came in an even more massive hard case which I had to carry it to school in; switching it from hand to hand along the way. Mr Hardman taught guitar and he was school staff, no extra payments required. Recorder required an outside teacher and a one pound sub was required for each lesson.

I was eight years old and three months older than Natasha.

***

A few weeks ago I was out at a comedy club waiting for my spot. One of the other comedians went on stage with a guitar and played a tune and sang a funny ditty. Having never stuck out the guitar lessons, (mainly because the thing was such a pain to lug around) I have no musical instrument but it got me to thinking about how I could incorporate it into my comedy act without actually playing anything.

I came up with, take some drum sticks on stage and say, ‘I was gonna play you a drum solo, but some bastard nicked my drums!’ Boom Boom.

Then I remembered Natasha and her recorder. The idea of a 40 year old walking onto stage with a recorder would be a joke all of its own. No playing required.

***

A week ago I brought a lottery ticket for $23. I won $12. The first win in a very long time, but a win is a win, so I put the cash in my wallet.

I was walking through town on my lunch break thinking, as you do, when I found myself outside Allan’s Music.

With my $12 I procured a shiny new recorder. Not an Aulos, but a Yamaha. They make good motorbikes, so surely the quality of their products would be even. I also brought a book called ‘Recorder for Beginners, Book 1’. My lottery win was exhausted.

And now I have a new thing to learn. Maybe not master, but learn. I have my first lesson tonight.



I wonder if Natasha continued with her recorder playing.

Please hold!

Have you ever been on the receiving end of a call that has instantly been put on hold?
I have many times.
Ring ring, ring ring.
‘Good afternoon, XYZ Company, Melody speaking, would you mind holding?’ Click.

You don’t even get a chance to protest before your ear holes are being assaulted by some of the worst music know to man or a poorly tuned radio station. Plus, what would happen if you said ‘Yes, I mind holding’.

Today, someone at work was on hold, on speaker, so we all (those within a 10 metre radius) had to endure the tinny strains of synthesised Green Sleeves.

I remember many years ago when I was working for a start-up company as the office manage I had to get a telephony system put in. We were given a choice of hold music; radio, white noise, the classics played by fingerless monks of the moors of whoop whoop or our own messages recorded and played back. The MD selected the ‘Classics’ because he didn’t know what to say and he was too cheap to pay for the radio option.

After three months of countless comments about bleeding ears from customers he decided to write and record some nuggets of wisdom like, ‘Your call is very important to us, please hold’ and ‘If you’d like to leave a message press star and someone will get back to you’. They were powerful, but to the point. The customers stopped complaining.

Why do companies insist on torturing their customers with these crimes against music?

Also, the 80s have a lot to answer for with the invention of the keyboard you don’t have to play but could just press back beat buttons.

Boys

There has been another scandal involving sporting folk in Australia. Shock horror! In a nation that worships participants of sporting activities like the deities of ancient cultures it's not an uncommon occurrence.


When a rugby player assaults his wife, it's fair enough, pres coverage is expected and yes, he should get into trouble. He behaved like an ar*ehole and committed a crime.

When Australian Football League players goes out on a bender and fall asleep in a bush, yes, the papers have a right to report that, but it's hardly a capital crime. He was an idiot, no harm done except for a few broken branches.

When a cricketer sends saucy text messages to a lady other than his wife. Again idiot, but do we really not have enough drama in our own lives that we have to feed off others?

The most recent trouble is because two Australian swimmers posted a picture of themselves on Facebook posing with guns in a gun shop while taking a break during a training camp in California, America, where it legal to own and shots guns. The Aussie press went crazy, calling them 'Bad Boy Swimmers' and the act 'a gun-toting lark' suggesting the Australian Olympic Committee (AOC) ban them from attending the Olympic Games in August. One paper accused them of looking 'smug', dare I suggest they looked like young men having fun.

It's ridiculous. Yes, their judgement may not have been completely tip top, but I know a couple of people that have visited the States and spent time on the firing range, because they can. One of my mates even had a go with an Uzi. On the plus side of this, when the zombie apocalypse comes, he’ll know what to do.

Swimming Australia has said as a punishment they will be sent home as soon as their events are completed and will not be allowed to stay to enjoy rest of the game or take part in the closing ceremony.

Yesterday they came out and announced that they are imposing a ban on themselves using any social media before or during the Games. Stating they need to have no distractions in the seven week run up to the games.

Incidentally, it's also legal to own and shot guns here if you have a licence, but anyone can walk into a firearms shop and browse the cold hard steel and highly polished wooden butts. I’ve done that. There’s something quite intoxicating about the smell of gun metal. And I’m a girl.

Boys will be boys.

Leave them alone and focus on something important. Like that Milat kid killing his friend and getting 43 years…you practically skipped over that nugget.

Oh yes, and what about the participants of the Shooting events at the games in 2012. Air rifle, rifle and pistol, I'm pretty sure they'll be posing with guns at some point in the next few weeks.

Snug

No one would ever accuse me of being a domestic goddess.

I’m the first to admit I have better things to do than dust, sort, clean and wash.  Like sitting on the sofa doing crochet or reading a good book.  Things I actually enjoy.

Every now and then though I get the urge to clean, sort and wash.  I like to throw open the windows, crank up the tunes and get stuck into it. On Friday when I left work, it was chilly but clear skies.  I was revved up for a weekend chucking stuff out, filling the house with fresh air and finally being able to see the top of my desk.

But conditions needed to be right.

Rain of any sort kills the urge, dead.  Torrential rain just makes me want to hibernate like a bear, tucked into my warm, dry pit.  Eating beans from a tin while wearing baggy tracksuit bottoms and wearing Uggs.  Only going outside to get more wood for the fire.

I have been eating things other than beans, but the clothing of choice has involved sheepskin boots and I have been tucked up on the sofa.  The cats have been happy with this arrangement also.

If I didn’t have to get up and go photograph an event tonight I think I would stay in bed.  It’s warm here.  It’s dry here and I can listen to the sound of the falling rain in the comfort of knowing it isn’t going to get me.

Flower in my garden with fly and raindrops

The rapid pitter patter that ebbs and flows.  The tin roof amplifying the sound of every droplet that lands on it.  Watching the sky’s teardrops chase each other down the window to the ground. 

I like these things from the inside when tucked up snug as a bug in a toasty cocoon.

Golf plated printers

I have a bit of an issue with a business changing you an unreasonable amount of money.

I know this seems like a redundant statement but please let me explain.

As you may be aware my dog Cara has been missing for a while (since April 1st). This has meant that I have been doing an inordinate amount of colour copying and printing. This has forced me to shop around for a supplier with rates that please the budget and produce a product that pleases the eye.

I always used to be a fan on Kwik Kopy. When I was the editor of the Alpaca Hmmm… I used them for all my printing needs, I even took business to them from companies I was working for when they were anything but close. But these days I will NOT use them. Here’s why.

They print things and charge a rate that is somewhat premium conpared to some other printing houses. They have to receive files in a format, be it a MSWord or .pdf, whatever, in order to print the job. Am I correct in making this assumption about what they do? If they don’t receive a file, be it by email or USB stick thingy, they are UNABLE to do the job.

Why then, do they feel it appropriate to charge a fee to open a file? $10 for a word file and $5 for a .pdf. These charges are before you even have anything on paper. How long does it take to open a file?

It confuses me.

Would you pay a non-refundable $5 or $10 fee to use a basket in a supermarket?
Would a petrol station get away with a surcharge to get the fuel out of the hole in the ground to the car tank?
Would a café survive long if the started charging a ‘washing up’ fee?

These things are built into the price of the service being provided. So why oh why, does this printing place think it’s OK to charge you extra for something they have to do in order to serve you.

I’d really appreciate your thoughts on this one.

Would you pay the extra fee or go somewhere that doesn’t charge to open the file?

A Purpose

I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to be doing something meaningful with my life.

Writing plans and communicating with people who are essentially not interested in my message has taken its toll. I’m completely disillusioned with what I do. Change management is still relatively new to the corporate world and it’s still the first thing to when a project runs into financial difficulty. As a contractor, this instability is doing my head in. Plus, the role I’m doing at the moment is leaving me cold.

Yesterday, I went to Renbury Farm to take pictures of the pussy cats and other creatures that have been taken there either but their owners who don’t want them anymore or have been found and impounded until reclaimed or rehomed.

There are many deserving furbabies there, as there always is, but when I came to take a few pictures of doggies, I broke down in tears when one surrendered boy, medium sized, white and champagne coloured, looked up at me, but would not get eye contact. I looked at his sheet. Good with children, no barking, no fence jumping, toilet trained and good on a lead. The reason he was there. ‘We have no time to spend with him’. He was wedged in the corner of his pen, shaking and confused why he was there.

I cried all the way home. I tear up as I write just thinking about him. I want to call them and say I’ll pick him up next week, but it’s in no practical. I just want to help.
I find myself thinking about roles I can do in Not for Profit organisations that will help. Help anyone or anything.

Maybe this is why I’m leaning towards the celebrant work so much, after all it a form of help. Helping happy couple make their dream wedding happen. Helping grieving family lay their loved one to rest.

I need to win the lottery so I can quit work and volunteer part-time. Anyone know the numbers?

I'll be there

In this day and age of instant gratification is it too much to ask that when someone says, ‘I’ll be there’ that you expect them to show up? Of course, these words may be spoken or typed a couple of weeks in advance, therefore delaying the ultimate happiness that will ensue.

I ask this because I have noticed a high instance of behaviour that I do not quiet understand, because I cannot engage in it.

Years ago, I offered to babysit for my sister’s kidlets. This was a big commitment then as I live three buses, two train trips and twenty minutes of walking, away from her. It was in the days before I had my drivers licence. I remember her saying to me, ‘I know I can rely on you, you always do what you say you will.’ She’d been let down by local babysitters before.

Her saying that has stuck with me and to this day, if something is in my diary I will do it. I have to be really ill before I’ll pull out of something. I don’t want to share germ or myself worse. I also don’t want to cause the feeling of disappointment I have often felt.

Last night for instance. There was nothing wrong with me that an early night wouldn’t fix, but I really didn’t want to go to a theatre showing I had committed too. I did go, I ended up really enjoying myself and didn’t get to bed until midnight. Why, though should the other person pay for my lack of planning skills?

‘Cause really, that’s what it comes down to, lack of planning.

I overcommitted myself this week. I have been out every night but Tuesday. I’m out again tonight as well. I can sleep in tomorrow.

Others however, have no compunction about calling to say, ‘sorry, my couch looks really good and Masterchef is on tonight’ or worse, ‘I’ve got a better offer’. Of course, these words are never actually used, but they are the core of it.

So when I say, ‘I’ll be there’, I really mean it. I won’t let you down unless I’m dying.