Early one morning, I decided to capture the morning dew in the green belt, but before I even left the yard, this handsome chap was posing for me. If you notice, he seems to tilt his head ever so slightly and wait for me. I was able to take several shots before he left; he was a very patient subject.  I have noticed that because I get so excited when I find an interesting photographic subjects, the boys are beginning to get excited too. “Wow, this one is beaOOOtiful!”  I will hear them remark. Beautiful indeed.

Notice the collar around his neck that appears almost studded by tiny gold dots, the transparency of his wings, the beautiful golden color of his antennae.  Here he is clinging to a post about 4′ high; how did he hop up so very high? How does such a fragile little creature survive in the world?  It is one blessing of being vegan; I no longer find other earthlings to be invisible. I appreciate them, and recognize what their life must be like, their struggle for existence, their importance to me and to the future.  A casual glance, and the green belt is quiet and still.  But a more careful look, and it is alive with birds, bugs, frogs, lizards, squirrels, snakes, geckos, cicadas, wasps. I can only imagine how alive it must have been before these homes were built. I hope there will be enough life left in the green belt for future generations of these magnificent animals to remain here.

After several recent articles hit me in the face (ouch!), I realized that I am in danger of becoming a speciesist.  First let me explain about the articles.  I read on the VeganViews forum (Friends of Animals) that some creative person thought it humorous to develop a stuffed animal that is roadkill.  They have taken a stuffed animal, put tire tracks on its back, and have stuffed blood and guts coming out of it.  The “toy” sells for $40.  If there has been a recent sign that humans are detached from reality, that is it.

At least that only encouraged suffering by encouraging a detachment from the reality of animal lives.  But then I heard about a new process of frying fish and keeping them alive while serving them to be eaten (see above video, but beware, it is HORRIBLE).  You have to be pretty far gone to “enjoy” eating something that is still alive and has been suffering mightily.

Then Sarah Palin’s book, Going Rogue, came out. The former governor said that people outside Alaska should know that there is plenty of room for Alaska’s animals – right next to her mashed potatoes.  And if God didn’t want us to eat animals, he would not have made them out of meat — I guess Ms. Palin is suggesting cannibalism, too. And she calls herself prolife! Really???

And, there are now classes where you can kill and cut up your own once-alive animal in a cooking class (or butchering class, or just plain killing class). Getting your hands in all that blood and gore really seems to whet some people’s appetite.  Ten humans standing around killing an innocent pig or lamb – that will make a man out of you!

The same week, I heard on Coexisting with Nonhuman Animals about the horrors of Live Transport, a new venture being considered in New Zealand, wherein sheep would be trekked across the globe to Saudi Arabia, so that some tender-hearted Saudis can slaughter them at their leisure – if they survive transport.  I imagine the humane slaughter laws are avidly enforced in Saudi Arabia, since animals are slaughtered on the roads and in backyards. (Oh wait, that happens here in Texas, too. It is called a religious ceremony.)

I am giving up on human beings. I fear I will become a speciesist and begin to loathe my own species as the most callous, brutal, cruel and plain old evil beings imaginable.  Not only do we torment one another, enslave children, destroy women, kill men off in wars, genocide, and by starvation, we destroy the earth and habitat for most other living beings. We find all kinds of devious ways of trapping animals. We skin them alive. We step on them in crush films. We pen them in tiny spaces and cut them without anesthetic, without mercy. When I started learning about what was going on with animals, I thought it was a minority of humans, that if the truth got out, surely it would stop. Does anyone care? Sometimes I wish I could wash the “human” right off of me.

Please help. I fear becoming an anti-human speciesist. If it weren’t for the vegans, it would be too much to bear.

When we got to the beautiful gardens, it was only misting, but I received a call that the professor had decided to cancel the class – great timing, after being on the road for almost an hour! So we decided to go ahead and shoot our photos and call it a day – and a field trip. The lovely wet weather was perfect for photography; I took many misty photos with clean, green foliage. I even found a spot where I could place my camera on a post and get a slow shutter speed effect to allow lots of light and motion into the shot. I shot waterfalls, Japanese architecture, flowers, fountains. We has plastic bags over our cameras to protect them, and it did keep raining pretty hard intermittently, but I was glad to get the assignment behind me and get back home – I had articles to write.

On the way back, my very kind fellow student wanted to stop for lunch. I knew then that my cover would be lost – I would have to tell her I was vegan. I told her, among other things, that I was not particular and could find something to eat most anywhere. Her comment was thus: “On no, you aren’t particular, you just have the entire kitchen working to make you something to eat.”  That was in response to a recent situation I shared, when my son invited me to go to lunch with him at On the Border, a Mexican restaurant that had nothing on the menu that was animal-free. I asked to speak with the restaurant manager and gave him my business card, explaining that I write for a dot com and would like to review his restaurant from a vegan perspective. He was lovely and brought out some food that probably required little effort and was most appreciated by this vegan: shredded lettuce, tomatoes, avocado in tortillas with lime cilantro rice and delicious black beans. The manager/owner seemed to appreciate the challenge and I certainly appreciated being able to eat.   It seemed like a win-win and allowed me to let this restaurateur know that we vegans exist and to let vegans in the area know they will be accommodated at this restaurant. Let me set this up: this is cattle country, this is the area of barbecue and steak. I once went to a luncheon where there was not a single item I could eat. But there are over 400 vegans in the local DFW vegan meetup, so we vegans exist. And our numbers are growing. Still, the attitude in the comment seemed a bit hostile, but I let it go. This was a very nice woman; she had even brought a bottle of water along for me, in case I got thirsty.

Throughout the entire lunch, there were comments about meat. She would not eat a bison burger but her family member would – she could not bear to think about the dead bison. (I guess cows, pigs, chickens have no nerve endings and do not feel.) She told me that she doesn’t think chickens are very smart as if that made it okay to harm them. I interjected that it wasn’t about how smart they were but if they could feel. Right over that comment she went into a dialogue about meat again while I tried to change the subject. It was hard to face my vegetarian vegetable soup and my whole grain cracker,  with images of slaughterhouses running through my mind.  I said that I became vegan when I found out what happens to animals and my bet was that most people would become vegan if they knew the truth.  She said she could appreciate someone standing up for what they believe just so they don’t try to change her. Time to change the subject again: How about that rain? Imagine that guy canceling on us? And two of the students had taken off work to attend. Bet were they mad! What on earth was going through her mind that forced her to discuss meat, a topic I obviously find abhorrent?  Defensiveness, amusement at my oddity? Trying to figure it all out? I was perplexed.

When I returned home, I was left feeling relieved but a bit discouraged. I realize that there is no way for someone to know what I now know, not instantly anyway.  Everyone has to find their own answers in their own time.  Learning to walk the fine line between being obnoxious and encouraging someone to think outside their large enclosed box is challenging.  There were political comments and religious comments that made me wince – I did not line up in any way.  Still, I could tell she was trying, and for a Texan, she was moderate.  At least she did not try exorcising my demons or any of that, and she did not offer to pray for me, as others have done in the past.  She seemed like a good person. But I felt like I was unprepared, like there was something I could have said or done that would have given her more information or made a bigger impact. She did offer to call me again to go photoshooting; maybe getting to know a real vegan would make the biggest impact of all, as long as that vegan is not too over the top. Where is the line? It left me thinking…

A few days later, I was invited to go out again with the same fellow student. This time the weather was perfect, and I got shots of two turtles, bees, butterflies, dragonflies, flowers, trees, brooks – a great photoshoot.  It was a wonderful break from nose-to-the-computer-grindstone that comprises most of my time these days.  When she offered to take me to lunch, her treat, I told her to select wherever she wanted; I can always find something to eat.  But instead, she went out of her way to suggest a soup and salad bar where she knew I would be accommodated (SouperSalad).  It was a far better experience than my first meal and such a gracious gesture – and not a word about meat or my weird eating habits.  Given how few vegans are in this part of Texas, I can imagine how shocking my stance must have seemed.  But my colleague had time to reflect and I was touched by her graciousness. This time, I returned home, feeling slightly elated and very affirmed.  I didn’t feel like an outcast or an oddity; I felt accepted and appreciated. At times, it really pays to take a deep breath and let the chips fall where they may.  Beyond the veganism, we even found a few things we shared.  It was a lesson for me in patience, towards myself as well as others. I hope her attitude towards vegans has changed as positively as my attitude towards omnivores and Texans!

After contacting two animal rights organizations (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals and Friends of Animals) that were embroiled in a lawsuit over a primate sanctuary, I was confused by the conflicting information I received from both organizations.  I had been seeking a group that supported veganism rather than vegetarianism; that supported an abolitionist approach rather than pursuing the long-failed single-issue welfare track; and that was using their funding to help actual living animals rather than just espousing theories, controlling them, or worse yet, killing them.  After several headlines in the animal newsfeed I read, I became interested in the plight of sanctuaries and decided to make it my mission to visit as many as I could in the Texas region where I live. When I was invited to visit Primarily Primates, I could hardly refuse. The timing was a bit intense, coming exactly one week after my visit to Serenity Springs farm animal sanctuary in Forestburg, Texas.  Despite some misgivings about spending the time and energy to travel to this second sanctuary, I made my travel plans anyway. It meant getting up in the wee hours of the morning to arrive on time, but I am very glad I did. The day before I arrived, the lawsuit between the two animal rights organizations had been settled and the sanctuary was secure. Friends of Animals is the parent organization for the sanctuary, Primarily Primates; I would have a chance to see for myself what kind of condition it was in.

There was a nice straight road leading out of San Antonio into the hill country towards the sanctuary.  I had imagined it far from any signs of life and was prepared to be on a deserted road, but that turned out to be erroneous thinking on my part.  Sadly, the press of human population growth has moved ever closer to the sanctuary.  While it is still in the hills far from the city, I could see the housing tracts moving slowly closer to the hill country.  When I was leaving, I saw a doe walking about in the yard of a home as I descended the hills, looking so out of place as she foraged for an existence here among the homeowners.  We take their habitat and then consider them pests – hardly fair.

When I pulled into the sanctuary, I was surprised at all the cars parked along the dirt road.  I had not realized how many animals lived at PPI (about 450), nor how many caretakers, and even a veterinarian would be onsite working.  The day I arrived, a group of Boy Scouts was busy building some climbing and shelter structures, replacing the basic existing ones for a luxury model. These Scouts were very much appreciated by the staff; the sense of community was wonderful to witness as the boys and their leader invested in this beautiful place. The sanctuary is private, which affords the animals some serenity, so my visit was a bit disruptive for them.  To soften the intrusion, I was allowed to bring a large bunch of grapes to share.  A small group of us wandered through the acreage, Stephen Tello, the Executive Director of PPI; Priscilla Feral, President of Friends of Animals; Kaz Sephton (President) and Jack Olmer of the San Antonio Vegetarian Society. I was fortunate to also meet the sanctuary veterinarian and primate specialist, Dr. Valerie Kirk, before we started off from the sanctuary office. The grounds are very green and forested, with most of the large housing structures grass-bottomed, keeping as close to natural habitat as possible. Here were over four hundred animals that one organization was helping to save from death or worse.  The enormity of the task of feeding and caring for so many animals suddenly struck me; no wonder there were more than a dozen cars parked out front, permanent staff to maintain the grounds, care for the animals, and support the sanctuary. It is a seven-days-per-week activity.

The sanctuary is 78 acres of rolling green with mostly shady areas. The housing areas are not  simple cubes, but structures several stories high which allow for climbing and swinging.  Some have large cargo nets, swings, and tubular climbing devices. Most have connecting upper-story tunnels that go from one housing structure to the other, giving the primates more territory to explore. Some even have rooms with air conditioning where they can crawl out of the hot Texas sun.  Although it was a warm August day,  I was surprised at the temperature – with all the trees, it was much more comfortable than I had expected. Despite the comfort, I did feel a bit guilty to be able to walk about freely when they were confined, but I knew their confinement was for their own protection. They appeared active and healthy and seemed to enjoy the small group of people walking through their home. We were both diversion and entertainment.

The first primates I met were a couple of gibbons.  I was standing back several feet from the edge of the housing, but one recognized a rookie when he saw one and grabbed me by the hair – hard! I was surprised by the telescopic abilities of those arms, but the strength of their tails surpasses it, I was told. Once he let go of my hair, he grabbed me by the arm.  While I appreciate direct communication, I couldn’t tarry, because there were 78 acres to see and I had to move on.  I wanted to get to know them as much as they wanted to check me out; those two did grab my attention — literally. I left some grapes in a feeding tray before I moved on.

The chimps have so many stories – some were “pets” whose owners grew tired of them, some were used in labs, some were removed from unusual circumstances, like the one removed from a drug dealer. Like humans, these primates also show signs of neurotic, repetitive behavior when their formative years are traumatic.  The sensitive methods for rehabilitating the animals when they are new to the sanctuary provides a segue to their new life and aids in their adjustment.  Stephen, the man in charge of their care, knew all of their stories and habits.  Like the father of a large and somewhat dysfunctional family, he was aware of the troubled primates and seemed empathic towards them all. The teen chimps made a lot of noise, banging against the bars and demonstrating their importance – like teens everywhere, trying to establish a sense of themselves during their identity-formation stage of development. All male animals that can reproduce are given vasectomies so that reproduction is not possible; the goal is to provide sanctuary, not to increase the number of confined animals.  There is a huge aviary, so large that birds can fly within it – it requires daily checks to keep out racoons and snakes.  There are macacques, lemurs, lions, wild cats and a couple of animals that looked like members of the macropod family. I was able to feed a macacque, something I was told was unusual. My knowledge of these beautiful animals is minimal, so I paid attention to all admonitions — especially after the hair-pulling incident. (One group of chimps had a couple of know feces-flingers – I stood way back. I didn’t want to provide too much entertainment!)

The lemurs are sociable and so gentle. When feeding them grapes, many would gingerly take a grape out of my hand with their soft, dark little fingers.  Others wanted me to put the grape directly into their mouth. They looked right at me with those big, beautiful golden eyes and oh so tenderly would hold out their hands.  Their noises were reminiscent of a small kitten, correspondingly  soft, pleasant noises. But watch them climb – what strength and speed! In some housing areas, it was important to feed the dominant animal first, so the others would get a chance for  their own grapes.  Heirarchy, just like at work! I felt right at home.  The beautiful spider monkeys will grab your heart – Their ability to transport through branches, swing, and climb is inspiring.  So much spirit!

Not only has PPI rescued dozens of animals, they have also saved many humans from the consequences of their own poor choices. Whatever leads people to be enchanted with the idea of exotic pets, the end result is almost always disastrous for all concerned. (A recent news article highlighted how one family pet became an attacker, something that can happen when the animals are not understood). One of the chimps was self-mutilating before being brought to the sanctuary, when his human started leaving him home alone for long periods of time. The damage resulted in circles of red, raw flesh. Some have been raised solely with fast food and would not even eat bananas or other healthy food; it took a good deal of patience to introduce them to sanctuary life. All animals are originally rehabilitated and monitored before being put into habitats.  Compatible groups live in some of the larger enclosures, mimicking what takes place in the wild.  Of course, all of the animals are non-native and due to the diverse backgrounds from which they come, it is challenging to help them adapt to their new home and fellow primates.  Phoebe, I was told,  was getting ready to move into a habitat with Logan and Harley, so they could all adjust together. Imagine knowing over 400 names, stories, and personalities! The serene appearance belies the thoughtful and somewhat complex methods behind each animal’s adjustment period, allowing them to be on equal footing, to keep the sanctuary a haven rather than a horror.

Jordan was the last lemur I met before I headed back to the airport; he let me scratch his back and put grapes right in his mouth. It is amazing that these animals would ever trust a human being after what so many have been through. I began thinking about the tremendous financial commitment to these animals. With chimps living into their fifties and some of the other primates into their thirties, this a a long-term commitment to hundreds of animals, many of whom are traumatized and have suffered physical and psychological damage. They are dependent on humans because we have used them in sad and sadistic ways, and neglected them as individual feeling beings. This sanctuary, like most of the sanctuaries I am learning about, have to fight for their very existence by remaining ever vigilant, fiscally responsible, and watchful against all threats to the preservation of a peaceful place for these animals. What a shame that hundreds of thousands of dollars had to be diverted into a legal defense rather than towards improving the sanctuary. Whatever shape the sanctuary was in over the past several years, it is a beautiful place now.  Of course, ideally the animals would be living in their native land in natural habitat; sanctuaries would be unnecessary.  Meanwhile, with all the billions of animals that suffer and are slaughtered, vivisected, used for entertainment, neglected and abused, it is helpful to know that dozens of compassionate people are working to maintain a place for these few hundred animals to survive and flourish.  I am all for that.

To see what is going on at PPI these days, check out the stories and many videos below:

Primarily Primates website

Primarily Primates videos

]]> http://veganacious.com/2009/09/12/primarily-primates/feed/ 2 http://veganacious.com/2009/09/08/mowing-on-the-green-belt/ http://veganacious.com/2009/09/08/mowing-on-the-green-belt/#comments Tue, 08 Sep 2009 09:50:03 +0000 veganacious http://veganacious.com/?p=2969

Lawn mowing can be a pretty obnoxious enterprise.  First, there is the noise of most lawnmowers, the fumes from gasoline, the violent spinning of the cutting instrument. I eradicated the first two when I started using my Neuton lawnmower ; I absolutely love it and enjoy mowing now, relieved that I am not adding greatly to noise and air pollution.  It gets pretty toasty here in northern Texas in the summertime, so I decided to try early morning mowing inorder to beat the heat; with my mower, I didn’t have to be too concerned about disturbing the neighbors – or so I thought.  I was wrong.

I listen to podcasts while I mow, so put on the iPod and started towards the street.  To my amazement, there was a small lizard clear down by the curb near the street, streaking quickly through the grass. It was early enough, around 8:00 AM, that there was still moisture on the grass; I imagined he was looking for water and possibly bugs. Still, it startled me to find him so near the road.  I am fortunate to live on a small greenbelt and thought that the greenbelt area is where the critters would survive.  I had no desire to eviscerate this small neighbor, so I turned off the mower and headed towards the side yard in the front of the property.

More neighbors

I turned on the mower and began gently guiding it through the quickly growing green.  I cut a couple of paths and began going back and forth, diminishing the height of the grass as I cut through the yielding blades. When I started getting near the bricks of the house, I was startled again to see a very tiny, very beautiful small frog, gently hopping to get away from my violent instrument of destruction.  I am glad I saw him because he was probably not trucking at a high enough velocity to avoid my whirling blades.  That did it!  I turned off the mower and put it back in the garage.  I do leave some high grass near the edge of the house for the little ones that live around me: the precious little geckos, lizards, frogs, snakes.  But I had no idea that my lawn, regularly trimmed, was home to so many tiny creatures, even at the perimeters.  In the morning, this is their world, and I had just violated it.

Now I mow in the evening.  I walk around and pick up anything that might need to be tossed away before I bring out the mower.  I hope that my tramping about gives fair warning to the critters that I am coming to cut down their cover and they had better get scooting while they can. Honestly, I have never seen any of them in the early evening hours. The very early morning usually sends squirrels and a variety or birds searching in the back near the green belt and the creek that runs through it. I have always enjoyed seeing signs of their life.  Recently two squirrels were busy scavenging in my yard; one scurried off at sight of me, urging his buddy to come on. But the other one just stopped, as did I, and looked at me, both of us in awe at sight of The Other on our shared space.  Last summer I planted canteloupes on a very small space of very poor soil.  The melons that grew were always gnawed before I could pick them.  I am continually amazed anything can live in the unhospitable climate here: always too hot or too cold, lots of violent storms and rain.  Three trees in three years have been killed by lightning; I hope they know how to stay out of harm’s way.  But given that I can make a run to the market, they are welcome to the occasional tomato or pepper that I grow.  It is their property, really. Their families have been here much, much longer than I have.

Last winter, during a pleasant spring day, I opened my garage door and let the boys play with an old basketball in the driveway.  The older of the two suddenly yelled that he had seen a long tail suddenly flip into the corner of the garage.  I saw nothing, but investigated.  There was a very large snake, about 4′ or 5′ long, curled up in the corner behind some boxes that I was going to send to the local Mission.  I am not someone who hates snakes.  Good thing, because when my youngest was small (we lived on the Russian River then) he once brought a snake home and let it loose in the house. I was in the bathroom when this visitor crawled under the door and across my feet.  One learns to take things in stride with sons that like snakes and frogs, especially when they like to introduce you to their friends. We always had a rule that they could have visitors but not prisoners, so the critters would have to be returned to their rightful place.  This situation was different – the snake chose the garage.  When the boys finished playing, the snake was still nestled in the corner and it had started raining, so I let him be. I was hoping he would leave at the next opportunity — but he had other ideas.

My son did not want his boys to get hurt by the snake and thought the snake should be encouraged to go home.  It  was raining a quite a bit by then and I wondered where the snake normally lived, and what it ate, and why it had travelled so far from the greenbelt, through all the trimmed grass, clear up to the front of the property, and into the garage. I figured he had good reason for being there but had no idea what that reason was.  If it wasn’t for the sharp eyes of Nicholas, I would never have known he was there.  My son tried to get the snake in a box but that snake wanted to stay right where he was in that corner.  He seemed determined to stay.  I had no way to know what he was leaving behind or what he was trying to accomplish but felt the safest thing for him and the boys was to assist my son in getting him back to the greenbelt area.  It was not an easy task. Between the two of us, we got him into a cardboard box, shut the top, and carried it to the greenbelt.  The snake finally slithered away from the box and lived his life in his own way, on his own terms. I was sorry to see him go, but relieved that he had not been injured, nor had my son. It was a reminder, though, that I am an invader on this bit of land.

A few weeks ago, I kept hearing a very loud, very rhythmic sound reminiscent of a large fan of gigantic proportions.  I looked around the neighborhood but saw nothing.  In the greenbelt, it seemed like someone set up some kind of wind structure, it was so loud.  It also sounded vaguely like we were living in a swamp.  I finally asked my son and he said it was the cicadas.  Being a relative newcomer to Texas, I had no idea that little creatures could make such sounds and make them so harmoniously.  They are quieter now, but there was a time this summer that their presence was quite profound.  It is part of learning to love the south; I even have a magnolia tree. Quite a change from the palm trees I once saw outside my window when I lived by the beach. I love palms, in all their many varieties, and I do miss the blue Pacific.  But with such fine neighbors as those I have now, I also love Texas.  My new neighbors are keeping me busy checking online to see what they are, who they are, and what their behavior means.  They are good neighbors; I hope I am, too.