If you are lucky enough to find yourself in Deer Trail, Colorado this Sunday, stop by Peaceful Prairie Sanctuary for a Vegan Valentine’s Day Brunch. In a delightful re-imagining of an otherwise blasé day, filled with tired gender roles and patriarchal mores, the Peaceful Prairie celebration will include a commemoration of animal love – that shared by chickens Libby and Louie – told over a plate of cruelty-free waffles, quiche, tofu scramble, fruit and coffee cake, of course!

A lame, silent hen and a handsome, fire-red rooster, respectively, these rescued birds have sought solace in one another’s presence – and one another’s presence alone – for the past five years and counting. If anything, their story serves as a gentle reminder that human animals do not have a monopoly on love – nor on kindness, compassion, selflessness, sacrifice, devotion, and family.

In Libby and Louie, A Love Story, Joanna Lucas writes of a love so pure and so true, undying and never-ending, such that any human would count herself lucky to be caught in its bonds.

And there they were. Just the two of them in the world. A monogamous couple in a species where monogamy is the exception. Determined to stay together even though their union created more problems than it solved, increased their burdens more than it eased them, and thwarted their instincts more than it fulfilled them.

It would have been easier and more “natural” for Louie to be in charge of a group of hens, like all the other roosters, but he ignored everyone except Libby. He paid no attention to the fluffy gray hen, the fiery blonde hen, the dreamy red hen, the sweet black hen dawdling in her downy pantaloons, or any of the 100 snow-white hens who, to our dim perceptions, looked exactly like Libby. Louie, the most resplendently bedecked and befeathered rooster of the sanctuary, remained devoted only to Libby – scrawny body, scraggly feathers, missing foot, hobbled gait and all. It’s true that, with our dull senses, we couldn’t grasp a fraction of what he saw in her because we can’t see, smell, hear, touch, taste, sense a scintilla of the sights, scents, sounds, textures, and tastes he does. But, even if we could see Libby in all her glory, it would still be clear that it wasn’t her physical attributes that enraptured Louie. If he sought her as his one and only companion, if he protected that union from all intrusions, it wasn’t because of her physique but because of her presence.

It would have been easier for Libby too – so vulnerable in her stunted, lame body – to join an existing chicken family and enjoy the added comfort, cover and protection of a larger group, but she never did. She stayed with Louie, and followed him on his daily treks in the open fields, limping and gimping behind him, exhausting herself only to be near him.

What bonded them was not about practical necessities or instinctual urges – if anything, it thwarted both. Their union was about something else, a rich inner abundance that seemed to flourish in each other’s presence, and that Libby nurtured in her silence and that Louie voiced, sang out loud, celebrated, noted, catalogued, documented, expressed, praised every day of their 1,800 days together.

Should we all – humans and nonhumans alike – be so blessed.

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Blog for Choice Day 2010:
Trusting Women, Honoring Dr. Tiller

I wrote the bulk of this post last June, in the days and weeks following the murder of Dr. George Tiller. Initially – and still – intended as part of a series called “Killing in the Name of,” this piece attempts to reconcile my pro-choice and vegan beliefs, which as it turns out, isn’t a difficult task at all. Harder still is defending some of the “terrorist” tactics employed by the animal rights movement while condemning similar tactics when used in service a “pro-life” agenda. It’s an emotional and confusing endeavor, and one I’m still working on. If ever I do figure it all out, I’ll post Part 2 of this series.

In the meantime, I’d like to share my thoughts “On being a pro-choice vegan” as part of today’s Blog for Choice Day (5th annual, bitches!). It doesn’t exactly fit with this year’s theme, but seeing as “Trusting Women” was chosen in honor of Dr. Tiller, I think it’s appropriate anyhow. If you disagree, hop on over to Animal Rights & Anti-Oppression; my post there follows the assignment to a “t” (“v”?).

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“Killing in the Name of”: Introduction

My apologies for the brief blogular absence. I’ve got a ton of posts lined up in the queue, but my attention has turned elsewhere – from animal rights to reproductive rights (which aren’t completely unrelated) – since the murder of Dr. George Tiller on Sunday.

News of Dr. Tiller’s death came like a kick in the gut. The last time an abortion doctor was murdered was in 1998; I was only 20 at the time, and somewhat apolitical. Even though Dr. Barnett Slepian’s murder occurred not far from my hometown, I really can’t recall what I felt – if anything – at the news. But now – now I know better. Dr. Tiller’s murder, far from an isolated crime committed against a single individual, was intended to terrorize abortion providers and reproductive health clinics all over the United States. Doctors and clinics that provide vital health care, primarily to women. Scared women, marginalized women, women in need, women with nowhere else to go. To this end, it was an atrocity perpetrated against women everywhere, women who want nothing more than control over their own lives – and bodies. Women who simply want to be regarded and treated as fully human.

Dr. Tiller was one of a handful of doctors who perform abortions in the later term of pregnancy (whereas “late term” defies definition, and may mean anything from 3 to 6 months on). He saved countless women’s lives, even in the face of unrelenting threats and danger, including an assassination attempt and the bombing of his clinic. Dr. Tiller was a hero – a hero who became a martyr. It’s difficult to describe, but Dr. Tiller’s murder – and all the anti-choice rhetoric that’s littered the media since – well, it’s hit me. Hard. It feels like women are under siege, our very bodily sovereignty up for grabs.* We’re so, so much worse off without him.

Of course, our collective loss pales in comparison to the loss suffered by his family, which includes his wife, 4 children and 10 grandchildren. My heart bleeds for them.

Naturally, many on the left have labeled this an act of domestic terrorism, and criticized the media and government for not doing so. They also point to the extreme right wing rhetoric that inflamed passions against abortion providers, implicating it in the murder. Scott Roeder may have pulled the trigger, the reasoning goes, but pundits and anti-abortion crusaders put the gun in his hand.

All of which has brought to the fore related issues with which I’ve been grappling for quite some time, particularly those involving parallels between the animal rights and anti-choice movements. For example, while animal rights “terrorists” have never killed a human, they do engage in campaigns of harassment and intimidation against individuals involved in animal exploitation – campaigns that are uncomfortably similar to the forms of “protest” carried out by “pro-lifers” against abortion providers. While animal rights activists are deemed the #1 domestic terrorist threat, anti-abortion groups (not-so-)curiously slip under the radar. And yet, is the answer to label them “terrorists” – or to rethink the very definition of “terrorism”?

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Since I’m a grumpy, grinchy atheist, the husband (also an atheist, though not as grumpy and grinchy as yours truly) and I celebrate as different kind of winter holiday. Based on the teachings of her Noodleleyness, FSMas is all about pasta and pirates. Which goes a long way towards explaining the cards below.

We’ve been sending out custom holiday cards 2002. For the first few years, we included every animal companion in the photo; easy when you’ve one cat and one dog, right? Once we added Peedee to the family, Ozzy got bumped from the card; and, with the adoption of Kaylee and Jayne, group shots became an impossibility. So we’ve been rotating ever since. (So sad!)

While every dog-kid got his or her due in 2009, Ralphie & Rennie took center stage: they were our cover-doggies, complete with a fierce “Booty & The Beast” theme. I’ll let y’all figure out who is supposed to be “Booty” and who is “The Beast.”

Ignore the glaring age disparity, mkay? Normally I don’t like pairing a young little lassie with a much older gent – seeing as how it’s a reflection of our sexist societal norms – but there’s, like, zero chemistry between the two oldest dogs, Kaylee and Ralphie. Seriously, I could not get the two to sit next to one another for more than 30 seconds at a time. And yes, I might have bucked the hetero trend with a same-sex pairing, but I thought that might have come off as homophobic and/or mockingly emasculating, given the theme. (Yes, holidays are political for me; what of it?)

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Because Thanksgiving just isn’t complete without a side of misogyny to go with all that speciesism! Complementary flavors and all that jazz.

The photo, in case you can’t view it, is of a turkey corpse – excuse me, a “roast” – de-feathered, beheaded, cleaned and cooked. The skin is dark brown in color – save for two sections of “white” skin in the shape of a string bikini. The bird’s wings have been stretched back, grotesquely far, and pinned to “rest” behind her neck. Or her neck stump, rather. She’s not dead, just chillaxing, lounging, catching some rays, working on her tan. (A task which can prove difficult in the dead of November; would that we all had a cozy lil’ oven for a sun lamp!) After all, a lady wants to look good on her big day!

I keep using the pronoun “she” because these feminine trappings clearly convey the message that this turkey is a she, not a he. [Hey now, your manly man of a husband would never eat a dude(ly turkey), am I right now? That's just gay. (And I use the slur with more than an ounce of sarcasm, just so we're clear.)] Women, after all, are the consumable objects, the sex class, the pieces of property. Men are the consumers, the johns, the property owners. In a kyriarchy/patriarchy, could it be any other way?

The photo, by the by, is via delish.com,* which considers the “Suntanned Turkey” one of nine “Over-the-Top Thanksgiving Turkeys.” (Incidentally, #4 is a “Lifelike Vegetarian Turkey” from Whole Foods. The cruelty-free feast comes after the “Turducken” and before the “Barbecue Whole Turkey.” Those crazy, tree-hugging, animal-loving, health nut pacifists/terrorists, what will they think of next?!)

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“You know, there are certain days that remind me of why I ran for this office,” President Obama declared while standing outside the White House on Wednesday morning. “And then there are moments like this — where I pardon a turkey and send it to Disneyland.”

At this year’s official Turkey Pardon, President Obama mixed jokes in with a serious message about giving thanks for our blessings. With Sasha and Malia at his side, he noted how delicious the turkey looked (at 40-plus pounds, the North Carolina-raised bird named Courage did look pretty juicy). Obama claimed he wanted to eat the turkey, but Sasha and Malia prevailed upon him to pardon it, sparing it “a terrible and delicious fate.” Courage will now head to Disneyland for their Thanksgiving Day parade.

(The entire transcript is available at the Huffington Post.)

Aside from all the God-talk and flippant remarks about the mouth-watering handsomeness of a living being, what most annoys me about Obama’s speech – and this is by no means unique to Obama; all presidents, at least in recent memory, engage in some variation of this speciesist bullshit – is how frivolous and trivial this routine appears to be to him. As if he’s simply above it all.

But to Courage, this idiotic ritual is anything but frivolous and trivial; rather, it is literally a matter of life and death. The annual Presidential Turkey Pardoning is all that stands between him and torture, slaughter, dismemberment and consumption. While Obama mocks a turkey for his captor’s frivolity, 45 million of his kin are being “dressed” for Thanksgiving celebrations. Most, if not all, of Courage’s family – his mother, father, sisters, brothers, aunts and uncles – are no doubt already dead.

And yet, President Obama has the audacity to say that,

[W]e are, as ever, a people of endless compassion, boundless ingenuity, limitless strength.

Endless compassion? Bah. Try that line on tomorrow’s corpse. Tell it to Courage, for whom there’s no escape. (We inflicted our cruelty – excuse me, our “compassion” – onto him at a genetic level, so that his body will be crippled under its own weight in just a few short months. President Obama, your quip about “performance enhancing drugs”? Not funny.)

Happy fucking Thanksgiving.

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It was a year ago today that Shadow, my adopted canine sister and sweet pit bull friend, passed away. I cried for her – for me – often in those first weeks, and even now, it’s hard to type (delete, retype, rinse, repeat) through the tears. The pain has eased considerably with the passage of time, but will never completely disappear. Rather, Shadow has taken her place besides Bucky and Cap, Shannon and Shana, Pokey, Woody, Henry, Hooks I-III, Moe, Larry and Curly, and all the other nonhuman animals I befriended – and whose losses I grieved – during my youth. You may be one year buried, dear Shadow, but I will always carry you in my heart.

One day you’ll be joined by your friend Ralphie, as well as all your other canine cousins: those who you’ve met, and those you’ve yet to meet. When that day comes – and whenever it comes, it will be much, much too soon – please greet him with lots of sloppy kisses. Because as difficult as your passing has been, I’m afraid it’s only been a practice run; the real pain is yet to come. When Ralphie leaves me, he’s going rip my heart in two. Whatever pieces he leaves behind, will be Peedee’s, O-Ren’s, Kaylee’s and (yes, even) Jayne’s to consume. And yet, my heart will forever be a dog’s – some dog’s – to tear.

I miss you something awful, girl. Stay sweet.

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In honor of World Vegan Day, a small (?) group of vegans spent much of yesterday tweeting their thoughts on veganism. Many of the tweets coalesced into the theme of vegan stories: that is, the many paths that led to and continue to reinforce participants’ veganism.

Similar to August’s oink, oink fracas, part of the goal was to launch #vegan into Twitter’s trending topics. Unfortunately, I don’t think #vegan ever did make it into the top 10, but we put on a good show nevertheless.

I wasn’t able to join the party until much later in the day, but I did do a fair share of tweeting in the evening. I’ve come to enjoy these Twitter hijacking parties; I don’t know many vegans in the “real” world, and banding together (however briefly), in pursuit a tangible, common goal (however humble) creates a much-needed sense of community.

It’s also interesting to observe different patterns in each person’s tweets – for example, which aspects of veganism and animal exploitation an individual always returns to. Consciously or not, many of my tweets focus on intersectionality – a topic I didn’t give much thought to until the past few years. Now, it seems to be the cornerstone of my activism. And I’ve veganism to thank for that.

Anyhow, here are all my tweets from yesterday. I didn’t do many retweets, but there were a number of dedicated vegans hitting the twitters in full force: see, for example, VeganMudblood, vegansNVRsayDIE, veganmcveganson, kveggiegrl and BeaElliott, for starters.

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And the consumer becomes the consumed!

It’s October 31st, folks! You know what that means: Halloween and the end of VeganMoFo. Thirty-one days, thirty-one posts. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted….and totally looking forward to VeganMoFo IV!

The Mr. and I will spend the day taking in an orgy of Halloween horror movies and vegan junk food, so I don’t have enough time to put together a cohesive post. But that’s okay, because hopefully you don’t have time to read a cohesive post.

On the schedule for today, movie-wise, is:

- The Alphabet Killer (2008)

The Alphabet Killer is based on the double initial killings in Rochester, New York in the early 1970s. Eliza Dusku stars as Megan Paige, a police officer who is highly committed to the job. She develops schizophrenia, lasting for more than six months, and includes one month of active symptoms such as illusions, hallucinations, disorganized speech, and grossly disorganized or catatonic behavior. Megan’s obsession leads her to a breakdown and a violent episode which lands her in the hospital. She eventually loses her fiance, Kenneth (Cary), and her job. Two years later Megan is back working as an advisor, but her more or less normal life goes to hell again when another murder is called in. Her fire rekindled, Megan sets out to find the killer, and this time she plans to get the job done, with or without the department’s assistance.

Fairly B-grade stuff, but it’s set in my hometown, so it’s a no-brainer. Still waiting on the Arthur Shawcross Lifetime movie-of-the-week.

- Ginger Snaps (2000)

Is becoming a woman analogous, in some deep psychological way, to becoming a werewolf? Ginger is 16, edgy, tough, and, with her younger sister, into staging and photographing scenes of death. They’ve made a pact about dying together. In early October, on the night she has her first period, which is also the night of a full moon, a werewolf bites Ginger. Within a few days, some serious changes happen to her body and her temperament. Her sister Brigitte, 15, tries to find a cure with the help of Sam, a local doper. As Brigitte races against the clock, Halloween and another full moon approach, Ginger gets scarier, and it isn’t just local dogs that begin to die.

Feminist horror: yes, please! (See also: Teeth. No, seriously, go watch it. Now!)

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GRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNSSSSSSSS!

Sorry. Cheesy, I know. But it’s been a long, frustrating day, and for some odd reason, this tired old joke always elicits a grin.

Anyway, I don’t know about you, but I could use a fun, fluffy post. And what’s more fun and fluffy than vegan Halloween candy? (That’s a rhetorical question. There is nothing funner or fluffier than vegan Halloween candy. Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Rien. Nichts. Niente. Niets. I said good day!)

The way I see it, vegan Halloween candy can be separated into two groups: the cheap, readily available, accidentally vegan stuff that you keep on hand for trick-or-treaters, and the expensive, hard-to-find, specialty goodies, which are oftentimes veganized versions of old, pre-vegan favorites.

Not that the two groups are mutually exclusive, of course – if you’re over the age of 12, probably you don’t consume candy on a daily basis. Thus, a fistful of dark chocolate Peanut Chews or a mile’s worth of Fruit by the Foot is indeed a special treat, pedestrianism be damned. And that’s okay! You don’t need to drop a small fortune on gourmet vegan foodstuffs to Kenneth Lay out this Halloween. On the flip side, if you do sit atop a small mountain of money, all Scrooge McDuck stylie, feel free to distribute gourmet vegan goodies which proudly proclaim their veganism all over the mofo packaging, in a sneaky guerrilla effort to lure some of the neighborhood children over to the light side. But toss in vegan literature at your own risk – ‘twould be very un-vegan to wake up to an egg-covered landing on November 1st!

(And yes, I am assuming that everyone reading celebrates Halloween, because if you don’t, you should! Between the candy, the costumes, the pumpkin carving, the hay rides, and the horra movies, everyone should be able to find at least one aspect of the holiday worth consecrating!)

What follows are two lists of vegan candies; the everyday stuff is vegan per PETA, so take these with a grain of salt – there be some rumblings on the internets re: the accuracy of PETA’s “accidentally vegan” list. Also, I’ve only included candy here; for party snacks, please refer to the original list.

The gourmet vegan goodies, on the other hand, come from firsthand knowledge and the product inventory in vegan-owned online shops, so mistakes in these listings are much less likely.

So, what are your Halloween plans, my lovely vegan zombies? The Mr. and I have a longstanding (read: four years, maybe five) tradition – we spend the day watching horror movies, relaxing with the dogs, and chowing on all sorts of vegan junk food. Pizza, spring rolls, french fries, cupcakes, turnovers, ice cream, pop corn, candy, brownies, soda, liquor – ah, that’s the life!

I’ve been dying to dress my dachshund kid up in a hot dog outfit to entertain the trick-or-treaters, but we literally have not had a single one since moving to the Midwest – all of our residences have been so rural.

On the plus side, no interruptions during the movies!
 
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Kaylee & Jayne, x-mas 2006

So. When last we talked of my furkids, I told you how my husband and I came to adopt Ralphie, Peedee and O-Ren – none of whom were considered “less adoptable,” or at least not at the time of their adoption. In fact, I doubt that each dog’s respective rescue group would have had much trouble placing them, had Shane and I not come along. We both recognized this, and felt rather guilty about it. So when we decided to adopt dog number four (and possibly five!), we resolved to find a “special” dog – a senior, someone with medical or behavioral issues, maybe even a bonded pair of dogs.

Our first choice was a pair of teeny lil’ rat terrier sisters, Bella and…I forget the other dog’s name. They were older adults with behavior issues, namely, anxious temperaments and a fear of men. They also needed to be adopted together – strike three. Ultimately, the adoption didn’t pan out; we were never able to meet the girls, in fact, because their fear of men was so great that their foster mom had more or less decided to adopt them herself. When we inquired about them, they’d already spent a few years in their foster home and were still fearful in the foster dad’s presence. I can see why mom gave up any hope of rehoming them, dog bless her heart.

So we hit Petfinder again, specifically in search of a pair of dog-friends who had to be adopted together. Unfortunately, Petfinder’s search parameters don’t easily allow for such a search (or even easy browsing), so when looking for a pair, you really just have to hope that they share a single listing. (Or else be prepared to pour over every single profile!) There really weren’t many bonded pairs of dogs listed at the time; besides Bella and her sister, Kaylee and Jayne were the only smallish dog-friends up for adoption. So, three years ago this September, we went out to Lexington, MO – about an hour’s drive from where we lived – to visit them.

From Kaylee’s Petfinder listing

Kaylee and Jayne originally came to Friends of the Friendless with a third dog, Paige, roughly six months before we met them. The three had been abandoned in a home when the tenants moved out; the landlord found them, several weeks later, starving and in rough shape. Jayne had heartworm, while Kaylee suffered from some serious dental problems, the result of both bad genes and a lifetime’s worth of neglect.

Curiously, Jayne had already been spayed by her previous owners, while Kaylee had not. From the looks of her sagging belly and, shall we say “well used” nipples, Kaylee had obviously birthed a few litters during her eight years. Jayne, in contrast, doesn’t appear to have ever had pups – odd because Jayne is a classically handsome terrier, while Kaylee is…not. (I joke that she’s so ugly, she’s back to being cute, much like a rhinoceros or ground mole. I totally mean that in a nice way, though.)

From Jayne’s Petfinder listing

Paige had since been adopted, while Kaylee and Jayne languished in the shelter/rescue. Supposedly, an older women had committed to adopting them, but died while on a cruise she’d already booked and had to take before she could bring them home. (Shane is convinced that this is the most elaborate cop-out, ever.) So I can only imagine what their foster mom, Gina, thought when we committed to adopting them, but said we’d be unable to bring them home until after we got back from an already-scheduled trip to New York! Unlike their would-be fairy dogmother, Shane and I kept our word; we welcomed Kaylee and Jayne into our home several weeks later, on September 30, 2006.

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