Point Cabrillo Light Station


Painting of the Light Station
by Lynne Prentice

I started by leading bird walks at the Point Cabrillo Light Station in 1996, and ended up as president of the non-profit that operates it. I'm still on the Board of Directors.

My favorite time of year to be at the lighthouse is now. March is when the gray whales are migrating back to Alaska, which can be a hazardous 6000 mile journey.


Below is a photo of Orcas attacking a gray whale. A few years ago, people witnessed just such an attack in front of the lighthouse.

Point Cabrillo and the tall ship, the Lynx
by Harold Hauck
That's a Coast Guard cutter on the right
 
 




The 3rd Order Fresnel Lens is back in service
in the Lighthouse
 Thanks to Bruce Lewis for the video.
This is also the time of year when the Harbor seals give birth, often on the rocks only yards offshore from the lighthouse. Within two hours of being born, the baby follows its mother into the ocean, frequently reappearing in the cove just to the east of the lighthouse.
Harbor Seal and Pup by Ron LeValley

THE 2ND WHALE FESTIVAL OF THE MONTH TAKES PLACE ON MARCH 17th & 18th

West Indian Manatees

Photo by Doug Perrine
Seapics.com

When I was in my early teens, (pre-Disney World) growing up in Winter Park, FL (which was sort of surrounded by Orlando--even then) my mother would force my sister and me to ride with her every Sunday to visit my grandmother, who had advanced dementia. She was in a home in Orange City, which is north of Orlando and Sanford, but south of Deland. (The building that housed the nursing home is still there.) This was before Interstate 4, so the drive, which seemed interminable, took nearly two hours--each way. Our reward for behaving was to stop at Morrison's cafeteria on the way home, where I would make a meal out of cooked carrots, string beans, and mashed potatoes with a pool of gravy in the center.

If we'd only known. Right there in the heart of Orange City, is the turn off to Blue Spring, the home of the largest congregation of manatees, anywhere.
      
 http://www.savethemanatee.org/manfcts.htm



Manatees are a migratory species. In the summer months, they can be found as far west as Texas, but summer sightings in Alabama, Georgia and South Carolina are more common. In the winter, they are concentrated in Florida, where they disperse in search of food during the mild days. However, cold weather can kill a manatee, so when the temperature drops, manatees by the hundreds seek refuge in the warm, crystal clear springs of central Florida. The water that feeds these springs bubbles up from underground caverns, and is a constant 74 degrees. Visiting Blue Spring on a cold winter day is an amazing experience.

Meanwhile, I lived in Florida all my life and had never heard of a manatee until the water hyacinth population got out of control in the canals in south Florida. One suggested solution was to put the mostly herbivorous manatees in the canals to eat the hyacinth. I'm rather sure this didn't work, since they are grazers on algae and sea grass.











In 1984, I did my senior paper in Biology at University of Miami on the territoriality of Great White herons in the Keys. (A story for another time.) The number one killer of the slow moving manatee are boat propellers. Most of the manatees in Blue Spring can be individually identified by their propeller scars. My Great White heron study was conducted along the canals of a housing development in Tavenier in the Florida Keys. Every afternoon, a lone manatee would travel up the main canal to a fueling dock. You knew she was coming by the warning shouts of "manatee in the canal" shouted from neighbor to neighbor, and at any passing boat. When news of her arrival reached the fueling docks, someone would put the garden hose over the side of the sea wall, turn on the freshwater, and toss a chopped-up head of lettuce into the water for her.

Note the propeller scars on the mother manatee's back.

Twice I got to lie on my stomach on the sea wall, feed lettuce leaves to her and tickle her belly. Once--because someone told me it would be an interesting experience--I put my hand in her mouth. I've tried to describe the feeling, and I think it most closely resembled being munched on by a thick bristled, very malleable back scrubber. It indeed felt strange, and didn't hurt, so been there, done that.







The date of this email from Ron LeValley is December 10, 2005.

"Ron’s Outside My Window is a recent photo that I have taken. It usually has some natural history theme (but sometimes not) and I sometimes miss a few days and catch up later. Much of the reason that I send out these pictures is to increase awareness of the natural world, awareness of the wonderful things that are ‘outside’ our windows, beyond the insulation that that much of our daily life imposes on us. Please feel free to pass this photo along to anyone you think might be interested. If your e-mail box is getting too full, let me know and I will remove you from the list. I also appreciate comments or questions about the photos, and any way you think this effort can be improved. Enjoy (and) take the time to look outside your windows!"

Burrowing Owl by Ron LeValley



Since that Dec. 2005 email I've been saving some of his pictures in file marked Outside Ron's Window. A few weeks ago, I asked him if I could post one once in a while. "Of course," he said.

When I asked him if I could use his amazing wave shot as the wallpaper on my blog he said, "Of course." 



I met Ron nearly twenty years ago when I was president of our local Audubon chapter. I invited him to give one on the dozens of talks he's since given to our chapter. That's not counting all the pelagic trips he's lead. In all those years, I've never asked Ron for a single thing, that I didn't hear "of course." No one I know has. Not the Study Club, not Point Cabrillo Light Station, not the City of Fort Bragg, not the Audubon Society. He never says no. He is passionate about his family, his community, and the natural world, and we all richer for knowing him. (And he's one of the few people who knows where our Blue whale is buried.)


To me, his photographs are a window into his soul. He is honest, loving, gentle, and generous. Please join me in supporting him, and his family.

 

 

Updates, Odds and Ends

  
A friend recently told me she tries to watch a TED talk a day. I checked it out, and the first one I found was about octopuses. You know I'm a sucker for anything to do with octopuses. 

http://www.ted.com/talks/mike_degruy_hooked_by_octopus.html


  http://www.ted.com/ 

 


Sammie look alike
Lost and Found was a November 23rd post about Sammie, the little dog that showed up on my doorstep. He was so terrified of men that the couple who took him had to give him up, and he ended up in our local shelter. Weeks went by, then I heard that he's been adopted--this time by two women.



And then there was Guest Blog: My Life by Jeremy Cimino August 28th.

Jeremy now owns Geronimo 





Guest Blog by Sallie Reynolds: The Gift of Flight

 
I had a poisoned wild Red-tailed hawk in my care for three months, and we came to know each other well. If we hadn’t, this story might have ended differently. I’m a licensed, trained wildlife rehabilitator, one of those nutty people who (legally) treat injured, ill, or orphaned wild animals. About 50 percent of the animals in our care grow strong, cured of whatever brought them in. The other 50 percent die. For the nature lover, these are heartbreaking odds.
My Red-tailed came from a golf course. That season, our group had taken in a number of poisoned raptors from that area where the greens had been sprayed with pesticides. The raptors would eat a poisoned ground squirrels, and slowly lose control of their bodies. The feet go first. Then the wings. Then the head. Golfers saw my hawk tumble to the ground, unable to take wing again. They called a near-by rehabber, who picked up the bird and took her to a veterinarian. From there she called me – I suspect because she couldn’t stand watching another beautiful bird die.
My bird was large. Her great size and her coloring indicated a mature female. She was bone thin, and appeared paralyzed. Hawks cannot move their eyes much under the best circumstances, but hers, unmoving as they were, were still fiercely alight. As I watched, her beak opened. Normally, she would have screamed her fury, but not a sound emerged.
 Her neck was golden, almost like a Golden Eagle's, her crest high, and that open jaw was mighty. How beautiful! And so unlike the blur of a bird you see flying overhead. Here every detail was exquisite, each breast feather perfectly marked, as if someone had taken a little paintbrush, dipped it into a sunset, and applied it to her bib.
At my little “clinic,” a shed converted into a bird hospital, I injected Lactated Ringers, a hydrating fluid, under the skin between the top of her leg and her body. This bird was so dehydrated, the skin stood up in a peak when I pinched it. Afterward, I put her in a box, covered it with a towel, and went in the house to do some research.
I had notes from several groups on how to treat poison cases. None very hopeful. After I'd read awhile, I called a woman who works with eagles. She had released 38 that year, among them a few she'd pulled through a poisoning.
“Expect the worst,” she said. "The bird might not live the night. But if it does, there's a chance of recovery." She had a protocol that might help. It would be a long haul.
The next morning, my hawk was alive.
More fluids, more rest, more dark. The next day, she tolerated yet more fluids and a thorough exam. She was still unable to move, and a matted vent indicated an intestinal disturbance. A flaring of feathers over one eye suggested neurological involvement. I cleaned her up and fed her watered-down baby-food meat with a gavage tube (gavage = delivering a liquid via tube directly into the crop.) I did this five times a day.
Throughout, she was calm. For four days, I kept up the routine, flushing and re-flushing her system. On the fifth morning, she'd lost so much weight, it was frightening. And she refused to open her beak. I was losing her after all.
I looked at my notes: “She will tell you when she's ready for the next stage.”
Maybe, just maybe. I offered fileted bits of mouse. And oh how she ate – polishing off nine small mice in 20 minutes!
Three days later she was eating chopped mice, laced with vitamins, taking the bits from my glove. In a week, she'd put on weight and could stand on her own. I let her free in the room, and while I cleaned, she  staggered around, using her wings as crutches (not the time to worry about feather damage!).

backyardbirdcam.com

In another week, she was eating voraciously and hopping onto her crate. Twice a day, I held her by her upper legs, and let her exercise her wings. A few days later, she flew from one side of the room to the other, landing imperfectly.
“Wobbly is good!” I told her.
Sure enough, she soon had her feet under her.
Then one day she wouldn’t come out of her crate. Poison cases can break your heart this way; they can do so well, and suddenly crash.
But I hadn't forgotten my list: “She will tell you. . .”  So I decided to risk her in a flight cage. When I set her on the ground, she walked two steps – and flew!
Another month of flight exercise and good food, and my hawk was ready to fly free. We wanted to release her into her old habitat, which would be familiar and where she probably had a mate. The golf course manager had stopped using the poisons, so we took her home.
I lifted her our of her box and opened my hands; she sat very still, looked at me, then with a cry, she flew into a tree. Suddenly another Red-tail appeared overhead. My hawk cried again – and he answered. A moment later, the two joined in a spiraling dance, up and up, until they vanished into the sky.

Note the errant feather on the top of the bird's head.
That was part of the syndrome, nerve involvement in a poisoning. 
takethemoment.org
http://www.indiegogo.com/Help-Save-Hawks-1

At the of this rescue, Sallie was an active volunteer for Sierra Wildlife Rescue 
paulnoll.com

The Red-tailed Hawk (Buteo jamaicensis) is a bird of prey, one of three species colloquially known in the United States as the "chickenhawk," though it rarely preys on standard sized chickens.[2] It breeds throughout most of North America, from western Alaska and northern Canada to as far south as Panama and the West Indies, and is one of the most common buteos in North America. Red-tailed Hawks can acclimate to all the biomes within its range. There are fourteen recognized subspecies, which vary in appearance and range. It is one of the largest members of the genus Buteo in North America, typically weighing from 690 to 1600 grams (1.5 to 3.5 pounds) and measuring 45–65 cm (18 to 26 in) in length, with a wingspan from 110 to 145 cm (43 to 57 in). The Red-tailed Hawk displays sexual dimorphism in size, with females averaging about 25% heavier than males. (From Wikipedia)

FYI
I am often asked about the Audubon International stamp of approval on golf courses. Audubon is not a copy-rightable name, so in 2004, the PGA form an alliance with Audubon International, created specifically give the impression that a specific golf course has gone through a rigorous reveiw by environmental specialists. Audubon International is in no way associated with the National Audubon Society, and it's stamp of approval on any golf course in no way guarantees that they do not use pesticides, or excessive amounts of fertilizers. It also doesn't mean that they aren't doing the best they can for their business, and the environment.

When I wrote Sallie about this, she added this addendum:
Today many organizations that used to use organophosphates improperly -  too often and too strong - may well monitor their usage more closely. Otherwise, we'd see more poison cases. When it's freshly sprayed on the trees, or the greens, raptors (and other predators) can get poisoned not only by eating poisoned rodents and insects, but from perching on the fresh, too-strong solution. 


Guest Blog: Linda Bonvie--Comparing apples and oranges


As I wrote this, it looked perfectly normal: Times New Roman 12pt. When I hit preview, it is in all caps. I have no idea why, and I can't make it stop. I am not shouting at you.

We've all seen the ads where a mom reaches past a myriad of orange juice cartons, and is handed a fresh carton by a guy in an orange grove. I know those ads are bull, so why was I surprised to discover there is nothing "fresh-squeezed" in orange juice, (the fresh flavor is added just before packaging) and that there is enough pesticide residue in our orange juice supply to alarm the powers that be at Coca Cola?

So okay, duped again. We like to feel good about healthy food and beverage choices. Orange juice is full of vitamin C and calcium, and only a trace or two of a not-so-healthy ingredient. And then there was that reassuring network news interview with a Walter Middy-like spokesperson from the FDA. He promised that there is no need to worry. In my case, that's probably true. I am a child of the 50s, no doubt, still brimming with residual DDT & malathion, and can remember stirring that glowing orange glob of coloring into a white brick of oleo-margarine to make it look like butter. So why would I choose to do a post about orange juice? Because I was talking to my friend Bill Bonvie, Linda's brother, about it and he told me Walter Middy the 2nd used to work for Monsanto. That reassuring spokesperson worked for the largest producer of pesticides in the world, the same company that is trying to genetically modified everything we eat. Really? I was outraged.

 From Bill:

"Michael R. Taylor (or "Mike Taylor," as he was recently referred to by Dr. Richard Besser of ABC News, as in "I just got off the phone with Mike Taylor at FDA") is your quintessential revolving-door bureaucrat, having gone from being a staff attorney for the FDA to attorney for Monsanto, back to the FDA where he was largely responsible for the approval sans safety testing of Monsanto's genetically engineered crops, which were deemed to be "substantially equivalent" to conventional ones, as well as the administering of rBGH, the Monsanto growth hormone many researchers consider carcinogenic, to dairy herds to make them produce more milk. He subsequently went to the USDA as administrator for Food Safety and Inspection, then returned to Monsanto in another position (vice president for public policy), only to pop up again (surprise, surprise!) at the FDA under the Obama administration as deputy commissioner for foods, or "food safety czar." This guy gets around!

Comparing oranges and apples: the whole story about a prohibited pesticide



As you probably know by now, a  fungicide banned in the U.S. called carbendazim was found in imported orange juice. Discovered by Minute Maid – the orange juice giant owned by Coca Cola — the find was reported to the Food and Drug Administration. The agency swooped into action, writing letters to the Juice Products Association, testing orange juice and assuring us that the levels detected pose no hazard.

At the same time, the FDA declared current supplies of orange juice A-OK to drink, it also said orange juice arriving at the U.S. border  with any “measurable level” of the chemical  would not be allowed entry.
So which is it? The juice is safe if it’s in the store, but not if it hasn’t crossed the border? And what about the fact that residues of the banned chemical, also known as MBC, are allowed in other fruits that make up popular juices such as apples, cherries and grapes, and found to be perfectly fine by the FDA?
First, we need a little primer in what’s going on here, and to do that, we need to skip over to the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) for a minute.

When it comes to pesticides in foods, the EPA can be thought of as the judge and the FDA as the cops. In other words, the EPA sets what are called “tolerances,” the legal limits of pesticides allowed as residues in food, while the FDA enforces that limit, with the authority to stop and recall foods that contain detectable residues above what the EPA has established. (Note that the word “safe” isn’t used here. A “tolerance” is basically what’s been determined at one point or another to be a level at which a chemical has “no effect.”)

Back to the orange juice: MBC, a nasty chemical that until several years ago was allowed to be used on Florida oranges, is currently on the banned list, considered “illegal” by virtue of there being no EPA tolerance set for it. So it makes sense that the FDA would stop all orange juice heading our way that contains it.

What doesn’t make sense is a sort of  FDA slight of hand that allows for MBC residues to be present in numerous commodities, even though the chemical itself has no food uses.

A case of ‘pesticide identity theft’?
How can this be, I hear you asking. Well MBC has a close relative called thiophanate methyl (TPM for short) that is allowed to be used on crops – quite a few, in fact. And after it’s used on strawberries, apples and blueberries, for example, it starts to degrade and turns into other chemicals, one of them being the banned MBC. In fact, when testing for residues of the permitted TPM, they look for, and measure it as … MBC.

In a attempt to show how safe our orange juice is, in fact, FDAimports.com, a private consulting firm founded by a former FDA employee, issued a press release with the headline: “FDA cracks down on Carbendazim (MBC) in OJ but ignores it it other foods…”

The moral of this appears to be that our news is creatively delivered to us. While headlines from papers all over the county and news anchors are talking about an “orange juice recall” and discussing whether it is warranted or not, what reporters aren’t telling us is that the same dangerous and banned chemical that caused the OJ scare is allowed on many other fruits used to make juice – with “permitted” residues at much higher levels than what caused all the to-do with the oranges.

Of course, such pesticides could be avoided by buying nothing except certified organic juices, but for a great many shoppers, that’s simply not an affordable option, since organic juices at best tend to be considerably more costly than their conventional counterparts.

For most consumers, a more practical solution would be for public pressure to force the regulators to abandon the double standard now being used in regard to MBC by prohibiting use of any other chemical that morphs into it as well – in effect, a form of  ‘pesticide identity theft’.

Telling us all about this, of course, should be the media’s job – but right now, rather than getting the whole story from them, all we’re hearing is what the FDA has to say about the chemical in oranges, while apples are given a pass. To say nothing of strawberries and blueberries.

Linda Bonvie,
FoodIdentityTheft.com

Linda Bonvie is an author, and consumer advocate with over 20 years of experience researching and writing about food safety, health and environmental issues.  She is the co-author of Chemical-Free Kids: How to Safeguard Your Child’s Diet and Environment (2003) and Chemical-Free Kids: the Organic Sequel (2008), as well as The Stevia Story: a tale of incredible sweetness and intrigue (1997). Articles she has co-authored with her brother Bill have been published in a number of magazines and many major newspapers. (One of these, an expose on the spraying of passengers on international flights with a toxic pesticide, which was published back in 1993, led to the requirement being dropped by a couple dozen countries after then-Transportation Secretary Federico Pena became personally involved in the issue.)

Guest Blog: Cheryl Gillmore

A couple of days ago, I mentioned I was in St. Louis on a panel reviewing writing samples of 8th and 12th graders. I've since heard from a number of you wanting to know more. As it happens, this morning I got this blog post from a fellow panelist, Cheryl Gillmore, also a writer, and she said everything I would have said, only better.
 
      This past week in St. Louis I had the pleasure of serving on a federally funded NAEP panel to set up and review writing samples of 8th and 12th grade students. Our job, after two days of training, was to establish the "cut scores" that divide the three levels of achievement...advanced, proficient and basic.  

      Seventy percent of the panelists were teachers or non-teacher educators representing nearly every state in the union--including Hawaii and Alaska. The other thirty percent of us were "general public," with nearly all of us writers.
   

      We stayed at the Ritz-Carlton in Clayton, Missouri, a suburb about 20 minute from St. Louis and enjoyed great rooms, great service and great food! Those incentives seemed to balance the long brain-draining hours of hard work each day in our training and subsequent scoring sessions.

      I was reminded of the love and dedication of teachers this week as I had the chance to talk and socialize with them again. It didn't matter what part of the country they came from, they were all equally concerned for the success of each of their students. I will always be proud to be a forever teacher.

      I will always remember this great week spent with truly wonderful and dedicated people. I'm so glad I was chosen to be on the panel and that I was open, accepting and positive for this opportunity and experience to come into my life.   

Once again, I am reminded... 

"A page turned...new chapters begin. The sequel yet to unfold.  
Never forgotten and never to end. Images etched on each soul." 
C. L. Gillmore is a retired special education teacher for whom writing has always been an important part of life. "My second grade teacher was a big influence," Gillmore says. "She was instructive and encouraging and made me love putting my thoughts on paper."

A transplant from Muscatine, Iowa, Gillmore resides in Surprise, Arizona with her husband Mike. She has two adult children and five grandchildren. She is writing a sequel novel to Uncommon Bond sure to please her growing fan base.

Home again, Home again, Jiggity Jog


For the last week I've been in St. Louis on a Federally-funded panel set up to review writing samples of 8th and 12th grade students. Our job, after two full days of training, was to establish the "cut scores" that divide the three levels of achievement.

I'm a better person today than I was last week. I, and 59 other panelists, worked from 8 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. every day for 4 days, and a half day on Saturday, before shipping out for our home states. I've never been so exhausted, and was reminded how lucky I am to be "retired."

If you are interested in looking at what I was doing here's the website. Seventy percent of the panelists were teachers representing nearly every state in the union--including Hawaii and Alaska. Thirty percent of us were "general public," but of those panelists, nearly all of us were writers, and predominately middle grade and young adults novelists.
 
http://nces.ed.gov/nationsreportcard/

I'm going to spend a few days paying bills, and clearing my emails, then I'll be back to looking for interesting issues to share, or wonderful animal stories. Meanwhile, a little self-promotion. This is the most wonderful review of Hurt Go Happy I think I've ever read. It brought me to tears.


 http://www.books4yourkids.com/2012/02/hurt-go-happy-by-ginny-rorby-256-pp-rl.html

Guest Blog: Ronnie James

Owlets in Triplicate


It was early June when someone brought in three one week old Western Screech owls. My first reaction, as always, was to return them to their parents who would have happily continued to feed and care for them. It seemed, however, that not only was the nest tree destroyed, but the acreage in all directions had been leveled and plowed in preparation for an illegal agricultural use. The finder wasn’t about to tell me the location.

The owlets were little ping-pong ball sized bundles of gray fluff; the food of choice, minced mouse sprinkled with vitamins and calcium. They ate every three hours, gained weight and grew rapidly. Within a week I was able to sleep through the night without feeling guilty.

Owls, like ducks and geese, readily imprint but not until they’re about 3 weeks old when they’re finally able to focus their eyes clearly. Then whatever they see feeding them is how they will visualize themselves for the rest of their lives. To prevent them from imprinting on me, I hid under a hood so they could only see each other, and the picture of an adult Screech owl I held near my feeding hand. Funky, but it worked.

By week 5 they had grown feathers, could handle whole dead mice, and were ready to be released into a 12’ x 12’ outdoor cage built around a tree. I put them in an owl nest box and fed them there for a few days until they came out on their own. Owlets normally will come out of the nest long before they can fly. This is referred to as the brancher-stage. One day I found them sitting on a nearby branch, and my presence frightened them—a good sign. Two dashed back into the box, but the biggest spread its wings, and I had the pleasure of witnessing its first flight to a nearby branch. Landing was a bit of a challenge—it always is the first few times.

I installed a small, plastic swimming pool, stocked it with 2 inches of leaves and dirt, and left them live mice and mealworms so they could learn to hunt for themselves. I knew they were catching the mice because the next day the mice would be gone, and there were three owl pellets on the bottom of the cage. Owls eat their food whole, and when the nutrients are digested, they spit up a pellet of fur and bones.

Owl nest boxes were installed in the woods in sight of the owlets’ cage, and at 11 weeks I opened their door, and watched the owlets fly into the woods near the boxes. I haven’t seen them since! I know from experience they haven’t gone far, and there is plenty of food around. There is no way to know if they’re using the boxes, or have moved on, since they would snuggle in the bottom of the box during the day, and coming out and returning only at night, when I am gratefully asleep. Such are the frustrations and joys of doing wildlife rehab. 

 
Ronnie James is the founder and operator of a small wildlife rescue facility located on the northern California coast near the town of Mendocino. She has been doing wildlife rehab for nearly 30 years, and recently published a book about her experiences:  Touching Wings, Touching Wild available at TouchingWings.org.  This is one of her experiences that isn’t in the book.


To learn more about Screech owls
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Screech_owl



Palm Oil Free Valentine's Day!

Your shampoo, your ice cream, your margarine, your lipstick -- all contain palm oil. Demand is still growing, as are oil palm plantations... but at what price to tropical forests and the biodiversity found there?   

A message from Patti Ragan and The Center for Great Apes:

animal-wildlife.blogspot.com

Are you planning to give a gift of Valentine's Day candy?  You really never know what you're getting in that box of chocolates unless you read that label and check the ingredients for palm oil. Palm kernel oil is produced mainly in Southeast Asia where millions of acres of irreplaceable rainforest are destroyed each year to establish palm oil plantations. Hundreds of orangutans are killed each year as a result of the palm oil business, so please avoid buying products containing palm kernel oil. This special rainforest habitat is not only the last home to orangutans... but to many other endangered animals as well.




You can help. Take the time to make sure that the product you buy with Palm Oil is on the list of RSPO members. Roundtable on Sustainable Palm Oil

              

Pony Skin Foals


While I was in Florida, I received this letter from one of my readers:

“My name is Elle, and I absolutely loved your book, the Outside of a Horse! I was wondering if you could let me know where you obtained the statistics in your Author's Note? The statistics about the number of foals born annually (and being killed to avoid the stud fee), and the deaths per every 1,000 starts are the stats I am specifically interested in. I am writing a paper on how to improve the horse racing industry, and I would like to include the appalling statistics of cruelty to help persuade readers. Thanks so much!”


The statistic—about foals being killed to avoid a stud fee—came from a very well-known, downright famous writer friend of mine. Her sister worked in the racing industry and told her about “standing foal,” the practice of deeming a newborn foal unsuitable, by racing standards, and killing it before it stands, thus avoiding the stud fee. I found my notes from that interview, but deemed them too “word of mouth” since I couldn’t re-locate the online site I used to confirm the practice. Lucky me (and you), I came across another, just as despicable.
Using a nurse mare is a common practice in the thoroughbred industry, partly because horse racing rules dictate that mares have to be bred by live cover. (Not artificially inseminated.) This has created an industry of nurse mare farms that breed mares, and replace their newborn foals with expensive, thoroughbred foals to nurse. This frees the thoroughbred mare to be shipped for re-breeding or, if she’s racing, right back to the track.

What happens to the nurse mare’s foal? They are left to die, shot or clubbed to death, or fattened up, and at age six months, can legally be sent to slaughter. (There are YouTube videos of this, if you can stomach watching.) The meat of young horses is prized in many countries, such as Japan. (Tempted to cast stones; we eat veal.)
   
This is just one of the rescue groups dedicated to saving as many of these ‘by-product” foals as they can.  http://www.mountainviewrescue.com/NMF.htm

A pony skin foal is another name for a nurse mare foal born so a mare can provide milk to a thoroughbred foal born for racing, or for show. The nurse mare industry is huge, but I couldn't find any statistics on how many foals are produced, and killed annually. A lucky few are rescued, some are sold at auction, others are killed on the spot with a bullet or a club. Whether they end up on a dinner plate in Japan, as dog food, or are killed and skinned for high-end leather products, the nurse mare industry is a disgrace.

And here’s a site with more info on nurse mares



www.shopstyle.com/browse?fts=pony+skin+shoesCached
You +1'd this publicly. Undo
Pony skin shoes at ShopStyle. Shop popular brands and stores to find pony skin shoes on sale - all in one place. Create and share looks based on all your ...  

 

And are you proud of your genuine shell Cordovan leather couch, or in your car? Most leathers come from cows, but Cordovan comes from horses. It improves with wear and polishing, and is tough as a horse’s butt.
Do you take the Premarin brand of hormone replacement? Pregnant Mare Urine. The fate is the same for their foals, unless a filly is born. She might be permitted to live and follow her mother into the "pee line" where the hormone rich urine is collected during the last six months of pregnancy. Six months tied in a stall, standing in your own feces, with a bag and hose attached to your ureatha.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2I-WYOIx7Ug
http://www.savinghorsesinc.com/PMU_Nurse_Mare_Foal_Rescue.php
And for Elle's paper, here is the site that tracks racetracks deaths. http://www.horsedeathwatch.com/

  
 

The Real Reason for my trip to Florida

I'm just home from 2 weeks in Florida. Each time someone asks what I was doing there, I've answered--taking a houseboat out into the Everglades. That was to be the highlight of the trip, but it was two days of the two weeks--an excuse to go. What I was really doing was traveling across country to see, and be with, if only for a day or two, the people I love most in the world.

My women friends:
Jane Kelsey Phinney, 1962. 
Judy Rowe McCully, 1967.
Kathy DeLorenzo, 1970-ish
Janice Grimes, 1981
Joanne Mansell, 1981
Johanna Moran, 1983-ish (I didn't get to see her this trip.)
Kathie Graham, 1980-ish
Teresa Sholars, 1992
Norma Watkins, 1993

Why didn't I just say this was the reason for going? Because it didn't occur to me, not until this morning when I read Emily Rapp's essay on the power of female friendship. Memories of all the joy, laughter, heartbreak, births and deaths that I've shared with these friends nearly overwhelmed me, and it made me realize that what I really wanted to do in Florida was to hug and laugh, and drink a little wine, with the most important people in my life.

http://therumpus.net/2012/01/transformation-and-transcendence-the-power-of-female-friendship/#more-95368  by Emily Rapp

Guest Blog: Jeannie Stickle on Cat Communication.

I'm back, and after 2 weeks in Florida, I'd like to curl up in a sink, too. It's not Florida. The weather was perfect (To me that means cool to downright cold) and I got to see many of my friends, some of whom I haven't seen in way too long. It's the flying there and back that I HATE.

While I was away, I got this blog post from my friend, Jeannie Stickle. It made me homesick for my coast and my cats. She said I could share with you. Enjoy.

Solomon in the sink

Cat Communication

I had to sneak out of the house today. I slipped on my rubber boots, and trudged through our long grass on the back side of our fence to avoid our cat, Solomon. Well, I didn’t actually have to sneak out but Solomon has developed the habit of following us on our walks to the headlands. I’ve seen enough signs of missing cats in our neighborhood to know I’d rather have him stay safely within our fenced yard. He started this new habit over the holidays when our family took a long walk near the ocean. At the time, he was enjoying all the togetherness and didn’t want to miss out. At first he followed some distance behind but soon he was leading the way.



Solomon




Solomon enjoying the view

Our cat is approaching 15 years, so he’s rather old for a cat. He’s never been too excited about exercise and he was panting like a dog before we got home. (We tried to carry him back but he would have none of that.) This made me think of how important relationships are to all creatures. Solomon was making a sacrifice to keep the family together. He can’t communicate using words, but he communicated through his actions. And when you think of it, we humans also communicate volumes to the people around us through our actions. Research has long shown that the majority of our communication is nonverbal. That includes body language, facial expressions, tone of voice, gestures, eye contact, posture, and proximity to others. Some children, especially those on the autism spectrum, need help with this area of communication so they can develop and grow in their relationships with others. Many adults, as well, need reminders about to use nonverbal cues effectively.

And that brings me back to my excursions through the long grass behind our home.  I wonder what my body language was communicating to the neighbors when they saw me sneaking around the back fence?

Jeanette W. Stickel


I am a licensed speech-language pathologist and have worked in this field for over thirty years. I can’t imagine a better profession – I love this job! For the last twenty years, I’ve been employed in public schools. Previous to that, I worked in speech clinics in California, Alaska and Guam. During my clinical years, I provided in-home speech therapy and parent education to children 0-3 and their families. I authored Talking Time, a book of speech and language activities for young children. Originally published by Speech Bin as a resource for professionals, I recently revised and released a second edition for use by parents, grandparents and other care-givers. I am also a member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators and write stories for children. Currently, I am creating books to encourage pre-reading skills, while giving children practice in pronouncing specific sounds. Thank you for visiting my blog!

http://speakwellreadwell.blogspot.com/

A New Year's Wish

Dear Friends,

Baby River Otter
When I started this blog 5 months ago, I wondered what I would find to write about. That probably sounds odd coming from a 'writer' but maintaining a blog is different from working on a novel. So in a conversation with Susan Bono, who helped me set this up, I bemoaned my ability to think of anything to say on any regular basis. She asked a really simple question: "What do you care most about?"

Any one of the nearly 5000 people who have since read this blog could tell me that, but I said, "Well, I don't know. I do save all the animal pictures and stories people send me, and I'd like to publish some of the letters I get from kids."

DUH!


So all I've really done is recycle. 
(And steal from Google images.)

  
Apparently, a lot of you are willing to take a moment to wallow with me in my affection for animals: the joy they take in life, and the concern we share for their plights. They, like us, are emotional beings, capable of love, grief, joy, and pain. My goal has always been to try to expose that to the kids who read my books--allow them to connect with nature and the beings with whom we share this planet, as I did when I was a child.

People ask why my novels are categorized as books for teens when so many adults read them. I don't know. We are a species who needs to put things in recognizable boxes. We are human; they are not being the ultimate crate we've stuffed full with the rest of the planet's species. So, here is my New Year's wish for you. May you be given the gift of experiencing life like this animal and this child playing together, and may you never let the glass we see each other through turn to stone.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n9APqLA2YKs

I'm going out of town for a couple weeks. If I can figure out how to blog from afar, I will. Otherwise, HAPPY NEW YEAR
     Thank you my friends.     
 

Nancy's Orcas

This is one of my favorite paintings by my friend Nancy Collins. I should have thought to include it in the blog about orcas, but it's not too late, is it? Consider it a teaser for what might be coming next. She's been working on a painting for me that I hope to share with you in the next couple of days.
Nancy Collins's Orcas        


The Eye of an Orca


  A friend sent me her cousin's short story about canoeing with Orcas. It's really lovely and reminded me of a trip I took to kayak with Orcas in Johnstone Strait, British Columbia. I've been twice, but the most memorable was early one foggy morning when the water and the sky were both steel gray. The Orcas in the Strait are residents, and eat salmon, not mammals. We had positioned the kayaks near the steep rocky shore, and were waiting in total silence. The first indication we had they were coming was the distance whoosh of air as one then another then another surfaced to exhale. Moments later we were ducking salmon as they leapt out of the water to escape the Orcas. I had a split second to consider the insanity of positioning a line of tippy kayaks, bobbing in freezing cold water like so many pieces of driftwood, directly in the path of a feeding pod of Orcas, when we were surrounded. Orcas in front of us, behind us, under us. Salmon leaping everywhere.

Since I posted this last December, I've heard about this company. There is great whale footage on the site. Makes me want to book another trip.
2009 Recipient of National Geographic Adventure Magazine's "Best Adventure Travel Companies on Earth"
2009 National Geographic Traveler Magazine's "50 Best Trips of a Lifetime"
2010 National Geographic Travel.com "Best Deals for Adventurous Travelers"

2011 National Geographic Traveler Magazine's "Best Whale Watching Locations"
"Photo by Gary Luhm. (c)
Sea Kayak Adventures, Inc."

There was one other moment on that trip that I will never forget. We were back on the "mother ship" and I was standing on the stern watching a female orca attempt to control a rambunctious baby by making what can only be described as watery raspberries. Every time she blew a bubbly raspberry, I imitated the sound. With the baby in tow, she dove and came up at the stern of our boat, turned on her side and looked directly at me. I'll never know, of course, but I had the feeling she was telling me to back off, which I did.

 
This is my friend's cousin reading his winning short story. It's seven minutes long, and worth listening to.


Tossing Starfish*


My scanner is on the blink so I'm not sending what I planned to send, but the sentiment is the same


“While wandering a deserted beach at dawn, stagnant in my work, I saw a man in the distance bending and throwing as he walked the endless stretch toward me. As he came near, I could see that he was throwing starfish, abandoned on the sand by the tide, back into the sea. When he was close enough I asked him why he was working so hard at this strange task. He said that the sun would dry the starfish and they would die. I said to him that I thought he was foolish. there were thousands of starfish on miles and miles of beach. One man alone could never make a difference. He smiled as he picked up the next starfish. Hurling it far into the sea he said, "It makes a difference for this one." I abandoned my writing and spent the morning throwing starfish.”
Loren Eiseley

 *FYI because I can't help myself. Starfish are properly called Sea Stars because they are not now, nor have they ever been fish. :-)

May each of us remember the value of a single act of kindness every day  
HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO YOU ALL

The Bat in my Bathroom

Little Brown Bat (from www.mammalwatch.com)
 My first clue that I had a bat in my bathroom was bat-poop in the sink. I'd go upstairs at night to find lots of little black, mouse-like droppings in the sink, but no bat. Then one night, sick with a cold, I went to bed early and was just drifting off when a small shadow circled the room, illuminated by the light from the TV, and flew into the bathroom. (I should add that nothing about bats scares me. I adore them.) I waited a few moments before getting up and turning on the light. There he was, hanging on the wall above the sink--preening.

Mystery solved--sort of. If this was his nightly roost, why hadn't I seen him before now? Was he a he? Was he/she the first of a colony? Where did he go to sleep?

The ceiling in my bedroom and bathroom is beamed, and to my astonishment, when he'd finished cleaning up, leaving a litter of insect legs and wings, he wedged himself between the beam and the ceiling planks. It doesn't look like you could slip a sheet of paper between them, but he had no trouble at all.

That was six years ago. And Johnny, my bathroom bat, is still my summer guest. He disappears in late fall, but occasionally shows back up in mid-winter. Three years ago, he over-wintered in my bathroom and a friend of his found refuge behind a painting in my stairwell.

Johnny is a male. Males are, thankfully, more solitary. It's the females that form colonies. I've very fond of Johnny, but not nuts about the idea of an entire colony of bats in my bathroom. (For another story, keep reading.)


 This link is to a wonderful story about a baby bat.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/12/10/lil-drac-orphaned-bat_n_1141191.html

For more information than you might want to know.
From Wikipedia:


Habitat and roosting

The little brown bat lives in three different roosting sites: day roosts, night roost and hibernation roosts. Day and night roosts are used by active in spring, summer and fall while hibernacula are used in winter. Day roost sites are typically found in buildings, trees, under rocks, in wood piles and sometimes in caves. Nursery roosts are found in hollow trees and other natural crevices as well as around buildings. Night roosts tend to be in the same buildings as day roosts, however these roosts tend to be confined spaces with many bats packing themselves together to increase roost temperature. Bats congregate in night roosts after feeding in the evening. Thus night roosting could result in the accumulation of feces away from the day roosts which could make the latter less conspicuous to predators. Northern populations of bats enter hibernation in early September and end in mid-May while southern populations enter in November and ends in mid-March.

Diet

Little brown bats are insectivores, eating moths, wasps, beetles, gnats, mosquitoes, midges and mayflies, among others. Since many of their preferred meals are insects with an aquatic life stage, such as mosquitoes, they prefer to roost near water. Brown bats feed along the margins of lakes and streams, zig-zagging in and out of vegetation 2–5 cm above the ground. Later in the evening, they usually forage in groups over water staying within 1-2m above the surface. They echolocate to find their prey. They are very effective predators when the insect are in patches and at close range. As with other insectivorous bats, little brown bats catch prey by aerial hawking and gleaning tactics When taken in flight, the prey is taken by swooping or dipping maneuvers. When above water, prey is taken by the mouth. Brown bat do not claim feeding areas like a territory, however individuals frequently return to the same feeding sites. When hunting swarms, brown bats focus on one or two species to feed on. When insect are more scattered, they are less selective and will feed on multiple species. If they do not catch any food, they will enter a torpor similar to hibernation that day, awakening at night to hunt again. A bat will eat half of their body weight per night with lactating females eating more than their body weight per night.

If your curiosity about bats got you to read this far, I have a fun story to tell. I do a bit of wildlife rescue, mostly birds, but I did get a call one day to come fetch three bats. They'd been found in an attic, and the attic's owner wanted them gone. The only thing I had to transport them in was a birdhouse. Wearing gloves, I pressed each of the three bats to the inside wall of the birdhouse, replaced the wooden access bottom, and put one of my gloves in the entrance hole. The birdhouse was on the seat next to me as I drove home. See that gap in the front, right at the top?
The first I was aware that the bats were no longer in the birdhouse, was when one of them landed on the dash. That's when I noticed the gap. By that time, all three bats were flying around the inside of my car. The windows were up, so to an echo locating bat they were solid walls. At a four way stop near my house, I looked over at the person stopped to my right. She smiled then saw what was happening inside my car. The expression on her face made me start to laugh, looking maniacal, I'm sure since I was sealed in a Ford Explorer, laughing hysterically with three bats circling. But once I started laughing I couldn't stop. Tears were streaming down my face as I pulled away from the stop sign.

Once I got home, I simply lowered my windows and they all flew out into the woods. That's the same summer Johnny first showed up in my bathroom. Who knows, but I'm looking forward to year seven.






Another guest blog from Tanya: Petting Whales

Tanya wrote this after her first trip to San Ignacio Lagoon, one of the gray whale birthing lagoons on the Pacific Coast of Baja. These lagoons were discovered in the 1800s by whalers who nearly wiped out the species. One of the lagoons, is named after Charles Melville Scammon (1825-1911) who was a 19th-century whaleman, naturalist, and author. He was the first to hunt the gray whales of both Laguna Ojo de Liebre and San Ignacio Lagoon

The lagoons were discovered in 1852 and by the early 1860s had been 'swept clean of whales.' 

Read more by clicking on this link 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Melville_Scammon 

The good news, is they are back and apparently have forgiven us as a not-so worthy species.

Petting Whales
by 
Tanya Smart

This story is really about fulfilling a very long dream so be warned.  It is sappy and probably long.  Just thinking about the amazing phenomenon of the friendly whales makes me cry. 

On every trip out (into the lagoon), there was one spot where a whale spy hopped each day. We decided this was the sentinel whale who announced to the others that we were coming. The first trip out we didn’t get to touch. The whales were feeding (so much for the books that say they only eat in Alaska). We tried to tell ourselves that we weren’t disappointed (really) that we had been closer to whales than ever before (and it was magnificent) and besides we got to have lobster for dinner that night. However, we woke up the next day just hoping that maybe, maybe, maybe—. Our hopes were realized. A mom and baby came up to the boat and we all got to pet the baby. Petting a whale for the first time—how does one describe it?!  Amazing, magnificent, humbling, fascinating, joyful, mind boggling?  All of these words fall short. I tried to stay composed, but then rather lost it. The naturalist came to see if I was OK and I said “never better.”  Then the boat captain came forward and gave me a huge hug. “Thank you for loving the whales.” Needless to say, that didn’t make me stop crying.

From there it only got better. The next day we had a Mom and Baby stay with us for an hour. Mom actually got under the boat upside down, and held the boat on her stomach and her baby on her flipper so we could touch it. We touched, scratched, hugged, kissed, got snotted on, got bubbled on—you name it. Rinsing whale nose stuff off your glasses is not a bad thing. Whale spit in your ears makes you laugh. Watching Mom deliberately make sure EVERY PERSON on the boat touched and scratched her baby was amazing. We talked about it later: why was she doing this?  Here’s a big brained animal that has a huge energy demand—migration, pregnancy, birth, nursing—and she is using precious energy and time to make sure we touch her baby. It was clearly important to her and it was pretty clear we were fulfilling her agenda. The baby was just enjoying him/herself.

The next day the Mom and Baby took their time checking us out, but once we got Mom’s approval, the Baby (we called “Bumper” since he liked “bumping” the boat) came steaming in and wanted throat pleat scratches, tongue scratches, gum and baleen scratches and belly rubs. If it weren’t for my dogs waiting back home, I’d still be there.  Mom kept an eye on us for about 20 minutes, occasionally moving her offspring away from the motor. We must have proven trustworthy as after that she backed off and took a snooze while we babysat.

Our trip was with Kuyima Ecotourismo. This company is owned and operated by Mexicans and staffed primarily by the local people of Baja Sur. In this way, the ecotourism benefits the people who are saving the lagoon from development. They were happy to see us even if we were Americans whose government was building a wall (between our countries.) The Kuyima camp is comfortable, clean and respectful of the fragile desert environment. We kayaked in mangroves, beach-combed on shell beaches and hiked on salt flats, walking over local burro and mule tracks. The coyotes are not tame, but not terribly afraid either, even when you fall down while trying to take their picture. The organization for San Ignacio Lagoon is amazingly efficient and respectful. Only 16 pangas (small boats) are allowed in the whale watching area at one time so the different companies cooperate. Each boat is limited to 90 minutes in the area. No mobbing of whales, no feeling that what you are doing is hurting them at all.  It is completely up to the whales to be friendly or to ignore you. We were ignored by some, and others saw us coming and practically charged the boat. 


Bumper

Brent (Tanya’s husband) took more than 300 photos (not counting the ones he deleted each night). I couldn’t throw any away—even the out of focus, out of frame photos show the amazing phenomenon of forgiveness. I’ve come away thinking that Momma Whale knows exactly what she is doing when she brings her precious baby up for a rub. Touch is important in Cetaceans. By letting us touch her baby; maybe she is bonding us to them and training humans to respect her species.