Guest Blogger: Nona Smith


Missy


Point, Counterpoint

Karma, kismet, destiny, they say there’s no escaping it. I believe that’s true. My name is Missy Cat and here is my story.
 My brother and I were born in a shelter in Ft. Bragg, California.  Our mother, the slut, abandoned us at a tender age to start a new life of her own, leaving us to fend for ourselves.  Some experts believe that birth order is everything, and I’m the older sister. Which turned out to be a good thing for my brother because I’m the responsible, affectionate and patient one. And lord knows, he required patience.
But I was also a kitten in my own right, all girly- girl feminine with long fur, pale blue eyes, and the loudest purr you’d ever want to hear. And smart.  I’m very smart. Always have been. Especially in comparison to (nod of the head) you-know-who.  

Buster










I guess she’s talking about me. My name is Buster (middle name The) Cat. It wasn’t always so.  I started life as Oscar. That’s what they named me at the shelter where I was born.  They don’t often name kittens there, but I was special.  I was the runt of the litter. My Elizabeth-Taylor-blue eyes were crusted with muck, my sinuses filled with snot when I was born.  I was a mess.  But I was also really cute. I had latte-colored fur and chocolate brown ears and muzzle.  The staff made a Big Deal over me, even took turns taking me home so they could medicate me during the night and keep an eye on me when the shelter was closed.
He’s a Big Deal, all right.  Full of himself.  Entitled. Not overly bright.  He thinks he can get by on looks alone. I, on the other hand, figure stuff out. I know just where to patiently wait to catch the mice that come into my garage. I’ve trained my people to give me treats when they want me to come inside. But, wait! I’m getting ahead of my story. Let’s just say, I wanted to be more than a big sister.  I wanted a home of my own, far away from Oscar.
(Lick, lick, groom, groom, snuffle, snort.)  Whatever.
One day, the shelter was abuzz with talk of a “mobile adoption,” the staff all excited about finding some of us homes. My ears, always finely tuned, pricked up. This was my chance! When they loaded the van, along with some others of my species and a few noisy dogs, I was on it.  Oscar was not.  He was deemed too small and sickly to be ready for adoption.  Much to my delight, he was left behind.
They took us on a car-sickening ride to an empty lot in Mendocino where they unloaded us and stacked our cages three high. Tiny me, only eight weeks old, was on the top tier. It was a cold, windy day so I huddled in the blanket at the back of my cage, shivering.  People came by and poked their faces in at me. This was a new experience, and I was alarmed by it. One couple asked if they could hold me, so I was taken out of my cage and put into the woman’s arms.  She was nice enough, gentle, and she held me securely, but I trembled.  Perhaps I didn’t make the best first impression.
“She’s a cutie, but she’s too timid,” I heard the woman say. They put me back in the cage and walked away.
 Back at the shelter, (snort, sneeze) things were quiet.  Most of the staff went to that mobile adoption thingy, leaving me behind.  I was considered too sick to go along. Perhaps I’d overdone the sneezing, snorting bit. But, I was sure my sister would come back and tell me all about it.
Actually, that wasn’t my plan at all.  My plan was to never go back to that shelter.  Oscar and his sick kitten act were beginning to get on my last nerve. My idea involved getting myself adopted that day. So when oh boy! the couple that held me earlier came back for a second look, I knew what I had to do: I had to channel Oscar.  Be out there.  Demand attention.
 I gathered my courage together, loped to the front of my cage and, stuck my dainty paw through the metal bars, snagging the woman’s sweater. Maybe not the best execution of the plan, but I needed to get her attention.  I wanted to prove I was more than her first impression of me.
“Awww,” she cooed.  I made loud, purry-chirpy sounds. “She seems to have gotten used to being here.  She’s not as timid as she was earlier. Can I hold her again? “  My plan was working.
It was okay that I didn’t go to the mobile adoption that day. My staff at the shelter had little else to do so they played with me. Of course I had to sneeze a time or two to get their attention. They picked me up and cuddled me.  And I so deserved to be cuddled. I was adorable.  You can still see that, can’t you? Look at these blue eyes.  Look at my handsome nose. (Sneeze.)
I got adopted! I rode home (such a nice word) snuggled deeply into the woman’s arms, my purring motor going full throttle.  But once we arrived there, I got scared again.  I’d never been in so much space.  No cages to confine me, just freedom.  Whoa.  I decided the safest place was under some poofy cushions piled high in a window seat where I could look out but still feel hidden and secure.  I stayed there until I heard the pinging of something familiar: crunchy food nuggets hitting the bottom of a dish.  That was worth coming out to investigate
At the end of the day, when the van came back, the yappy dogs were put into their cages and the disinterested-acting older cats were put into theirs.  I waited for my sis, the know-it-all, sure she would tell me what I’d missed. But she didn’t return.  Wow. (Sneeze. Snort.)
“Poor Oscar,” said a staff person. “You’re going to be lonely now,” But she took me home with her and I wasn’t.
One dish of food led to another and not one of them had Oscar’s snot in it.  I had my own litter box, my own toys, my own people and my own name. They called me Missy, a name befitting the dainty thing I was. This was the home I’d dreamed about. I was petted, fed and played with during the day.  At night, the three of us sat companionably on the couch and watched TV.  When we went to bed, I slept in the middle.
My sister didn’t come back all night. Or the next. Or the one after that. It looked like she was gone for good and I was gonna be on my own from now on.
That was cool.  I could handle it. (Groom, groom. Sneeze, snort.)  Oh look!  My staff is coming to see what I need.  Maybe a little salve in my eyes, a little fresh food to keep my strength up.
My people were so proud of me they invited their friends over to meet me.  I was beginning to understand Oscar’s addiction to attention.
One day, they invited a neighbor over, Ronda. Ronda was known to be an animal collector.  She shared her house with five cats, three dogs---one with a severe over-bite—ten chickens, a mean rooster and a beta fish.  I was glad not to be living at Ronda’s house.
Holding me in the crook of her arm, she gushed, “Isn’t she adorable? I wish she had a twin.”
“Actually,” my people told her, “she has a brother.”
I had a bad feeling about this conversation.
Two weeks after my sister left, a lady showed up at the shelter asking for me. I had no idea my reputation had spread throughout the community. But there she was. She held me and petted me and made a big fuss over me. Frankly, everyone does. (Sneeze.) And then she asked to adopt me!
“He needs to finish this course of antibiotics and put on a few more ounces before he can be adopted,” my staff person told the woman. “But you can come back for him next week, Ronda.”
Whopee!  I was gonna have a permanent home. No more sleeping around night after night. I’d have one person looking after just me!
Pleasant days passed into pleasant nights.  I was living the dream I’d imagined when I was back in the cage with Oscar. I strolled from lap to lap, collecting caresses, purring, and feeling very fortunate in my new home.
It was sad to leave my staff at the shelter. They’d taken good care of me all my life. But…it was time for me to move on.  After a while, they’d miss me less.
Ronda came to pick me up in a car smelling of…something I couldn’t exactly place. But then, with my sinus issues, I still don’t pick up scents very well. She cuddled and cooed at me just like she’d done before, and I was thrilled to be going to a home of my own.  Or so I thought it would be.
When we arrived at her house, she scooped me up and carried me to the front door, bypassing three dogs (one with a severe over-bite,) ten scratching chickens, and a mean-looking rooster who chased us briefly.  Inside, there was the all-too-familiar scent of cat pee.  This was not what I’d expected.  And it got worse.
Life was good for me, what can I say?
Three days and two nights passed, nights during which I had to share the bed and Ronda’s attention with six or seven other creatures.  (Snort.  Sniffle. Sneeze.) On the third morning, Ronda didn’t get out of bed.  She didn’t feed me…or any of us…and had forgotten to give me my medication. (Sneeze, sneeze.)  I was worried. 
My family and I spent another agreeable day and now we were cuddled together on the couch watching Masterpiece Theater. Outside the night grew dark and the wind whistled. But inside we were warm and cozy. I was lap napping when a shadow passed the windows and the light from the motion detector flashed.  I woke to a tapping at our front door. One of my people rose to answer it. 
“I’m so sorry to bother you at this late hour,” said our neighbor, Eleanor. She carried a squirming, dirty towel in her arms.  “Ronda’s been taken to the hospital by ambulance.  I went over to make sure her house was locked up, and I found this, shivering in her backyard.” 
She pulled back the towel to reveal a pair of Elizabeth-Taylor-blue eyes and the chocolate-colored muzzle and ears of a kitten.  “I heard you have his sister.”
And so it was.  It’s true what they say: you can never escape your destiny.  Once again, I’m the big sister.
Snort. Sneeze. Groom, groom. 
Missy (left) Buster (right)


Al B. Tross

  
Laysan albatross
by Ron LeValley
http://www.levalleyphoto.com/ 

I've lived here for 20 years, and for as long as I can remember, starting in mid-November, we on the Mendocino coast of California wait for news of Al B. Tross' return to Point Arena. 

"Al B. Tross is a different sort of critter," said David Jensen, President of the Mendocino Coast Audubon Society. "He's unique among vagrants. To the best of my knowledge, he's the only Laysan Albatross anyone can see while still standing on the shore of this continent.

To read more, here is the Paul McHugh story about Al B. Tross

    
At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came;
As it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!

From the Rime of the Ancient Mariner
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
nhptv.org

  
In the early 1980s, I did an Earthwatch project http://www.earthwatch.org/ on the Hawaiian island of Kauai. The project used albatross decoys in an attempt to encourage the Laysan albatross to establish a breeding colony at the Kilauea Light Station. I see on Wikipedia that the project was a success, and it is now the Kilauea Point National Wildlife Refuge. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kilauea_Point_National_Wildlife_Refuge 

The Laysan Albatross is best known for its gliding flight, awkward landings, and elaborate courtship rituals. These birds spend nearly half the year at sea, not touching land until breeding season. Though large for a seabird, the Laysan is small for an albatross. They may live more than 40 years. These birds are named for Laysan, one of their Hawaiian island breeding colonies.

Japanese feather hunters decimated many Laysan colonies at the turn of the century. Colonies at Volcano, Wake, and Marcus Islands have never recovered. Between 1958 and 1964, thousands of albatross were killed by collisions with antenna towers and aircraft strikes during landings and take-offs at Midway. Tens of thousands of albatross were intentionally killed in order to reduce such collisions. Today, eggs and birds continue to be removed at Hawaiian island airfields, in order to discourage nesting and ensure aircraft safety. On land, introduced predators, and lead poisoning from abandoned military buildings on Midway kills thousands of Laysans annually. At sea, the species is vulnerable to oil pollution, and the ingestion of floating plastics; tens of thousands also die in gill-nets, drift nets, and long-line fishhooks annually. Alternative long-line fishing techniques now being developed include weighing lines down, setting them at night, and using "screamer lines" to scare birds away.
 
Another beneficial human activity—the importing of topsoil and grass to Midway's Sand Island—has stabilized the sand dunes and increased albatross habitat. This coupled with the diminished human presence on Midway have led to increased Laysan populations there. At Kilauea Point National Wildlife Refuge on Kauai, protection by fencing and wildlife personnel has helped establish a breeding Laysan colony.
Source: http://birds.audubon.org/species/layalb 

Ron LeValley
http://www.levalleyphoto.com/ 

Ron LeValley
Albatross landing
http://www.levalleyphoto.com/ 

Ron LeValley
Midway Island
Albatross Colony
http://www.levalleyphoto.com/ 


Laysan Albatross & Plastics

The Problem

In the middle of the North Pacific Ocean, on a tiny island 1,000 miles from the nearest big city, many Laysan albatross chicks die each year because their bellies are full of bottle caps, toothbrushes and other plastic. One study found that 97.5% of chicks had plastic in their stomachs. Many people think that the biggest source of pollution in the oceans is oil spilled from ships, but most marine pollution is litter that starts out on land. By making changes now, we can reduce the amount of plastic that gets into our oceans in the months and years to come.

A Deadly Diet

Albatrosses fly hundreds, sometimes thousands of miles in search of food for their chicks. They look for squid and fish eggs floating on the surface of the water. Unfortunately, plastic floats, and Laysan albatross are particularly attracted to it. They eat it, mistaking if for food, then they fly back to the nest and feed bottle caps, lighters, fishing lures and other pieces of plastic to their young. The chicks starve to death, with stomachs full of plastic.

Trash Travels

Trash that's dropped on the ground doesn't stay put. Even hundreds of miles from the ocean, trash is washed by rain into city storm drains and out into streams and rivers that lead to the ocean. From there, wind and currents carry our trash far out to sea. Scientists estimate that around the world, up to one million seabirds and 100,000 marine mammals and sea turtles die each year from eating plastic. We can help keep trash from traveling by recycling and putting trash in trash cans.
Source: http://www.montereybayaquarium.org/cr/oceanissues/plastics_albatross/

b-e-a-c-h.org
A Laysan Albatross Chick full of plastic debris
Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung."
*
`Is it he?' quoth one, `Is this the man?
By him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross.
http://www.online-literature.com/coleridge/646/
 
 
hubil.free.fr
Laysan Albatross Chick

The Sloth and I

A friend sent this wonderful video of sloths at a sanctuary in Costa Rica. You know how I hate being hot, but this (almost) made me want to go, especially since the older I get the more I think I might be related to this species. 
mrnussbaum.com


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dL-&feature=related
If the link doesn't work, copy and paste it into Google or one of the other search engines.

Range and Habitat
This three-toed sloth species is found from southern Honduras through Panama and western Colombia through the Amazon to northern Argentina. It prefers tropical evergreen forests at low elevations that have continuous canopy cover.


Physical Description
The three-toed sloth has long coarse hair over dense underfur, a white face with a brown stripe on each side, a brown throat, and a body that is pale brown to yellowish. Each adult male has a unique pattern of yellow hair on its back with a black stripe through the center. As the name suggests, the three-toed has three toes on each of its front and hind feet. (Its relative, the two-toed sloth (Choloepus hoffmanni) also has three toes on the hind feet, but two on the front feet.)

Interesting Biology
The three-toed sloth is active during the day, unlike the nocturnal two-toed sloth, and so is seen more often. This sloth only eats leaves from trees and lianas (a type of climbing vine found throughout tropical rainforests. They have thick, woody stems and come in various lengths up to 3000 ft) (SRL.caltech.edu) but may feed on fifty individual trees of up to thirty species, eating leaves of different ages. Sloths live, feed, mate, and reproduce near the upper levels of the forest canopy. They move to a new tree often enough to balance their diet, or about once every 1.5 days. Home ranges of different individuals may overlap considerably and females tend to be more social than males, but usually one adult (or female with young) will occupy a tree at any given time. Sloths may use different food sources depending upon what their mothers taught them to eat.

Though large for an arboreal mammal, the three-toed sloth must also be light for its size to live in the treetops, so it has reduced muscle mass. They also have an enormous gut capacity-nearly 30% of their body weight! The sloth's diet of leaves is digested very slowly, so they need a large capacity. Sloths consume a significant amount of leaf material in a forest (about 2% of total annual leaf production in Panama). They have a slow metabolism, though, so they have thick fur to insulate them when their body temperature drops at night; their temperature peaks during the day when they bask in the sunlight.

About once a week, the sloth descends from its lofty living space, digs a small hole with its stubby tail, defecates and urinates in the hole, then covers it with leaves using its hind legs and return to its preferred heights. This ordeal lasts less than 30 minutes, but during this time the sloth is vulnerable to predators. While mortality of young sloths is high, individuals that survive to adulthood suffer low mortality rates; they are recorded to live as long as 9 to 11 years, and are thought to live as many as 20 to 30 in the wild.

Several kinds of arthropods live as adults on these sloths. These arthropods leave the sloth to deposit their eggs on the sloth's dung; the hatched larvae feed on the dung, pupate, and after they emerge as adults, fly in search for a sloth to live on. A single sloth may carry nine hundred or more beetles and three species of mites.

An adult female spends half the year pregnant and the other half rearing her single offspring. Young sloths can begin eating leaves when they are two weeks old. As the mother carries the young with her, she shows it which trees and lianas are fit to eat within their home range. When the baby is 6 months old, the mother suddenly leaves the young to her home-range and moves to a nearby range. The young and mother maintain contact through vocalizations, and the young continues to use this portion of her range for a while and then departs.

Diet
A three-toed sloth consumes large amounts of leaves from up to thirty species of trees and lianas; the particular species chosen by an individual sloth vary, and are largely affected by what its mother taught it to eat.

Sources http://www.anywherecostarica.com/flora-fauna/mammal/three-toed-sloth



Range of the Three-ted sloth
Wikipedia map



I'll never complain about Squirrels again

I've left my last post up longer than usual because it's so important to get the message out to women (of a certain age) and the number of hits hasn't diminished. If you haven't read it, or have read it, but haven't forwarded it, please do. In the meantime, a little amusement.


A friend sent this series of pictures to me years ago.
I think it begs the question...


WHAT IS THAT ROPE MADE OF?

Post-menopausal hell for horses


Mare with urine collection bag

For a while, after the warnings about increased rates of breast and other cancers in women who took hormone replacement therapy, the use of Premarin and/or Prempro dropped. Enough that a few of the Premarin mare rescue facilities closed down. Not so anymore. Baby-boomer women by the thousands are entering the hormone-replacement therapy market. I was once one of them, but the minute I discovered that, Premarin, the brand I took, was made from horse urine, I switched to a plant-based synthetic.

Horse urine? Seriously?
PRE (pregnant) MAR (mare) IN (urine)

As you might guess, if you've seen this blog more than once, I didn't stop taking Premarin just because it was made from horse urine. I stopped because the production of it had to be torture for the horses. It turned out to be worse than I imagined.

A Premarin mare on the "pee line" is confined to a narrow stall that restricts all movement. She is fitted with a urine collection bag, and stays that way nearly full-time for six months of each and every year for as long as she is productive. She is provided plenty of food, but water intake is limited in order to concentrate her urine.

Mares in a pee-line

For those six months, she can't lie down, roll as horses love to do, or get any exercise. They are not groomed, which leaves them susceptible to sores and infections. The normal lifespan of a horse is 20 to 30 or more years. On average a Premarin mare lives 8 or 9 years.
 
If the mare produces urine well and can be impregnated again, she will return to the pee line. Once she is no longer productive, the mares are sent to slaughter, destine for dinner tables in Europe and Asia, often with her last foal at her side--especially if it is a colt. Only a lucky few are purchased at auction to be rescued and adopted.  

What happens to the foals of mares that return to the pee lines? A Premarin mare's foal is a 'waste product' of urine farms. "We are talking around 40,000 to 50,000 foals a year from the US and Canada. (The number would be higher, but there is a higher than normal mortality rate among these foals, usually due to exposure or starvation.) Those that survive are sent to feed lots and then to Canadian auctions that cater almost exclusively to the horse meat trade to be sent mostly to Europe and Japan."


The drug and You
by Kym Lambert

"Premarin is marketed as an "organic" or "natural" estrogen...well, yeah it's natural, if you're a pregnant mare! But mares have a multitude of estrogens that humans do not have, do not need, and can potentially be harmed by.  

The risks involved include but are not limited to increase in breast and uterine cancer, stroke and abnormal blood clotting which can lead to death, gall bladder disease, rising in blood pressure, gastrointestinal problems, (and) memory loss. Personally, as a soon-to-be menopausal (possibly perimenopausal as of recently) woman those risks seem too high for me...if it were the only replacement therapy you couldn't pay me to take the stuff.  

But it isn't the only option, there are alternatives! Safer for you, for the horses, and for the environment (you think that processing all that urine is without waste?). These alternatives are "synthetic" although many are made from plant estrogens and most more closely replicate the human hormones you are replacing than Premarin can.

If you are menopausal, post-hysterectomy, or transsexual and you are on Premarin please consider contacting your doctor immediately to change your therapy. If you aren't convinced that you are swallowing horse urine (and you are not alone, a woman told me a nurse who was on Premarin had no idea how it was made, your doctor might not even know!) then crush one of your pills and sniff it. Yup, that's what it is all right! You'll smell it. Talk to your doctor, make sure s/he knows that you do not approve of the torture and death involved."

What is the most important information you should know about
(an estrogen mixture)
WARNINGS TAKEN FROM THE PREMARIN WEBSITE
http://www.premarin.com/?source=google&HBX_PK=s_premarin&o=47364519|223603789|0&skwid=43700003252793214
  • Estrogens increase the chance of getting cancer of the uterus.
  • Report any unusual vaginal bleeding right away while you are using these products. Vaginal bleeding after menopause may be a warning sign of cancer of the uterus (womb). Your healthcare provider should check any unusual vaginal bleeding to find out the cause.
  • Do not use estrogens with or without progestins to prevent heart disease, heart attacks, strokes, or dementia.
  • Using estrogens, with or without progestins, may increase your chance of getting heart attacks, strokes, breast cancer, and blood clots. Using estrogens, with or without progestins, may increase your chance of getting dementia, based on a study of women age 65 years or older. You and your health care provider should talk regularly about whether you still need treatment with estrogens
WHAT YOU CAN DO
  • Stop taking Premarin /or Prempro. There are synthetic alternatives. "In 1990, Wyeth had gone before the FDA requesting the label to their hormone replacement drugs be changed to include it to say their product protects against heart disease. Hormone replacement therapy skeptic, Cynthia Pearson, found not only did their claims appear to be too good to be true, but also "each time there was anything negative about the drug, a new claim arose to keep it alive." In every instance, Pearson continued to be unconvinced wondering how a drug was ever approved for women lacking a randomized clinical trial. It was not until 1991, after lobbying women's groups and criticism by congresswomen about the lack of attention paid to women's health that money was found, leading to the recently halted study." http://www.estrogen-replacement-side-effects.com/html/lawsuit.html
  • There are numerous horse rescue sites, specifically for Premarin mares and Premarin foals. Simply Google Premarin Mare Rescue to find one near you.
  • Forward this to friends who are on hormone replacement therapy.

Premarin mare and foal


A question of morality; Ours not theirs

In 1988, I read an article in the Houston Chronicle about Lucy Temerlin, a sign-language using chimpanzee raised as if she were human. The very next day, I began the 15 years of research that would lead to the publication of my second novel, Hurt Go Happy.

A few days ago a friend sent me this TED video. Frans De Waal is renown behaviorist who has been studying chimps at Yerkes in Atlanta for decades. I love TED videos. I've posted others, and I liked this one. It's about moral behavior in animals, specifically the ability of chimps, monkeys and elephants to show empathy, compassion, and work cooperatively. It's amusing in places, and the audience laughs. That's the part I hated. It lets us almost but not quite take the intelligence of animals seriously. I know. I'm overly sensitive about this, but all these strides in understanding how closely our emotions mimic the emotional state of animals were experiments done on captive animals. Caged animals. We are performing experiments that show that animals can suffer just as deeply as we can. Anybody with a pet dog knows that. So how much more testing do we need? THEY HAVE FEELINGS AND A MORAL CODE. SO STOP ALREADY.


Then a few nights ago CNN did a segment on removal of the last of the chimpanzees from the Coulston Foundation in Alamogorda, NM, to their new home at the Save the Chimp sanctuary in Fort Pierce, FL. The Coulston Foundation was where used up circus chimps, chimps from movies and commercials, and all the chimps from our space program were sent, and where, for the next 3 decades, biomedical experiments were conducted on them. (In Hurt Go Happy, the Coulston Foundation is the Clarke Foundation. My publisher made me change the name.)

There are series of videos, including portions of the CNN broadcast on the Save the Chimps site.


Chimpanzees as medical test subjects (source CNN.com)
The United States is one of two remaining countries--the other being Gabon--that legally allow chimps and other great apes to be used in invasive biomedical research, according to the Humane Society of the United States. However, other countries still contract the services of research centers that use chimps, according to Dr. Thomas Rowell Director of the New Iberia Research Center in Louisiana.

There are more than 930 chimpanzees at U.S. medical research facilities, most of them used for hepatitis testing, according to a report by the Institute of Medicine issued in December. The report stated that chimpanzees are not necessary for most biomedical research. The institute recognized two possible uses for chimps: one for cancerous tumors that are already part of ongoing investigations, and the other for a hepatitis C vaccine.

A panel of experts advising the National Institutes of Health on how to implement the the Institute of Medicine's report is expected to issue its recommendations by the end of the year.


A wake for a dead chimp
My question is, if chimps suffer, feel pain, show empathy, work cooperatively, fall in love, and mourn their dead, what kind of society are we to still perform experiments on them?  Human?  Inhumane? Inhuman

 http://pcrm.org/news/doctors_federal_complaint_halt_transfer_alamogordo_chimpanzees_100922.html

The Birthday Party



When I first started writing, it was by hand on a yellow pad, often in the lower galley of a DC10 flight to London. I was a Pan Am flight attendant and senior enough to hold the galley position away from the passengers.

Recently, I've been entering some of my early stories into the computer, mostly ones I wrote for the now defunct Miami News. Oddly, I wrote these long before it dawned on me that my job was to write about kids and their special relationships with animals.


The Birthday Party

When I lived in Miami, I was on the Board of the Tropical Audubon Society, which sponsored educational programs in the Dade County schools. I often trooped along with our educational director, David Hitzig, to watch him teach the children about our South Florida animals. 
Corn Snakes
thepetwarehouse.org


In addition to traveling daily to schools throughout the county, Hitzig also turned birthday parties at TAS’ Doc Thomas House into a learning experience. 

The children at one party I attended ranged in age from 4 to 7. Hitzig showed them a Red-eared slider turtle, a corn snake, an alligator, and Misty, the cross-eyed opossum. The children were encouraged to pet all the animals, and loved to put their hands in Misty’s pouch.

This particular day, David was putting Misty back in her carry-cage, when I heard a little boy whisper to the child on the bench next to him, “The bald-headed eagle is next!”

Baby Red-eared Slider
home-pet-care.blogspot.com



Hitzig told them about eagles being the symbol of our country. He held Peace high above their heads, then lowered his arm so that Peace, for balance, spread her one full wing and the stump of her other wing.
           
“Did everyone see that she has only one wing?” Hitzig asked.
           
They nodded solemnly. Peace folded her wing and the stub and glared down at them.
    
“Not long ago, Peace was soaring high above the Everglades,” Hitzig told them. “On the ground, far below her, a man saw her flying. He raised the gun he was carrying, pointed it at Peace and pulled the trigger. Park rangers found her and brought her to us. I’m here today to show you what that man did to Peace. And I’m here so none of you will grow up to be the kind of person who would shoot and cripple an eagle.”

northrup.org

They all sat quietly for a moment and looked sadly up at the eagle. “Poor Peace,” a child said.
           
Hitzig thanked them and the children exploded into screams and chasing each other.


Misty lookalike
 AP Photo

One child, a pretty little blonde girl with a long braid down her back, sat very still and watched as David put Peace back in her cage, then glanced at me with sad blue eyes. It was hard for me to believe a 4-year-old  understood what David had said well enough to look as if she were going to cry. I smiled to reassure her, but she looked away.
 
I saw her again as I was leaving. The other children were running and chasing each other, but she stood quietly and watched. A group rushed past where she stood and one of them tagged her. She laughed, clapped her hands together, hopped a few steps, then dropped her arms, and limped on twisted legs back to her mother. 
  
I realized then that that little girl understood exactly what it was like to not be able to fly, but forgot for a moment that she couldn’t. She understood that the spreading of a wing and a half is as full of hope as hops on twisted legs.


art.com

That was 20 years ago, and I’m hoping that that little girl and those other children, who are now young adults, grew up remembering that birthday party, and are still fighting for the right of eagles to soar.  




Our Hummingbirds by Ron LeValley

Last week Ron LeValley's Outside My Window featured these beautiful pictures of our northcoast hummingbirds, so I thought I'd share them with those of you who might not receive his daily e-mails. How to join this free, day-brightening list is at the bottom of the post.


Pictures and text by Ron LeValley
Male Anna's Hummingbird
Ron LeValley
(The) male Anna's Hummingbirds have red on the throat (which we call a gorget on the hummingbird) and on the crown. The rest of it is colored green and pale gray. At least 10 of them showed up at our feeder during this influx. Check out the tiny feet!

Male Anna's Hummingbird
Ron LeValley
We also had an influx of Allen's Hummingbirds. These are very similar to the Rufous, but have an obvious green back. They are also migratory, but don't go as far north or as far south as the Rufous, (which) nest inland from us, but are not common on the immediate coast.   
Male Allen's Hummingbird
Ron LeValley


Rufous Hummingbirds are smaller than the Anna's and are highly migratory, traveling from wintering in southern Mexico and Central America all the way to as far north as Alaska during the summer.
 
Male Rufous Hummingbird
 
Male Rufous Hummingbird
Ron LeValley
Many of you have asked more questions about distinguishing Rufous from Allen's Hummingbirds. (The) Allen's has green on it back. Here is a Rufous with an almost all orange back. But note the tiny flecks of green in the back and on the shoulder. This is not unusual for Rufous to show some green. In fact, there are rare Rufous Hummers that can have substantial amount of green in the back. So how do we identify them? It's tough. Look at the outer tail feather on this bird. It is wider than an Allen's outer tail feather. And the shape of the second from the middle tail feather (the one lying on the wing) is unique. So I am sure that this one is a Rufous. Obviously it is hard to see this mark in the field. So I can't be sure that yesterday's (picture) was an Allen's, I can only make a good guess. If we are not sure, we call them Selasphorus sp. because Selasphorus is the genus of these two species.

(Note of explanation from Ginny. Remember mnemonic Kings Play Chess On Fine Grain Sand from high school biology? Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, Species. Sp. is the abbreviation for species. The binomial, or genus and specific epithet, of the Allen's hummingbird is Selasphorus sasin and the binomial of the Rufous is Selasphorus rufus. Since Ron wasn't sure which it was, he referred to the bird by its genus and sp. indicated a single species (one bird) in that genus. Sp. because there was only one bird at the feeder. If two birds had been at the feeder, neither of which he could identify to species, he would have referred to them as Selasphorus spp. Spp. is plural.)

Rufous
Ron LeValley
Just to complete the types of birds we had during this invasion, here is female Anna's Hummingbird. They are slightly larger than the Rufous and Allen's hummingbirds, but have no sign of the rusty-orange color on them. Not only did we get the Rufous and Allen's in large numbers, we had as many as 10 Anna's around the feeders as well. So this influx was not just of migratory birds.

To join Ron's Outside My Window group follow this link.
http://www.levalleyphoto.com
A wonderful wildlife picture arrives daily.

I'm just worried about you and the long, hot summer ahead


Russian Gulch Waterfall
I wish I could count how many times I've been asked, 'what on earth made you move here?' This question comes as a first-time visitor tumbles out of their rental car at the end of the 4 hour drive from San Francisco, or Sacramento, or Oakland. We are equal distance from all of those cities, but it's the curvy, rolling, twisting, two-lane drive that either enthralls or makes them wish they'd never hung a left off the highway 101.

Honestly, I moved here so this Florida native would never be hot again as long as I live. Summer highs are in the high 60s, if the fog's not in, and the nights are in the 50s.

That really is the reason. Mendocino is cute, and the scenery is as breathtaking as it gets, but it's the climate that set the hook. Since then this place has grown on me like a partner in a marriage of convenience. I've fallen in love.

Over the last 21 years, I've done volunteer work for the local Audubon Society, the botanical gardens, College of the Redwoods, and other local non-profits, but there are just three that have had my complete devotion for the last 16 years: Teresa Sholars' Natural History class, Point Cabrillo Light Station

AND
the Mendocino Coast Writers Conference.

23rd ANNUAL
MENDOCINO COAST WRITERS CONFERENCE

The Mendocino Coast Writers Conference will take place July 26-28 at the College of the Redwoods campus in Fort Bragg. The three-day conference features a stellar line-up of agents, editors, and writers in all genres, teaching the craft of writing at beginning and advanced levels, as well as the encouragement of a community of writers in a relaxed and friendly setting. Registrants will participate in an intensive writing workshop with the same teacher for three consecutive mornings, allowing ample time for writing and review in a small group environment. Afternoons will consist of lecture/discussion sessions on various topics from authors, editors and agents, including “You’ve Written the Essay – Now What?,” “Inviting Surprise in Poetry,” and “The Successful Ingredients of Teen Fiction,” with young adult authors Ginny Rorby, Jody Gehrman and Stacey Jay.  

Keynote speaker Robin Hemley, author of eight books of nonfiction and fiction and winner of numerous awards, will lead the morning Master Class in Memoir. Hemley has been widely anthologized and his popular craft book, Turning Life Into Fiction, has sold over 60,000 copies.
Liquid Fusion Kayaks
http://liquidfusionkayak.blogspot.com/


Kim Addonizio, author of five poetry collections, novels, short stories and Ordinary Genius: A Guide for the Poet Within, will lead the morning poetry workshop. “I believe that a rigorous attention to craft is the best way to achieve your vision in language - but that wildness is essential, as well.” 

Victoria Zackheim has edited five anthologies of personal essays, written for documentary films (Tracing Thalidomide, Where Birds Never Sang), and authored The Bone Weaver.  She will teach the morning nonfiction workshop, focusing on personal essay. Zackheim teaches essay in the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program and is a 2010 San Francisco Library Laureate.

David Corbett, author of four novels including Done for a Dime and Blood of Paradise, has been anthologized in Best American Mystery Stories (2009 and 2011) and nominated for an Edgar. He will lead the morning workshop in novel, emphasizing character development. An experienced teacher at the UCLA Extension Writers’ Program and Book Passage in Corte Madera, he is a mainstay at its annual Mystery Writers’Conference.

Steve Almond, whose short story collections include My Life in Heavy Metal and God Bless America, will teach the morning workshop in short story. Almond has published a novel and two non-fiction books, been anthologized in Best American Short Stories, and appeared in GQ, The Believer, and Tin House.

Mendocino Coast Botanical Gardens is
the only oceanfront botanical garden in the country


Elizabeth Rosner, novelist, poet and essayist, will teach the morning workshop for emerging writers. Her first novel, The Speed of Light, was translated into nine languages and won awards in the US and Europe. Rosner, the daughter of Jewish holocaust survivors, has explored the impact of her parents’ experiences on her own life in “emotionally autobiographical” work. She has taught college-level creative writing for thirty years and been published in the journal Poetry and the New York Times Magazine.

enlightphoto.com
Attention Mendocino County Students & Teachers,

Scholarship is open to any High School Student in Mendocino County: public school, private school, homeschool, alternative ed. Applications are due by May 1.
Please pass this on to all young writers 9th - 12th grade. Countywide. Thank you!
For more information on registration, schedule of workshops and lectures, contest entry rules and deadlines, and presenter bios, please visit the conference Website at www.mcwc.org
or contact staff by phone and leave a message at 707-937-9983.

As long as I'm doing a little self-promoting...
http://www.teachmentortexts.com/2012/04/its-okay-to-reread-in-april-ginny-rorby.html#axzz1sPDS8Ls3


AND IN KEEPING WITH ALWAYS
HAVING AN ANIMAL IN THE POST?

COME JOIN US AND BEAT THE HEAT

Guest Blogger: Steven DeLuca & Roxy

Last week I got the notification for the June 2nd Cancer walk. I have done walks and runs starting out more than 25 years ago. (The) first time I was back from partying in San Francisco and my kids mom said "We are signed up for a run tomorrow to raise money for cancer."  She went 12 miles. I did 20. Bad for me was the travel and partying; good for me was running a marathon a month or two earlier. 

Anyway, I realized when I got that notification that a month or two ago I was technically a survivor which means I've made it five years. That doesn't mean it won't kill me in the sixth. And then today I got an envelope from the Veteran's Hospital with three little packets plus three pieces of wood like Popsicle sticks (Hate to say it but, you have to add another  'o' to the word Popsicle to know what they were really for.  (I was once shy about such things but by the time you get cancer and deal with the issues, well... you get over it.)

So, I get this packet and I ask myself WHY out of the blue are they sending this and I call and a guy, that is a clerk, can't tell me specifically but it has to do with blood tests I took a week or two ago.  Oh sh*t, I think but I don't say that because I don't talk that way, but I did want to know why they would send me that envelop, related to those tests, when I hadn't gotten the test results or an explanation. "I am not in a position of authority to discuss this with you," the clerk said, "but you should have received the test results first. I will have the doctor or the nurse call you ."

The last time that sort of thing happened they said, "Any hoo, it's malignant." Not really. They don't talk that way, but a cartoon I have in my cancer file has a patient on a table hearing it that way from his doctor. Maybe you have to be a New Yorker magazine reader to find that real funny, but I thought it a little funny.

So, my next thought, was sh*t. They want to see if there is blood in my "stool" a silly word for poo, don't you think? And what, pray tell, did they find in my last blood tests that are now making me wonder if, after 25 years of raising money for cancer, long ago and lately, will this be my last cancer march "to find a cure?"

The nurse called, "You have anemia, a little low, we just want to make sure." Well, it's been a little low for five years, so there. But I thought of my friend up the road, fifth time with Chemo, and a friend's son who recently died, and all the others I have known.

So, I am asking YOU, and if you do or don't, I have no emotional attachment to the results. I do know that some of you have your own causes and your own cancer organizations, but I'm asking that IF you have been skipping donating to causes lately, or for awhile, or feel moved to donate, I don't want to commit to X number of miles and then track you down... if you want to give, send a check to:
Cancer Resource Center of Mendocino County P.O. Box 50 Mendocino CA 95460

Roxy DeLuca

Say you are sponsoring Roxy DeLuca, Steven DeLuca's service dog. (I'm not sure if she gets
double credit for four legs or not, or triple credit for all the short little strides.) There is a prize for the person who raises the most. It's never me. But for her second year walking, or kayaking, I want her to be the only animal that raises some money for the Cancer Resource Center (the only one in the group that needs a "poo" bag by the way. Well, the only one that you would see, I'm sure some of the cancer walkers have their own.) Cancer really has hardly any benefits besides making you pay attention to what is valuable in life and ... well, we really do need to find a cure and your five dollars or whatever you want to send will help. For you, for your future great grand children. Thanks.
Steven DeLuca


Roxy & Steven on the front page of the local paper last year. 
"It was windy, rainy, she and I had heavy jackets on."


While we are on the subject of Great horned owls: Hamlet on her eggs by Ronnie James



Hamlet on her eggs threatening Ronnie
4/8/2012

 

Woodlands Wildlife is a small wildlife rehab facility specializing in birds, and is the home of Hamlet, a permanently disabled Great horned owl. This time of year Hamlet is busy responding to hormones stimulated by the changing length of days and nights.

On January 14, the wild Great horned owls started coming up from the canyon to hoot and holler over Hamlet’s cage. They are trying to establish their territory and chase the caged interloper out of it. Hamlet just hoots back—telling the wild ones the same thing. They argue back and forth like that all afternoon and evening, then again toward dawn. 

Despite having been misidentified by a veterinarian 25 years go, Hamlet is a large female Great horned owl with a paralyzed wing and foot. By February 21st she had built a nest in her cage and gotten more aggressive towards me. Though she has adequate nesting material and many places higher up, she always chooses to excavate a shallow depression in a corner of the gravel on the floor of her cage. Eventually 3 eggs appear. They are about the size of large chicken eggs, and she sits tightly on them. She has no mate, so the eggs are sterile—like all animals, including humans, owls produce eggs because their hormones tell them to. Official guidelines tell me to remove the eggs so she will stop being aggressive and get on with her life, but she's so content sitting on them. She coos and clucks softly to them, and defends them fiercely, so I let her keep them. 

In nature her mate would bring her food while she tends the nest, but since she has no male to feed her, the job falls to me. I defrost several mice, warm them, and make the trip to her cage where a tricky little dance ensues as I try to keep my fingers out of her lunging beak.

Hamlet will sit on the sterile eggs for 60 days, then her hormones will change and she’ll suddenly abandon the nest, not recognizing the eggs she defended so fiercely just the day before.

It’s a great sadness to me to see this proud, handsome bird living alone in a cage. I wonder continuously if I have done her a favor by saving her life and giving her a home, but no answers present themselves. 

You can read about Hamlet, Honey Bear, Jacob Otter, Rosie O’Coon and learn how we do wildlife rescue and rehab in our book, Touching Wings, Touching Wild available at our web site:   http://www.touchingwings.org/  Written for adults, it is also appropriate for young readers age 9 and up.  

Ronnie James,
Director
Woodlands Wildlife
For more information on Great horned owls visit

Requiem for a Great Horned Owl by Maureen Eppstein

 I'm so intimidated by poets, especially the ones who seem capable of reaching through your rib cage and playing with the rhythm of your heart. Maureen is that kind of poet.
itsnature.org

Requiem for a Great Horned Owl
by Maureen Eppstein

A warm late summer afternoon at Stanford University. I’d found a shady grove to sit and eat my lunchtime sandwich. As I strolled back to my office in Encina Hall, the administration building, I noticed several co-workers clustered under the huge live oak in front of the building, hugging each other and gazing at something on the ground. Uneasy, I hurried to join them. The looks on my friends’ faces confirmed my fears. ”Our” Great Horned Owl, who regularly roosted in the oak, lay crumpled on the ground.

I glanced back at the old sandstone building behind me. That spring, the owl and its mate had nested on a fourth floor windowsill of Encina’s east wing, which had been gutted by fire in 1972, ten years earlier, and was now uninhabited by humans. We delighted in seeing the fuzzy owlets emerge from behind the broken and boarded-up window and perch precariously on the stone sill. Owl parents returned with food, such as gophers and ground squirrels. Interoffice memoranda reported on the babies’ progress in learning to fly. 
flickr.com

That year had seen a huge increase in ground squirrels on the university grounds. We learned that the groundskeepers had laid an anti-coagulant poison to try to reduce the damage to trees and bushes. The most likely cause of the owl’s death was a poisoned rodent. Angrily, staff and students demanded that the Grounds Dept. cease using the poison.

They desisted for a while. But fourteen years later, a local newspaper, the Palo Alto Weekly, did a follow-up story. It quotes the Manager of Grounds, who does not recall that there was a clear link between the death of the owl and ground squirrel poison. But whatever was said 14 years ago, one thing is clear. Stanford is once again controlling the ground squirrel population with poison. For nearly a year, Stanford has been killing ground squirrels by giving them food laced with an anti-coagulant, which causes the animals to internally bleed to death over several days. The program has upset campus bird watchers, many of whom remember what happened to the owl family.

This year, I decided to follow up. I read on Stanford’s website that the university had launched an Integrated Pest Management program in 1997, the year after the Palo Alto Weekly article appeared. Since then, the Grounds department at Stanford has been dedicated to using an integrated pest management approach to provide suppression and long-term control of pests on campus, with the least amount of impact to the environment, non-target organisms and human health.

Herb Fong, who was Grounds manager during the 1980s and ‘90s, is now retired, but agreed to inquire on my behalf as to the department’s policies. Today I had excellent news. Herb writes: “I confirmed with staff that they are continuing to use trapping as the means to control the ground squirrels and no baits are used on the campus.”

If an 8,180-acre campus, mostly woods and grasslands, can stop using poisons, so can any other property whose owners care about wildlife.





10,000 Views!


This is a thank you card.

With the help of my friend, Susan Bono, I started this blog last August. As of today, the site has had just over 10,000 views.

At first I couldn't imagine what I would find to write about even once a month, much less twice a week. As you know, I've had help from others who are also working to help animals--wild and domestic. And I suspect most of the visitors to this site are the choir. You care about what I care about. That's okay. That's a good thing.

When these pictures arrived a couple of days ago, I felt my heart swell. I'm sure many of you have seen them, but enjoy them again as a thank you from me for taking the time to care.



 

I wish you this kind of bliss,

LOVE, Ginny

Sand Bees


blogsmonroe.com


Is it just me?

One of the main industries here in Fort Bragg was forestry. Since 1852, when Jeremy Ford arrived on the Mendocino Coast from Gold Rush San Francisco to salvage what was left after the wreck of the Frolic, (yet another story) which was carrying supplies from China for the miners, our trees have been under siege. San Francisco was growing exponentially, to the point where when a ship arrived in the harbor, the crew would abandon it for the gold fields, and the ship would be dragged ashore for housing. No fool was Ford. He saw our trees and an industry was born. Within two years every cove on the Mendocino Coast had a mill. Our timber built the city of San Francisco--and rebuilt it after the 1906 earthquake.

What has this got to do with Sand Bees?

The Georgia-Pacific lumber mill here in Fort Bragg occupied 400 oceanfront acres. For decades the site was off-limits to the public. (Still is for the time-being, even though the mill itself closed a number of years ago.) This means that in spite of the massively destructive business of milling timber, there are relatively pristine areas left on that site. A couple of years ago, I was lucky enough to be involved in surveying where interpret signs should be placed once it is open to the public. That was the first time I saw sand bees, and was immediately smitten. The friend I was with told me what they were, and that the female lines her underground nest with a waxy substance, and that the burrow is somehow shaped so it doesn't flood. How could you not love that little bee? So when I was trying to think of a subject for this blog, I remember those sand bees, and Googled them. The first site that came up was this one.

  How to Kill Sand Bees | eHow.com  http://www.ehow.com/ › Lawn & Garden 


Does it seem odd to you that, if you are the least bit curious about anything, the first thing offered up is a way to kill it? Or is it just me?

Here's more information on the Digger Bee, or Sand Bee: 

 

Digger Bee is a common name for a group of robust, fast-flying, ground-nesting bees with velvety fur. These bees live throughout the world. There are several thousand species, more than 900 of which occur in the United States and Canada. Digger bees visit a wide variety of flowers and are important in pollination. They are also called long-horned bees due to the exceptionally long antennae of the males.


Digger bees range from the size of a honey bee to as large as a bumble bee. These bees mostly nest in the ground and line their brood cells (compartments for offspring) with a wax-like secretion. In some species, the females construct a characteristic turret, a chimney-like extension of the nest entrance. Digger bees display very interesting nesting and foraging behavior. Many species nest in dense aggregations, and swarms of males cruise around the nesting sites searching for emerging females. In one species, the males can detect the females in the ground before they emerge. These males dig a hole into the ground where the female will emerge and then await her arrival. Other males attempt to take over and fights ensue. The largest bee usually wins.


A species of digger bee called the southeastern blueberry bee specializes on blueberry plants in its pollen-collecting. It is more efficient at pollinating these plants than honey bees or bumble bees. Another species, the pallid bee, puts on spectacular displays of mating behavior in the spring around nests in desert washes in Arizona. The Pacific sand dune bee is a digger bee that nests in coastal sand dunes in California, Oregon, and Washington. The females dig nests 0.9 m (3 ft) deep in compacted dune sand.


Scientific classification: The digger bees comprise the subfamily Anthophorinae, family Anthophoridae, order Hymenoptera. The southeastern blueberry bee is Habropoda laboriosa, the Pacific sand dune bee is Habropoda miserabilis, and the pallid bee is Centris pallida.
http://www.everythingabout.net/articles/biology/animals/arthropods/insects/bees/digger_bee/

http://forum.beemaster.com/index.php/topic,16877.0.html 
This by ILoveMyAnts in NJ. A really lovely man. He's got some great pictures of his digger bees.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=74bJfEPpgow
This is a video of a female excavating her nest.






Bits and Pieces



My first guest blogger, on August 15, 2011, was my friend, J. Aday Kennedy. I thought you'd like to see this inspirational interview with her.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVP0wMpQMio
 (for some reason, known only to blogspot, you'll have to copy and paste the link)
http://jadaykennedy.blogspot.com/
http://www.jadaykennedy.com/
http://brainfartexplosion.blogspot.com/   

The illness and stroke that left Aday a legally blind ventilator-dependent quadriplegic, failed to dim her love of life and determination to spread a message of inspiration and hope.

Joan Hallmark shares Aday’s story of triumph over tragedy in a memorable interview. In the fourteen years since becoming disabled she has cried and laughed her way through the hard times. Aday’s “CAN DO” philosophy shapes her speeches and writing.
Her writing has appeared in many newspapers and magazines including five inspirational essays  in the popular Chicken Soup for the Soul books. Currently she is writing her memoir, “Laughter Through Tears,” about her physical and spiritual recovery.















 ***


In a December 16th post, I wrote about Johnny, my bathroom bat. I'm happy to report he's back for the 7th year in a row.

                                          ***

Lost in the River of Grass received an honorable mention in the 2012 Westchester Fiction Awards  
http://wfa.yolasite.com/




***


I'm going to watch this tonight, with my heart in my throat. 

A Project Nim is now out on Netflix

Making a Mountain out of a Molehill?

A couple of days ago, I was in one of our local feed stores buying The World's Best Cat Litter...which actually is the best I've found even though it is depressingly expensive. Behind the counter was a sign advertizing something to kill moles on sale for 50% off. I asked the young man ringing up my sale what it was.
          "It mimics the worms they eat."
          "So it's poisonous?"
          "Oh yeah," he said, pleasantly.
          I then proceeded to lose it. "That is so stupid. Moles do more good than they do damage." I grabbed my cat litter and stomped out.
          Since then, I've felt bad. Both of our feed stores, all our hardward stores, and all the grocery stores in town carry products to kill what we consider "pests." They are supplying what people want to buy. It would be nice if they had a clue about the ramifications of all those toxins, but like that kid I yelled at, they don't.
           A couple of days later, I was offered a load of firewood by an elderly man in our community. He's a volunteer at a local non-profit and he was helping split some trees that had been removed. While we were talking, I noticed he had a box of mole killer in a bag on his front seat.
           "Moles are good," I said, lamely.
          Years ago, I saw a maintenance man at our local college opening one of a dozen gopher holes and pouring poison in. Here on the north coast of California we do have a terrible gopher problem (which saved us from all speaking Russian)(see my comment)--a totally unwinnable gopher problem. (I know unwinnable is not a word, but it should be.) I was then, and still am, a volunteer at that college. I marched straight into the dean's office, and she put a stop to the college using poison right then and there.
          So here I am, sorry I yelled at that kid, and hopefully trying to convince a few more people not to use poisons to eliminate anything, but especially not moles. Is a bumpy little trail in a lawn really worth poisoning a myriad of underground organisms? (I won't ask about having a useless lawn in the first place.) I'll just give you some facts about moles:
  • Diet
    • They eat grubs, earthworms, beetles, beetle and other larvae, ants, wasps, flies and other insects.  
    • That is why moles are often a 'menace' on golf courses and in lawns. The use of fertilizer and the care of grass attracts worms and grubs, which in turn attract moles.
  • Benefits
    • They keep the earthworm population in check; People think earthworms can never be a bad thing, but in fact they can. Too many earthworms cycle forest litter too quickly, causing topsoil loss, and nutrient loss.
    • Their tunnels aerate soil; plant roots need oxygen; mole tunnels provide habitat for salamanders (which eat slugs), snakes (that eat moles, voles, mice and gophers,) lizards, and ground dwelling bees.
    • They eat insects.
    • Their tunnels create channels for water to run off, preventing damaging erosion.
  • Poisons used to kill moles applied in your home and landscape can move (through those same tunnels) and contaminate creeks, lakes, and rivers which, in our case, all lead to the ocean.
    • Here's a warning from UCDavis: Confine chemicals to the property being treated and never allow them to get into drains or creeks. Avoid drift onto neighboring properties, especially gardens containing fruits or vegetables ready to be picked.
I'm always tempted when I read a warning like this to say, WHAT ARE WE THINKING? Why would we risk poisoning our own property? Most of us have wells, and the ones who don't get their water from the Noyo River. Where do we think the water in our wells comes from, or the water in the river? And do we think that the only creature we are going to kill is our target pest? That it will conveniently curl up and die underground. What about the worms that eat its remains, and the birds in our yard eating those worms?

I've done bird rehab for years. Once you've seen an owl or a hawk die from eating a poisoned "pest," you will finally get it. Here on the coast the main predators on gophers are Great Blue herons, housecats and the voracious long-tailed weasel, which can wipe out an entire colony of gophers in an afternoon. The American kestral's main food source are voles. You poison one, you poison them all.

Long-tailed weasel
itsnature.org

PRECAUTIONARY STATEMENTS
HAZARDS TO HUMANS AND
DOMESTIC ANIMALS
CAUTION:  Keep away from humans, domestic animals and pets.  If swallowed, this material may reduce the clotting ability of the blood and cause bleeding.
NOTE FOR PHYSICIAN: This product reduces the clotting ability of the blood and may cause hemorrhaging.  If poisoning occurs, intramuscular and oral administration of Vitamin K1 are indicated, as in poisoning from an overdose of bis-hydroxycoumarin.  For human cases, Vitamin K1 is antidotal at doses of 10-20 mg total (not mg/kg). For animal cases, Vitamin K1 is antidotal at 2-5 mg/kg.  Repeated doses may need to be given up to two weeks (based upon monitoring of prothrombin times).

ENVIRONMENTAL HAZARDS

Do not apply this product directly to water, or to areas where surface water is present or the intertidal areas below the mean high water mark.
 REALLY?

Why Write?




There are days when I sit at the computer, hour after hour, and wonder why? Why sit here day in, day out reordering sentences and paragraphs, putting commas in, taking commas out of what I wrote just moments before, or a month ago, or, in the case of Girl Under Glass, the book I'm rewriting now, five years ago? It has already been rejected 6 times.

That was also the case with Hurt Go Happy. I spent years researching and writing that book, only to have it come back rejected over and over again. Then my agent quit me, and finally, after 15 years, I gave up. For the next three years, I continued to attend my writing group, but never turned anything in. I'm not sure what changed my mind about giving up. Maybe it's the idea that quitting ends whatever chance you had to make your dream come true, or your hard work pay off. 

Most of you know the rest of the story. What you might not know is the working title of Hurt Go Happy, American Sign Language for the pain has ended, was Without Voices.  I believed when I started researching and writing that book that it would give voice to the voiceless--abused children and abused animals. Big dream.

In the years since HGH was published, I've received a handful of letters that made those 18 years worthwhile. This is one of them. Oh boy, is this one of them!

Dear Ginny Rorby,

My name is Rosa Rodriguez. I am the Deaf Literacy Coordinator for the Pinellas Public Library Cooperative in Florida. I am working with the middle school teacher at Morgan Fitzgerald Middle School in Largo, Florida, who has a reading class of five 8th graders who are Deaf. 

These five students have never enjoyed reading.  National research done at Gallaudet University in Washington D.C. says that the average deaf high school student graduates at a third grade reading level.  It has been our passion to drastically change this sad statistic.  For these students, reading has been an arduous task that was always a requirement.  In an effort to show them the beautiful world of reading, the teacher decided to do a read aloud, Hurt Go Happy.

Hurt Go Happy opened a whole new world for the students.  For the first time, they truly learned the beauty and magic behind a book. They laughed imagining Sukari signing and cried when Dr. Charlie died.  They longed to yell at mom when she was oppressive to Joey and clapped when Joey fought back.  As a class they learned about social issues such as animal testing and the effects of abuse. They also went on a journey of emotions together- the steady wave of pain and joy.   

The teacher says: "Because of your book, their lives have been and will be radically changed. They would always ask if we could read one more chapter or stay past the bell just a few more minutes. They truly understand the feeling I-just-can’t-put-it-down.  To me, I saw a miracle happen in my classroom.  For maybe the first time in their lives, they fell in love with a book."

For their graduation of 8th grade on June 8th, we are requesting a letter to the students that we can read aloud at their graduation ceremony.   The Deaf Literacy Center at our public library will be purchasing your book as a gift to the students and we would love to include your letter with the book.

With sincere thanks,

Alissa Matiya
Deaf Educator
Morgan Fitzgerald Middle School


Rosa Rodriguez, MS

Deaf Literacy Coordinator
Pinellas Public Library Cooperative, Inc.

Hurt Go Happy Commercial   by Alissa Matiya's deaf students

http://www.facebook.com/n/?video%2Fvideo.php&v=10100585925956710&mid=5d2b823G3f515651G34bc912G1d&bcode=MXbwnVXj&n_m=ginnyrorby%40mcn.org

And now a word from my sponsor

 
More about me by Kayleen Reusser 

Kayleen Reusser is an author of children's non-fiction books. A newspaper columnist and speaker, Kayleen lives in Bluffton, Indiana where she also works in the Bluffton Harrison Middle School Library. She is the author of numerous children's books, and is best known for her biography of Taylor Swift and Celebrities Giving Back. 

Kayleen was kind enough to ask to interview me. :-)
http://kayreusser.wordpress.com/articles/



And your reward: a good laugh.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbVe8s9ryEg

The Joy of Killing

popfi.com

I've never understood hunting. I can't wrap my head around the need to kill an animal for the pure joy of taking a life, so when our California Fish and Game Commissioner accepted a $7000 trip to Idaho and killed a mountain lion for sport, I added my voice to the choir calling for his resignation.
I haven't changed my mind. I still think his behavior is disgusting, but I wasn't going to make an issue of it on this blog. Then my friend, Tanya, sent this to me. She's so much more reasonable about this kind of thing than I am.

http://sacramento.cbslocal.com/2012/03/02/ethics-complaint-filed-against-fish-and-game-commission-pres-who-shot-cougar/




The recent blow up over a California Fish and Game Commissioner shooting a mountain lion in Idaho is being portrayed as radical animal rights versus radical hunting. I believe this is obscuring the point. I am ambivalent about hunting but was fed by my hunting father for the first 5 years of my life and was paid to conduct environmental education programs in under-served schools by a non-profit associated with hunting. I agree with many of the precepts of animal rights but reject many of the more radical actions that some of these organizations undertake.

The issue to me is one of judgment. This person was appointed by the Governor to oversee the Department of Fish and Game, the agency that grants hunting licenses, oversees regulation enforcement, and interacts with the Federal Government on management plans for Endangered Species recovery. As long as he is Commissioner, he represents the Department of Fish and Game and his actions are a reflection on the Commission. The reflection from the photo of him holding a dead mountain lion in triumph is not attractive. To many of my hunting friends using dogs to tree a mountain lion so that it can be shot is not hunting, it is target practice. To most of us, an appointed California Fish and Game Commissioner accepting such an expensive trip as a gift from a person who would make more money if more people used his company looks suspicious.

Hunting whales is legal in some countries but that does not mean it would be wise for an American member of the International Whaling Commission to participate. Hunting elephants is legal in some countries but that does not mean it would be smart for a representative of the Species Survival Plan for elephants in the United States to go hunting elephants in Africa.

Just because something is legal it behooves us to think about the consequences before we indulge. I think this Commissioner should lose his position, not because he shot a mountain lion legally in another state, but because of the clear lack of judgment he showed in doing so.

Tanya

Dan Richards with his kill.

  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/03/08/dan-richards_n_1332782.html