The week leading up to my birthday was an interesting one. I choose the word "interesting" intentionally because I am making a conscious effort to be less negative and to see things for what they are; interesting milestones along the road of life.
It started with the Super Bowl on February 7th. I have long fancied myself a Colts fan and have followed the team for probably the last eight years. As I watched the game this year and saw them blow their shot at a comeback in the fourth quarter, something hit me. Why did I care about this game at all? Years back, why did I care so much that Peyton Manning kept falling short of his "destiny"? I know for a fact that he has never lost a moment empathizing with the rough spots in my life. Why did I feel so relieved for him when he finally won the big one? On the one hand, it is admirable to find joy in the success of others, but I don't think that was it. Watching the game, the commercials, and reflecting on my reactions to it all, it suddenly all felt very manufactured. I cared about the game because I was supposed to care about the game. This whole sports industry is designed to elicit the "feelings" and "devotion" that I was experiencing. Toward the end of the game, my interest was replaced entirely by a sense of having been manipulated. I felt like a victim of an industry that had been taking advantage of me and others for a long time and making us feel like there is something meaningful in grown men playing games. No more! In my quest to remove the artificial from my life, this will be my last Super Bowl. Next year I will find something more important to do in place of that national ritual.
The next day, two days before my birthday, I got my birthday gift from Lori. I have to give her a lot of credit. She has been doing much better the past few years when it comes to listening and being perceptive to my cues. The days of shirts I will never wear (Except for the obligatory once a year "fashion show"), and CDs I will never listen to, seem to have gone away. This year, Lori had bought me a ring. Her excitement was palpable when it was received, and I could tell that it would be better for her if I opened it before my birthday. The ring was one that I had previously seen in one of Lori's catalogs. Somehow, she has found herself on the mailing list for some really cool catalogs, as well as some quite bizarre ones. Neither of us is particularly cool, so it must be a fluke. Anyway, there was a ring in the catalog that was inscribed, "Harm None". I loved the simplicity of this, and the alignment with the direction that I wanted my life to take. When I am harming none, and better still helping some, I feel like the man I always wanted to be. It transforms me into the person I want to see in the mirror in the morning and evening. I wear it every day, and really appreciate her thoughtfulness on this.
My birthday didn't get off to a particularly good start. Things at work were challenging and frustrating. It wasn't the normal frustration, but something different. The situation at work had conspired to make me feel like a scapegoat for things, and I was having a hard time with the fact that no one seemed to be stepping up to share in carrying a burden that should not have been mine to bear in the first place. By the end of the day, my nerves were frazzled and I asked Lori if we could eat at home instead of going out. I was just not in the mood to spend time around other people. I wish I could just shrug it all off, but I am not perfect.
On the way home, I experienced a metaphor for my life which was horrific, heartbreaking, and profound in that it has no easy answers. I had chosen to take the Interstate 880 route home, and as I was cruising along, it happened. It was only a split second, but it is etched in my brain. I was in the center lane of traffic going about sixty miles per hour and I saw an animal scurrying about in the middle of the lane. I only saw it long enough to register that it was alive, but my post-mental processing identified it as a rat. By the time I knew what had transpired, he was hundreds of feet behind me. I had not hit him, but I knew that it was only a matter of time before someone would. He was stuck, a victim of unfortunate circumstances, and there was no way to believe he was going to make it. There was nothing I could do about it. I have felt this feeling before when life's pace was pushing me along and I felt that I was neglecting what I was supposed to be doing. I am glad to know that I have tried to slow down more now and take time to make a difference, but this episode was a painful reminder of days gone by, and the reality that we can't make all of life's wrongs right.
I am glad to say that my birthday ended on a high note. First, I got a confirmation that I could volunteer at Farm Sanctuary the following weekend. This was to be my birthday gift to myself. The second reason requires a bit more explaining. I had sent a request to Farm Sanctuary for some pamphlets that I could hand out at a local restaurant. After receiving them, I dropped off about half at the restaurant and gave Lori several copies to share at work. Unfortunately, my position at work doesn't allow me to hand these out ethically, even though I would love to. I do keep copies on my desk in case people are interested, but so far no takers. Anyway, Lori had handed out some at work and she and her friends had made an interesting discovery. "Isn't that your husband?", her friend asked. Well, it turns out that it was me in the pamphlet. More accurately, it was Coco and I. With sincere modesty, I can say that I have received numerous awards and accolades in life, but being featured in this pamphlet is a high point for me. I am immensely proud of what this picture represents and the change in my life that is sums up. Plus, Coco is so darn cute. She is my buddy and it was cool to share this with her.
My audio accompaniment for the trip to Orland was "The Way of the Bodhisattva". I had picked this up a couple weeks before at the East/West Bookstore in Mountain View. The message of respect and caring for all sentient beings is well aligned with my current path. It turned out to be a good fit for the trip, both in theme as well as duration. Don't get me wrong, I am not planning to become Buddhist. I still have fundamental issues with any form of organized religion. It isn't that I find them particularly objectionable or bad, per se, but I have a really hard time seeing the need for it. What function do they really serve beyond being a glorified (pun intended) support group? I believe that the concept of God arose as a means of explaining that which could not be explained or understood by early man. It is natural for us, as a species, to look for reason. The sheer number of "gods" (Greek, Roman, Norse, Egyptian, etc) is clearly an example of the fact that we are less scared of that which we can explain. With the advent of science, the explanations for natural phenomenon shifted and the most of the "gods" fell out of favor. The ones that remained became the centers of vast industries erected in their names, and have been the source of untold amounts of violence due to their lack of tolerance. These remaining gods, to me, seem to be aligned with the remaining things that science cannot solve, primarily the origin of the universe and the destiny of the individual. These questions, and the anxiety surrounding them, are used as societal conditioning tools to drive moral behavior based on the ultimate consequences. If you are good, you go to heaven or find enlightenment. If you are bad, you go to hell, or navigate karmic retribution through multiple incarnations. In this capacity, I guess it does have a purpose, but it falls very hollow to me in the grand scheme of things. Who would you respect and revere more: The man who does right to avoid eternal damnation, or the one who does right for right's sake and for a pure love of his fellow sentient beings? The choice is obvious to me. Assuming there is a god and a judgment day, I would have a lot more respect for that god if he chose to reward the selfless deeds over the self-serving, and it wouldn't matter a bit whether they believed in him. In fact, I'd like to think they may get bonus points if they didn't!
While I am on the topic of religion, I suspect that some of the people in my life believe that my experience with Farm Sanctuary and my devotion to it is a lot like their faith in their religion. While I would agree that the fervor is very similar, I think that there are some critical faults in this analogy. Religion, by its definition, requires a level of faith in something that cannot be objectively proven. Faith is a very personal thing, and some are able to conjure it, while others struggle to do so. Faith is not required when it comes to bearing witness to the cruelty and indifference towards animals in our society. That is unquestionable since it is on display all around us, once we choose to look for it. Being faced with this reality and not acknowledging it, is a lot different than not being able to bring yourself to believe in something that is not evident. This is not intended to fault religion. I feel it is great for people who are looking for the meaning that it brings to their lives. However, there are differences between that and the motivations for my lifestyle.
As I got closer to the Sanctuary, I eyed the clouds with some concern. The weather report had called for nice weather and I was having flashbacks to the rain from my last trip. As I got out of the car, I crossed my fingers and hoped that it was going to just burn off.
I stopped by the Main Office and got my assignment for the day. This was the first time that I had official assignments, on a sheet of paper and everything! My first job was to help Jamie clean the small barns. As it turned out, the first barn was Coco's new digs. She had moved up the hill to the old Turkey Lady Barn. There wasn't really any time to chat with her though since Jamie was just finishing up. I seem to have perfect timing...I always show up when someone is finishing up a job. I felt kind of bad about that, but there would be plenty of other opportunities to work before the day was done. Working with Jamie was a lot of fun, and we talked about music and how our paths had brought us to the Farm, her as a live-in caretaker, and me as a volunteer. I also learned that she has a thing for rocks, which are apparently abundant in the nearby hills. In short order, we had cleaned "Coco's Barn", the Duck and Goose Barn, and the Turkey and Chicken Barns near the Main Office. I also learned that wet grass makes for a great hand scrub when you pick up some "soiled" wet hay with your hands.
I must admit that I find it somewhat comical how my aversion to getting "poopy" has fallen along the wayside. Efficiency is what it is all about and sometimes that means just picking things up with your hands. As I mentioned before, my pitch-forking skills are sorely lacking, but I find I can pick up huge armfuls of straw and get the job done much quicker. An interesting side-effect of this was noted a few weeks ago when I was walking back to the office after getting lunch. Since Subway is just across the street, it is a frequent source of lunch for me. The cross-walk button for the walk back is directly underneath some phone lines that are frequented by large numbers of birds. The sidewalk and asphalt beneath them bears witness to what is obviously one of their favorite past-times - pooping. It was only a matter of time before I would end up being a target. The combination of a tap on the shoulder, and my position, instantly made it obvious when it happened. However, unlike the past where I would have probably been grossed out and felt the need to go home and change, today it was just another event in my day. It might have even been the highlight. As I wiped my shoulder with my Subway napkin, I realized I had gained new perspective.
Anyway, back to the farm. I promise that the above paragraph will be my only allusion to my work life in this chapter. Once we were done with the barns, it was produce time. Before I got started cutting, I had some questions, so I went looking for Molly or Jamie. That is how I officially met Wendall. Wendall is one of Jamie's dogs. I had seen him around the Farm before, either barking from Jamie's yard, or dragging Indran around the Farm on a "walk". We had never formally been introduced though, and he didn't seem too fond of me at first. He began with some stern growls and a lot of barking, all accompanied with raised hackles. For a little guy, he was pretty assertive. The weird part was that, after he charged me, he started licking away. He was all bluster and no real ferocity. For the rest of my visit, I was repeatedly amused by his posturing prior to breaking into a "love-fest". I am not sure if Jamie and Molly were quite as amused as I was since his barking would resonate through the office, but at least they had the peace of mind of knowing that I wouldn't be able to sneak up on them.
After getting some clarification on whose produce I would be slicing and dicing, I got started. I had brought some carrots and celery from home and these were mixed in with the rest for an ample salad. The knives that I had brought on my last trip were ready for me and it was a nice change. Normally I am pretty modest about my contributions, but in the case of those knives, I think I really hit on something. Slicing through a tomato is so much nicer than crushing or squishing through one. I soon learned that I was not the only one to feel this way. A couple of people thanked me for the knives and another commented on how much better they were than the previous version. It was a good thing that I had the new knives because it ended up taking longer than I had expected to cut up all of the lettuce, carrots, peppers, celery, grapes, and cilantro and smash up the hard boiled eggs. This actually ran over into the time when I was supposed to be cleaning the Hospital Barns. Oops! I guiltily informed Molly that it had taken me longer than expected to prep the produce. She didn't seem too surprised, and said that it wouldn't be a problem. I could clean the barns tomorrow since they weren't occupied.
Treat time is always one of my favorites. All the hard work cutting up produce gets converted into a bunch of happy animals. That's a better conversion than anything the alchemists sought for. Indran led me around to the senior chickens and turkey ladies, then to the piggies in the rescue barn, and we ended with Boe. I was deficient in my Boe videos so I was glad to have some time to spend with her. As it turned out, I was able to catch her red-handed in an "escape attempt". I didn't know that rabbits dug holes, but there she was, digging along the fence line. Fortunately, there is a wall along the border, apparently in anticipation of this behavior, so she wasn't going anywhere. She was quickly dissuaded by his bowl of produce, and we hung out for a bit while the film rolled. She's a real cutie.
One of the highlights of my visits is always the time spent with Coco, and this time was no exception. She was done eating, or at least as done as you can get when you are a goat who lives to eat. I asked Indran to shoot some video with my camera and Coco promptly walked away. I guess she was not ready for her close-up. To make matters worse, she hid behind a fence and made "goat faces" at me. By now, I have learned that Coco's Achilles' heel is alfalfa, so I began rooting around in the hay for some alfalfa treats. Once I found some, she was my best buddy again. As she ate the grains from my left hand, I snuck pets with my right hand. It was a perfect arrangement. Once I had run out of treats, she even let me sneak a goat kiss, and then followed me over to Geraldine. They both seemed to be back in an eating mood and were taking hay by the handful. I fed Coco with my left hand and Geraldine with my right for several minutes until it was time to heads back to do meds with Ashley.
Ashley is from Minnesota and has the characteristic accent to boot. As we got started, she talked aboot, oops I mean "about", her recent problems with her car. It had recent become a "cyclops" when its headlight got knocked off in an unspecified altercation with another inanimate object. Most of the meds were pretty easy to administer by mixing them in with food or helping the respective little guy or gal swallow a pill. The drama for the afternoon was going to be Calvin. Ashley was trying to be optimistic and put out positive vibes, but it was clear as we made the rounds that she was dreading it. Calvin can be a little grumpy, as I had learned when we tried to temporarily "evict" him from the Pig Barn during my last visit. Today, we had to feed him a peanut butter sandwich laced with meds and check out a hoof wound. Not too surprisingly, he was quite eager to eat the sandwich and my part was done pretty quickly. Ashley had drawn the short straw and had to check out the hoof wound and try to irrigate it with some antiseptic treatment. He did not like this at all. The dim light in his corner of the barn made it even harder to find the small wound, but eventually she found it and we emerged from the last task of my day unscathed.
With a hard day's work behind me, I was craving a great Vegan meal at the Farwood Bar and Grill. The parking lot was full, which was a better sign than my last visit where it was empty, a clear sign that it was closed. Had I been less oblivious, I would have made the connection to Valentine's Day. After waiting at the front for a couple minutes, I was informed that there was a special Valentine's Day menu and that the Vegan menu was not available. Seeking for an explanation for my misfortune, I settled on the fact that I was blowing off Valentine's Day with Lori. Her revenge apparently has an effective distance of two-hundred miles. Relegated to Subway again, I headed back to the hotel and went to sleep for the night.
When I returned to the Main Office the next day, I received my work duties. The work load was pretty easy today since there would be additional volunteers. I had briefly met one of the interns, Arielle, yesterday and her mother and boyfriend were coming to visit and help out. This meant there would be more time for hanging out with the animals, including a grooming session. I was looking forward to getting assignments done and trying out my brushing skills.
First up was cleaning the Hospital Barns in the Main Office. This had actually been on the list for Sunday, but had been deferred in favor of more critical tasks. The good news was that the Hospital Barn was vacant this morning, which is always a good thing. I started out by sweeping the floors and scrubbing them with a sanitizing solution. Cleaning concrete is always a challenge for me since it never really looks clean. It may look cleaner, but never truly spotless. In any case, I did the best that I could at it, and may have been a bit too liberal with the water. Since it was a scrubber and not a mop, the standing water took a while to dry. In the meantime, I sprayed the floor and walls with what was apparently a strong disinfectant. I say that because I was instructed not to eat it, breathe it, or look at it directly. After putting on my mask and adjusting the nozzle, through a lot of experimentation, to the right spray pattern, I got to spraying. One thing that is common to my volunteer visits is the fact that I learn of new muscles to strain. In this case, my finger muscles were feeling the strain of pulling the trigger on the spray bottle a few hundred times more than I am accustomed to. I alternated between my right and left hand in order to prevent having a disproportionately buff index finger on my right hand, and to deal with the "burn".
Having completed one repetitive stress task, it was time to move to another. Produce again! I have been honing my technique, so it didn't take long at all to slice, dice, and process the day's treats. In fact, I was so good at it that I got done early and had some spare time to head up and help with the Rescue Barn cleaning. By this time, my fingers and hands were more than happy to share the exercise with the rest of my body. While in the barn, I remained vigilant for signs of Jamie since my next assignment was making the rounds with her in the "Mule".
The"Mule" is both the brand name and the nick-name of the little four-wheel drive vehicle that the staff uses to get around. I was glad to learn that since the idea of the staff riding around on a real mule seemed contrary to the rest of what I had seen on the Farm. This morning, we would be using it to drive around and do a head-count of all the animals. The cows were first on the list, and they were up in the pasture near what turned out to be Leanne's house. I knew that Jamie lived at the Farm, but I didn't realize that Leanne did. I guess it makes perfect sense and now I don't feel quite so bad for the fact that she always seems to be there, even on days off. The cows were all present and accounted for. Apparently there had been some "guests" the previous day when one of the bulls from the neighbor's property stopped by to visit, so everyone was on the lookout for any new incursions. The last thing a shelter like Farm Sanctuary needs is a bunch of unplanned baby animals running about. The neighbor's cows are easy to distinguish since they are "Oreo" cows, who are two-thirds black and one-third white.
I was surprised by how agile the "Mule" was as we climbed hills to check out the fence-line. It seemed to be able to go over anything and not tip or roll over. Soon we found ourselves at the Santa Cruz sheep pasture and we laid down hay and pellets for their brunch. This turned out to be a good strategy since it made it a lot easier to count them when they were occupied rather than running about. There had been some changes in the flock since my last visit, and Charlemagne was apparently not the top sheep anymore. It was a dynamic that Jamie couldn't quite explain, but the mantle of leadership had clearly been passed. I felt bad for him, but he seemed to be taking it in stride.
Moving on, we crested the hill and found a gorgeous pasture of newly grown grass. This would be the new home/feeding ground for the goat and sheep herd. After verifying the fences were intact and that the pasture was clear (Except for a rogue shoe inner sole - really now, what is an inner sole doing there!), we opened and latched the gates and announced the new digs. There was some interest, but the herd was generally slow to take the invite. They didn't know what they were missing. After counting them from a distance, I heard a familiar sound - "Moooooo, Moooooo". It was Whitaker. He had seen us and had followed along the pasture trail. His calls were so sad and he clearly wanted to come with us. Whitaker is a complicated little fellow. He came to the farm as a baby calf who never knew his mother. No one will ever know how he came to be in a ditch instead of a veal farm, but he was raised by the staff at Farm Sanctuary. The bond that a cow would normally form with his or her mother had instead been formed with his caretakers. Given the option, I am sure Whitaker would prefer to live with the people rather than his herd. It is yet another example of the "no-easy-answers" by-products of factory farming. It broke my heart to not be able to go over and say "Hi", but it was work time. By the time we were done with the "Mule" trek, Whitaker was making his way back and making more mournful entreaties for attention.
Loading food with Jamie was a new task for my repertoire. Earlier in the day, after visiting the vet, Arielle and Molly had picked up several bags of feed. It turned out that the visit from the boyfriend and mom had been too much for Arielle, and after a total of three days internship, she was headed home. At some point in the future, when the greasy boyfriend is a distant memory, I suspect the fact that she squandered this opportunity will come back to haunt her. Anyway, the fifty pound feed bags just seemed to keep coming. I was amazed that the van could carry so many bags. The van had clearly seen better years. Apparently it was primarily driven by the interns, who seemed to enjoy experimenting to see how hard you gad to collide with something in order to penetrate the sheet metal. I guess this had been a long term study for them. The first bags were chicken and turkey feed, and we loaded them into the bins at the Turkey Barn. Once we were done with that, I followed Jamie's lead to ensure that there were no turkeys or other critters seeking shade under the van before we headed over to the Pig Barn. Fortunately, the pigs were oblivious to the racket as we loaded their bags, three to a steel garbage can. The cans were to keep the rats out of the food. While I had seen ample evident of rats via holes gnawed in the wood and holes dug in the ground, I honestly haven't seen many around. The little guys must be thriving though, given the abundance of food and the Vegan philosophy of "live and let live". With the last garbage can in place, it was time for some real fun.
It was pig feeding time and they knew it. They always know. They were making one hack of a ruckus as we loaded the troughs with pellets and it would only get louder as we approached the gate where they were waiting for us. Jamie asked if I would like to open the gate and I couldn't pass up the adrenalin rush of a near trampling in the mud by a herd of hungry pigs. Once the gate was open, I stepped back to avoid the sprint. It was fascinating to watch the hierarchy of the pigs as they ate their food. Almost everything in the animal world has a sense of order, and this was no different. While some of the "lesser" pigs waited or moved from trough to trough, the "senior pigs" staked a claim to their favorite trough and didn't lay out the welcome mat for guests. The pig feeding experience didn't last very long and within a matter of minutes, they were done and headed off for their naps on their newly cleaned barn floor and nests.
Of all the sounds I have ever heard, I have to say that a calf's moo has to be one of the saddest out there, and Whitaker was still putting on a demonstration. I walked by my car, grabbed a fruit and nut bar, and headed up to visit him at the cattle barn. When I got up there, he was about thirty feet away, facing up the hill and licking and scratching his side. "Whitaker", I called, "Whitaker". He looked at me and started to walk toward me at the fence. Jamie had told me about Whitaker's new "habit" of trying to mount anything that came near him, so I was a little bit hesitant to approach until I knew how he would express his friendship. When he got to the fence, it was immediately clear that he was in a "licky mood". Other than that, he seemed pretty mellow so I jumped the fence to spend more time with him.
In my previous visits, I had often felt like I was petting or scratching Whitaker wrong. I love the little dude, but my technique didn't get the same results as it did when I would pet my dog Heidi at home. Reflecting back on some of the things I had seen at the Farm, I had an idea. When I see the cows in the pastures, it is not too uncommon to see them licking each other, or to see the tell tale evidence of this on their sides. Perhaps I had been taking the wrong approach. When Heidi scratches herself, she does so with her claws, which probably explains why she likes being scratched deep under her fur. If I look at contact as a social interaction, maybe I would get better results if I try to approximate a "cow lick". I started by dragging the back of my hand against the fur on his side, and then experimented with my palm, sticking to the lick patterns I had seen in the pasture. This received almost immediate results. Whitaker really seemed to like it...a lot. Within a couple minutes, he lay down and would stretch out his neck as if beckoning me to "lick" him there. I watched as his eyes began to close as I rubbed behind his ear and on his cheek. We spent about half an hour together and I really felt like I had made a breakthrough in my understanding of Whitaker. Ultimately, that is what these visits/volunteer trips are all about to me. I want to connect with my friends through spending time with them and helping them. When I had to leave to go back to work, I did so with a smile on my face. Sometimes, the answers are right there in front of us and we just need to see the obvious.
During my most recent visits, I felt like I had not spent much time with Penny so I wanted to make sure to fix that before I left. Indran took me in to the duck enclosure and we sat down to hang out with them. In my past experience, the ducks will move away if you get too close, but occasionally they will come by to check you out if you sit down. Penny was willing to come close, but she was still not too keen on the idea of being petted. I was surprised to see Indran petting Foofy. Foofy is a Muscovy duck, like Penny, with a unique little black feather mohawk. In all of my previous visits, I had been told that Foofy would bite if anyone tried to pet him. Either he really liked Indran, or I had been misinformed. I tried my hand at petting him and he seemed to have no problem with it. He would open and close his beak and raise and lower his mohawk while chattering away. I asked Indran about this, and he responded that he didn't think Foofy liked women. Since all of my previous visits to the ducks had been with female caretakers, it seemed like there may be some validity to this theory. With four o'clock looming, I shifted to the duck house to see if Penny would stop by. Maybe she had seen me connecting with Foofy and heard his duck talk and realized that I was okay. Or, maybe not. "Goodnight Penny and the Ducks".
As Farm Sanctuary disappeared from view, I felt myself crossing back over into the real world. For another two days, though, I had felt like the man I think I am supposed to be. I know I want to feel like this all the time. It is not enough to get a taste now and then. It is time for me to start taking this seriously. If my desire is to work at Farm Sanctuary, I need to start putting some feelers out there and see what happens. I could never forgive myself if I didn't give it a shot. Too many times, it seems like biographies are written as a post script. For the first time in my life, I have a realization that I am writing my life story real-time, and Brian's got some important things to do before his story is over.
