A Lesson from Linus

Since my last post was about pig barn cleaning, I figured it would be appropriate to share a related tale here, this time about a recent experience I had with Linus, another one of Farm Sanctuary's fine pig gentlemen.

Having finished cleaning the Rescue Barn, I was driving the tractor to the Pig Barn for the daily cleaning.  Since the pigs understand that the sound of the tractor in the morning is the prelude to the wake-up call, it is not uncommon to see a couple pigs heading down to the pond of their own accord (This is a beautiful sight when you see it because it means less effort to clear the barn).  On this day, however, Linus was making a march from the pond to the barn.  I called out to him that he was going the wrong way, but he would not be dissuaded.  He seemed to be a pig on a mission.

When I got to the Pig Barn, I dismounted the tractor and walked inside.  Linus walked right over to me and brushed against me as I was arranging my cleaning implements.  The sudden cold I felt on my side and legs informed me that I was suddenly quite muddy from our encounter.  I didn't really need to look down to confirm this, but I did just as Linus was walking away and heading back out of the barn.

I will never know what Linus's objective was, but this seemed to be a deliberate act.  Faced with the need to interpret it, I have chosen to believe the following.  Since I spend a lot of time with the pigs making them do things that they would prefer not to do, like leaving the barn so I can clean, I try to give them treats and spend time with them to make up for it and keep our relationships in balance.  The previous day, I had shared a banana with Linus by the pond in the afternoon.  I like to believe that Linus was doing some sharing in return, using the only commodity he had which was the mud he had been rolling in and which he clearly liked.  Viewed that way, it was a kind gesture.

Everyday, if not every hour, we are faced with a world which bombards us with similar messages where we may not always know the motives.  Faced with the choice, it is all to easy to assign negative intonations to them and assume that the world and its inhabitants are crueler than they actually are.  A whole other world opens up to us if we choose to view these ambiguous situations in a different light and assume the best rather than the worse.  I had actually been studying this concept and it was great to see my mind starting to apply it.  I know it makes me feel better and more at one with things.  How about you?

An Unstoppable Force and an Immovable Object

Since my last several posts have been more about philosophical things, I feel like it is time to kick off a series of animal related posts since I suspect that that is what anyone who visits this is looking for.  I also love to write them, but I want to make sure to share the character of my animal friends as I do so and this takes time to learn.

Meet Cesak.  He is a wonderful pig and over the past few months has become one of my favorites. 

He lives with 12 other pigs in the Pig Barn and I find him to be quite exceptional.  He has this wonderful curly hair which makes him easy to spot and really beautiful eyes.  His eyes are particularly striking and I would challenge anyone to gaze into them and try to tell me that there is nothing going on behind them.

So, what does any of this have to do with the title of this post?  Well, I am getting to that.  One of my frequent jobs at Farm Sanctuary is to clean the Pig Barn.  This is actually part of the daily ritual and in order to do it, there can't be any pigs inside.  In my experience, there are three things that pigs love more than anything in the world: 1) Food, 2) Sleep, and 3) A nice warm nest in which to do #2 (Sleep, that is, they prefer to do their "dirty business" outside).  When you consider that none of the above preferences involve a morning wake-up call and a march down to the pond, you can begin to imagine what fun it can be to be the deliverer of said wake-up call.  The procedure for escorting the pigs down to the pond generally involves some loud talking and the use of "pig boards" (Red plastic boards that are used to guide the pigs and as a barrier between them and you).  The walk from the barn to the pond gate is about thirty yards, give or take.

In every group, there has to be a challenge and in the past couple months, Cesak has stepped up to fill the role.  He does not want to get up, or leave the barn, or walk to the pond and he loudly protests for the entire duration of the mandatory process.  Add to that the fact that Cesak is probably in the five-hundred pound range (I am guessing on this, but being conservative) and you can easily start to see the visual of the "immovable object". 

Part of my job is to be the "unstoppable force".  As I previously mentioned, I think the world of Cesak but in our daily struggle it is imperative that I win every time.  Pigs are very smart and if I let him stay in his bed one day or try to lure him down to the pond with a treat, he will expect this everyday and the wake-up call will be more difficult for me and each of my co-workers.  While my victory is important, I also try to look at this from Cesak's perspective.  In his mind, I expect that I am violating two of the most basic laws of pig behavior: 1) The loudest pigs generally gets his/her way and 2) If that fails, the biggest strongest pig always wins.  Cesak is much louder, bigger, and stronger than me, and yet I fail to yield.  This must be quite perplexing. 

To an unseasoned observer, I am sure that this exercise would look quite amusing as our battle of wills plays out everyday.  It may even seem scary to someone who is not accustomed to the sounds that pigs make when they are not getting their way (To say that they are vocal would be a huge understatement) and hears the squeals, growls, and bellows for the first time.  What is especially notable is that Cesak never tries to hurt me.  I am positive that Cesak knows that he could do so.  He has the edge on me in many areas, but it never becomes that type of battle.  I like to believe that he understands at some level what this is all about, but that it is a game that we play.  We both want to win, but only the unstoppable force can. 

Every day as I watch Cesak walk through the pond gate, I congratulate him everyday on his game play and let him know that I look forward to tomorrow's match.  At this point, we are still friends and I give him a hug or a good back scratch.  See you tomorrow Cesak, same time, same place!



Lies My Cellphone Told Me

I consider myself to be a reluctant user of technology.  I have to admit that I have a computer, an iPod, and various other electronic implements, but as a whole I do not see that these things serve to make our lives better.  In more ways than I can count, I feel that they make our lives worse by creating an artificiality to our relationships and substituting quantity for quality.  I think that the reason why I love many old TV shows (Yes, I know TV is technology) is the fact that they paint a picture of a world that predates all of this digital insanity.  Until yesterday, however, I had seen the technology as a rather passive part of this.  Now that has changed.

Last week my watch battery died.  Having given up my collection of Legos and Transformers, watches with dead batteries are about the last thing that I seem to accumulate.  Since I hadn't felt inclined to go to the store, I have been using my cellphone as a "pocket watch".  I was accustomed to that from my past life and it seemed like a good temporary solution.  I started to question this the very first day.

As I used my phone to tell time, I was alarmed to find that my phone would occasionally be in the middle of a call when I would flip it open.  Sometimes the call would have been going on for a few minutes, sometimes for almost an hour.  I couldn't tell if my phone was originating the call or whether it was automatically answering an incoming call, but it always involved a "Restricted" number.  As someone who despises these calls since they are generally from telemarketers, I was already distressed but in the past I had always been required to answer the phone. 

With the recent news about "phone hacking", I wondered if that was what was going on here.  While I am a nobody, there is always the chance that my phone number had once belonged to a somebody or that the caller misdialed, albeit consistently.  Was someone trying to access my phone?  Was someone activating my phone and listening in on my conversations?  Having watched far too many movies about surveillance and having no trust for the entity we call "government", I had to wonder about this.

I looked for information about this on-line and found nothing (Which is an odd feeling).  I called Verizon twice and was told that without a second phone to continue the discussion from, there was little that they could do except to recommend removing and replacing the battery.  In fairness, I must say that Verizon customer service was prompt, friendly, didn't give me the run around, and had mastery of the English language (Hmm, maybe that should have made me suspicious too).

Anyway, I tried the battery removal trip and had some hope that this would be the fix based on how much straw was in the battery compartment.  Unfortunately, this did little to fix the problem - If anything it was getting worse.  By Saturday, I was ready to throw the phone away because of its misbehavior.  Before I did so, I thought that I would give one last search through the menu options to see if there was anything that may be causing this.  I searched through everything I could before stumbling across an option that required me to scroll down.  The option was called "Fake Call".  I have included a picture of it below.

After opening this option, I discovered that this option was on by default and that it was activated by pressing the speaker phone button and holding it.  This is what was happening in my pocket as I leaned against things and the button, which is on the side of the phone, was depressed.  It all made sense and I had no issues for the rest of the day after disabling this "feature".

My sense of triumph over my situation was short-lived.  I quickly began to lament the fact that we live in a world where something like this would exist.  Creating technology with inherent dishonesty as a means of enabling ourselves to be deceptive sure seems like it should be a sign of the apocalypse.  Furthermore, the creation of such a thing clearly implies a significant demand for it.  I believe that we should all be ashamed that there is an aspiration to make lying easier.  At least it will give you something to think about the next time a "friend", date, or co-worker interrupts a conversation for an emergency call.

Rock Star Dreams

It has been a while since my last entry.  While I have had a number of ideas for posts, none of them have quite gelled into something cohesive enough to share (I know, that never seems to have stopped me before).  What I would like to do today is to give a very sincere "Thank You" for the kind comments that people have shared regarding my blog and website.

When I was just a young lad, I loved music.  More specifically, I loved heavy metal in most of its incarnations.  My bedroom walls were adorned with the mini-posters and pages from magazines like Hit Parader, Metal Edge, and Circus.  I have no doubt that my apparent fascination with long haired men in make-up, wearing tight pants must have concerned my parents to some degree (I think that is why they surprised me by allowing me to put up posters of various women in bikinis and what-not).  I still remember the "day of reckoning" when it came time to move and I had to spackle all the holes!

Like many of my peers, the rebellious nature of the music, the evocative imagery, and the fact that it sounded best at loud volumes were major factors in my love for the stuff.  There was something else that really hit me and which made me really want to be a rock star when I grew up (We don't seem to have rock stars anymore, but when we did, it could be argued that none of them ever grew up).  It wasn't the fact that they were often linked to the type of women whose pictures hung like sirens on my wall (Although to my teenage brain, that would have been icing n the cake).  No, what really hit me was the ability to find my voice in someone else's song lyrics; to be able to feel like a song was written for or about me and to then use that as therapy or as a cry for help (This didn't always work since parents can never seem to understand what their kids favorite bands are saying in their music...this is a repeated phenomenon and probably begs for scientific investigation). 

Most of these connections could be found in the shameless "power ballad".  I could fill many pages sharing specific examples of songs or lyrics, but I suspect that this would require "express written permission" from the RIAA to do so (They can never seem to understand the power of digital media and communication to actually boost their sales, but that is another topic for the more disgruntled out there...I just don't want to cross their path).  More than anything, I wanted to write and sing these songs.  I didn't care if anyone had my picture on their wall (Although I had been working on my look" - see below), but I felt a desperate need to connect to other "searchers" out there who needed reassurance or were looking for the words to tease out what they were feeling inside. 

Needless to say, I never became a rock star.  The closest approximation I ever experienced was during a trip to Mexico in the eighth grade, where I was surprisingly popular; almost alarmingly so - but that is another story as well).  This dream fell apart due to a cruel combination of location, social insecurity, and utter lack of anything approaching musical talent.  In hindsight, it is probably for the best.  I have had the chance to see a large number of my former idols in concert the last several years and let's just say, they generally don't seem to age well (Must be the lack of circulation from the tight spandex...can't imagine what else it could be). 

When started writing, almost two years ago, it was mostly to "dare" myself to stop letting life pass me by and to get back into the fray.  That worked pretty well and it led me on a voyage of self-discovery that has culminated with me arriving where I am now.  In and of itself, that is a good thing.  By choosing to share my story and my thoughts, even if it is only with a few people (That I am aware of), I am finally getting my opportunity to connect with people and share a message that means a lot to me and which I believe can help people.  While it doesn't have the fame and fortune of rock stardom, it sure works for me.  Thank you for your patience in reading me words and for your kind comments and for taking the time to let me know when they made a connection.  You make my rock star dreams come true!

What if They Held a Rapture and No One Was Invited?

Yesterday was May 21st, 2011.  For months, this day has been systematically etched into my brain by the multiple signs along the sides of the road that have proclaimed that it was to have been "Judgment Day".  At first, I had assumed that this was a "Bay Area phenomenon" (Like Bay to Breakers), but then I saw the signs up here in farm country and apparently there have been thousands across the country and around the world. 

I wish that it was easy for me to give myself over to full belief in an all-mighty and powerful God (Preferable a "loving" one too), but despite that, the day approached and unfurled with a degree of trepidation.  My rational brain felt that it was a very unlikely thing to happen.  My residual religious brain felt that it was highly unlikely that this retired engineer would know the day that was supposed to be secret, according to the Bible.  My guilty brain - it was eager for the sun to rise on this morning (The 22nd).

While it would probably be fun to succumb to the urge to satire and lampoon this organization for their blind faith, this has been done to much better comedic effect than I could pull off here (See the many websites for pictures of post-rapture empty clothes, or "Post-rapture pet insurance").  Honestly, parts of me envy the ability to believe so strongly in something like that.  My desire to believe continues to be my major obstacle as it casts doubt over any beliefs that I do have as this would be seen as a biasing factor (Despite the fact that my rational brain also recognized that if it were to play the odds, it is best to have faith).

No, instead of making fun of them, I would prefer to look at this from a different angle: "What if they held a Rapture and no one was invited?"  What if the predicted event did occur and none of us were found worthy?  What would it mean to be "worthy" (a.k.a. What is the method of "judgment")? 

In my mind, judgment day would play out like this.  I find myself alone and standing in a vast field of green grass (For those who have been to Farm Sanctuary in spring, this is easy to picture).  In front of me is a massive sea of people and animals that covers the skyline to the horizon.  As I look out across this scene, wondering how it was that I found myself here in this place, my eye catches motion.  One of the people from the crowd approaches and enters into my personal space.  Her face is vaguely familiar, but I can't place it.  Every attempt appears to be deliberately blocked.  She introduces herself and goes on to relate her story.  She and I had met at the Nob Hill in Milpitas.  She and her children had been standing outside the exit soliciting money for food and a ride home.  She related how I had offered to buy her groceries and give her a ride home, but how she had been too afraid to take me up on the offer based on a history that involved multiple incidents of abuse.  She reminded me that I had given her twenty dollars and treated her with dignity while doing so.  Then the woman turns and walks through the crowd before disappearing from sight. 

Next comes an elderly gentleman who moves very slowly and I find myself wondering if he will be able to make it.  Once again, he gets very close to me and I am sure that we have met before.  He tells me his name and our story.  He and his wife had been on their way to Toys 'R' Us with their grandson Peter when their car had over-heated.  None of them had realized this, at the time and he had pulled over and availed himself on the kindness of strangers.  My Honda CRX had been one of many cars that day which had driven by without stopping.  He tells this tale very matter-of-factly without a hint of anger or judgment, but the guilt and fear in my mind tell me that I have been judged.  As he walks slowly away, I perceive one of the blades of grass withering and turning to brown. 

This process continues for what seems like years in a constant procession of people and animals.  It is a mix of reminiscences that build me up and those which tear me down to my core.  In many cases, I had wanted to help, but had felt uncomfortable about it and had opted not to do so and in some, I had just not noticed the call for assistance.  As I scan the grass before me, I am shocked by the degree to which the season appears to be changing to summer.  My self-image as a compassionate person is shaken by what I see and what I have heard.  I am shocked by how selective I have been in forming my opinion of myself.  Gazing at the results of my judgment and wondering what it means for me, I am confronted with the reality that there is no "reset button" and no "do-overs" at this point and I feel my most profound fear.
Personally, I do not believe that we are judged for our minor transgressions (The fact that we are "hard-wired" to commit many of them is far too evident and our resolve is not always strong).  No, I believe that, if we are to be judged, it will be for our responses to requests for help from our fellow beings.  Fortunately for all of us, May 21st, 2011 came and went without hellfire and brimstone and maybe, just maybe the end days will never come.  Regardless of my inability at this moment to form a faith picture that includes a God, I am choosing to renew my faith in myself and do what I can to take out a more comprehensive insurance policy on my fields of green.  Then at least I will be worthy in my eyes and when my time comes, I will not be afraid.

My Girl Olive (a.k.a. Why Working with Turkeys Isn't Such a Bad Thing)

There are literally hundreds of animals at Farm Sanctuary Orland and I maybe know a tenth of them by name so far.  As the days pass, I have a chance to meet and make a connection with more and more of them and I figured that this may make for some good writing.

One of my daily tasks is to clean the Turkey Barn, also known as the "Turkey Lady and Special Needs Chicken Barn".  Here the older turkey ladies live with a group of chickens in a peaceful arrangement.  The best part of this particular assignment, for me at least, is the time that this allows me to spend with Olive, one of the turkey ladies.

Olive has little reason to trust or to even tolerate humans.  Almost as soon as she was born, she was subjected to the brutal practice called de-beaking , in which a large portion of her beak was seared off.  Why was this done you may ask?  Well, if turkeys are crammed together in factory farms, the stress will lead them to peck at each other so rather than do anything to alleviate the stress, the powers that be have adopted this cruel practice.  Try to imagine yourself and your four best friends living in a Mini Cooper for six months with the doors welded shut...I suspect that you wouldn't exactly get along either.  Fortunately, for you, this is not a common fate and no one would think it was acceptable to remove your hands, feet, and teeth to keep you from hurting your fellow passengers.  That would be inhumane!

Back to Olive, aside from this indignity, even before she was born, her suffering at the hands of man had begun.  Since humans collectively see turkeys as nothing more than food supplies, they have been engineered through selective breeding to be much bigger than they should be.  In our selfishness, we have created whole species variants of animals whose weight far exceeds the capacity of their legs.  This is the case with Olive as well and her diet has to be carefully controlled in order to prevent her from succumbing to arthritis and other crippling afflictions.  Like all of the turkey ladies, she is a little slow and has a slight limp to her gait.  This is medically treated, so her pain is managed, but what a sad testament to humanity's inhumanity.

Despite what has been done to her, Olive holds no grudges.  When I am working around her, she likes to follow me and loves attention.  If she is in the yard and I call her name, she will slowly make her way over to me and then plop down in front of me.  In my pre-Sanctuary days, I can't say that I knew the value of a "turkey-hug", but I sure do now.  This is just one of the affirming moments that make me so glad that I made the life changing move to come work here. 

Now, let me introduce my turkey girl, Olive.

I Can't Believe I Got the Picture!

When you are lucky enough to work in a magical place like I do, you will invariably have the chance to see some amazing things.  Based on a little known, and even less understood cosmic law, these things have an overwhelming tendency to happen only when there is no camera present.  As I was strolling around the Sanctuary for lunch the other day, I passed the Pig Barn and saw something really sweet.  Blossom the piglet (She is technically still the smallest although nowhere near the size she was when she fell asleep on my lap a year ago) was lying next to Calvin.  Now, for anyone who has been to the Sanctuary in the last few months, this isn't a surprise.  Calvin and Blossom have been a curious couple for a while now.  What was special about this time was that Blossoms front leg was wrapped around Calvin as if they were "spooning". 

Realizing that my effort was likely to be futile, I immediately set off running at a brisk pace (Not quite like the wind, per se, but more of the "gentle breeze with an occasional gust" that comes with getting older) to my car to get my camera.  When I got back to the Pig Barn, I was shocked to find that they hadn't moved an inch.

This was not a staged picture in any way.  Anyone who has worked with the pigs knows that while they are amazing creatures, they are not that cooperative...especially these two (And especially Blossom)!

Now I know that this pose was probably just a coincidence or, most likely, it just felt good for Blossom to have her leg in this position.  However, the bond that these two share is real based on many observations, and maybe, just maybe, this is a manifestation of a love that we can see and recognize.  I am so glad I was able to get this picture!