World Environment Day

Today is World Environment Day.  Run by the United Nations, WED is the "principal vehicle for encouraging worldwide awareness and action for the environment."  This year, the theme is small islands and climate change.


Growing up part-time in Gabon, I visited a nearby Portuguese-speaking island, Sao Tome, very frequently.  Sao Tome is impoverished and rugged and probably only has 4 toilets on the whole of its surface, but it has a vicious beauty that eats at my soul every time I dream of my time on the island.  In the shanties and "cities" on Sao Tome, homeless dogs and pigs ran everywhere while little children tried to catch them (sometimes for dinner- but that's another post).  Seeing these little settlements practically covered in waste makes me go gung-ho for this year's theme, even if I do dislike the slogan ("raise your voice not the sea level").  I wish they had gone for something a little shorter and less grammatically obnoxious.  But c'est la vie, the UN can only do so much.

Today, I celebrated national earth day by planting tree seedlings in old yogurt containers.  Once they grow to be able to weather the horrific climate of Los Angeles, I'll put them in my neighborhood, maybe my local park.

I like to always have a long term goal with this holiday.  Sort of like a New Year's Resolution but something that's more interesting to me than a diet.  This year, I've decided to learn and teach as much and as many people as possible about how everyone's carbon footprint effects my beloved Sao Tome and even Gabon.

Tiger did his part as well; he helped me pick out which seeds to buy and which trees to transplant. I know my little guy cares about the world just as much as I do.

Foster Dog Lily

Yesterday my foster dog, a sweet little bichon named Lily, finally received her forever home: a young family with two children living in Beverly Hills post office.  Lily is a present for their daughter's birthday, and I've never seen a happier kid than she when I opened the door with her new puppy.
I feel the need to say that this dog was a headache at times.  My subject tests are June 7, less than a week away.  Although I loved the dog, her energy, and her playfulness, I had to wake up at 6:30 every morning to walk the thing.  Also, she pulled on her leash so much that at times I thought my wrist would fall off.  ALSO NOT POTTY-TRAINED.  My family seemed to not absorb that little factoid, and let her run all over the house.  So, when my dad grounded me because she left little presents all over the house, I couldn't take it seriously.
People need to understand that fostering isn't just paying for food and walking a dog.  It takes its toll on every aspect of your life.  Your job, your house, your energy, your emotions, your friends, your other dogs, your family, your backyard, your carpet.  Emphasis on the carpet.
But with all my griping, I love it.  I couldn't imagine myself doing anything different.  I'm probably doing this for selfish reasons, because I crave the utter devotion that comes from a 12 pound dog treating you like God; it's my heroin.  With fostering dogs, it doesn't matter if you weigh 300 pounds and stutter, they worship you because you took them from an abusive home or off the streets. That kind of truly unconditional love is extremely rare, and I'm grateful every day for it.
Lily made me smile every time I saw her smiling face.  Even if I was internally screaming when she licked me awake at 4:50AM, I smiled and rubbed her belly while I gathered enough self-control to walk her.
Fostering Lily and her happy personality really made me think about all of the other dogs I've fostered, and how they feel about me.  I especially think about Leo and Lila, the dogs who came to me the most abused and emaciated and hopeless.  Lila brings me to tears more quickly, and I think about how her ripped leg made a beautiful recovery, and how she would hide from everyone but me.  Leo's anger towards any male that came towards me makes me giggle.
I miss all of them.  Each and every one I shed a tear for, even months later.  Lily's new home will help her put on weight and learn that peeing on the rug is not allowed.  They'll rename her, get her a new snazzy haircut, and soon no one will believe she had been left on the street to die.
But I'll always remember the day that Lily came to my house, fleas and mats in tow, scared but eager to start her new life.  And one day, a few months from now, I'll remember the day she left and cry a little bit.  But not enough to stop me from texting her new parents and asking for a cute picture.

From Tiger's Perspective

So you know how eventually someone asks you 'if you could know the secret to any question, which would it be'?  Most people say "oh God WHYYYY did Hitler do it?!?!?!?!?" or "does God exist and if he does why did he not make nana give me any inheritance".  Well, my question is quite different, and can be viewed as either extremely enlightened or trivial.
My question is: is Tiger reaaaallly retarded?  Every vet ever has asked if we dropped him on his head of if he was the result of some heavy inbreeding and some of the stuff he does sometimes just... shocks me that he made it this far.  However, there are these moments.  These glimmerry, shiny, wonderful, ethereal moments in which I see a spark.  A spark of some intelligence.  Not going to lie, I hold onto these thoughts like a drowning man holds onto a piercing fishhook in a lake.  If he actually isn't mentally disabled, that means he's been conning my family for extra food and tummy rubs and refusing to walk out of pure evil genius.
Sometimes I fantasize about what he thinks.  I kind of imagine a Great Gatsby-esque, cool, calm, collected character that could be the precarious flirt but the deep romantic at the same time.  His voice would reflect this.  For some reason, I also imagine him as slightly schizophrenic and having conversations with himself.  Of course all of this is out of pure love and confusion of my little pooch.

So, without further ado, this is what I've gotten from Tiger's actions in about the last 12 hours.

Eva and John and Nicole have left now
I only have Danielle and Margie yes
sirree you only have Danielle
and Margie 
The chance of getting my favorite
place scratched is considerably
lower -yes sirree quite considerably lower-
with Eva and John and Nicole gone
So this is what you're going to do
Tiger old chap, this is what you're going to do
You're gonna limp
Left upper paw buddy that's it you got this
Your left upper paw and now flinch when
Danielle presses gently on it
to test if you're injured after
Margie pointed out that you are limping.
Good good she's picking me up
Now I don't have to walk up
the god-awful sticky stairs that
slaps my
tongue as I slave up she's almost there
old chap give her the 
eyes so she gives you that cookie
that she bought this morning on her bike ride
she's staring oh God
does she see through it no she can't 
pretend to fall asleep RIGHT NOW

come on fellow wake up wake up she's getting out 
another cookie okay compose
yourself look
at your paw yes yes yes she's giving 
you a second one old chap!
Wait what is that 
what is that behind her
Is that gauze? What is she saying?
"Tiger, Mom is coming back
tomorrow and I can't take you to the vet 
until she gets here but don't worry I'm going to stabilize
this leg
and then you won't hurt yourself
further"

I detest those pet names don't I
But we have a bigger pro'lem old
chap yes sirree we have a 
bigger problem that is
a woman of about sixteen years
of age is inexperiencedley- yes,
I do say quite inexperiencedley -
wrapping gauze cloth around your left
paw. 
And you are going to the vet tomorrow
and they'll probably
tell Danielle that I am 
overweight and must go
on another stricter horribler 
di-et.

Stay calm stay calm old boy, she
just gave you the
cookie and she's scratching your favorite
spot.
Just stay
calm and give 
her the eyes.  Never
give anything away.



That was actually quite fun.  For anybody wondering if I'm crazy and think my dog is faking it and therefore abusing him by not giving him proper medical care, I am taking him to the vet tomorrow and I have, in fact, bandaged up his leg

^proof that I don't abuse my dog^

I didn't have any tape so I safety pinned it... I actually called my mom and bragged to her, the great doctor, that I managed to help Tiger's leg and help him as any good vet but then Margie pointed out that I had wrapped the wrong leg.

Oh well, c'est la vie!  Right now Tiger and I doing some hardcore cuddling as I settle down to take study for my AP exams.  He's the best study buddy I could have ever asked for.

Tiger Time

My dog is the cutest thing I have ever clapped eyes on.  I don't care if the vets think he is "slow" or "mentally retarded" he is the love of my life.

OOOOOGH I CAN JUST FEEL THE CUTE FLOWING THROUGH ME

Facts About Baby Owls

Baby owls aren't called chicks.  They are called owlets.

When an owlet is ready to hatch, it's mother makes crooning noises and taps her beak all over the egg.  After the owlet has finally hatched, it's mother sometimes cuddles it in order to enhance the imprinting process.

Most owls within a "brood" don't hatch at the same time.  The average is two days apart, and they usually come out at different stages of development.  I think this occurs as another factor in the "survival of the fittest" battle.  The more developed owlet will survive longer than his less developed brother; owls born first have a higher chance of survival.

Most owlets do not eat right after they are born.

When they are born, the owlets are mostly pink with a few white feathers.  It just takes a few hours to grow whitish-yellow fuzz, but it takes over a week for their eyes to open!  This is most likely due to the higher importance of keeping warm while Mamma Bird goes hunting for food than being able to see their surroundings.

Myth: owls regurgitate their food to their children.  Fact: owls in fact lay very small strips of meat across the owlet's beak.  This process has evolved because it helps produce gastric juices in the owlet's stomach.

Although it is possible that older owlets could hurt younger ones, barn owls are among the few bird whose young actually play together.
Owlets reach adult weight and feathering in 8-9 weeks.

The young owls will stay in the nest box for about 49-54 days before they fly away.  Their first flight is called a fledge.

The survival rate of owlets reaching breeding age is about 24-40%.

I Am Grossed Out but Still Fascinated at the Same Time

I am grossed out but still fascinated at the same time by this picture of a great white shark:

Most great white sharks look super scarred up, in murky water, and have dead fish hanging out of their jaws.  So, this crystal clear photo with perfect shades of grey and white striping this giant finny thing excites me.  I would be totally enamored with it and even make it my desktop background, except....

those gills.  I know there's nothing wrong with them but there has to be something wrong with them.  THERE ARE SLITS IN THIS ANIMALS THROAT.  Like I can see the clear water I so love through them.  That grosses me out.  I can't get the image of someone getting a foot stuck in there or.... ugh.

All joking aside, this picture is amazing.  I wish I knew who took it and if they survived.  Again, I cannot get over the clearness of the water.  Sitting in my stuffy city room overlooking sky scraper apartment buildings I can't stop imagining the refrigerator-cucumberish freshness I would feel as my breath was taken away as I dove in.

Sorry, it's late and I've been studying for +14 hours straight.  Thinks start to get a little hectic in my castle after I memorize 400 AP Biology flashcards in one day.

Baby Echidna- called a "puggle"

"Fospice"

          The idea of fospice has somehow grabbed my attention.  Brought to me by my friend's AP tutor, apparently "fospicers" are foster parents that don't take the healthy, adoptable pets from their shelters.  Instead, they take old and dying pets.  They give them comfort.  They let them die in love and peace.  Fospicers know that their charges will never be adopted, but they rescue and take care of them for months anyway.
          Recently, my mother and I have been discussing fospicing as a possibility next year.  Since I will be going to university in 17 months, I don't have time to adopt a puppy or even middle-aged pet.  The rescue I predominantly work with seems to not have as many older pets as others, so I might have to spread my wings and fly into a different shelter, which slightly scares me, just because I am so comfortable fostering with Wags.
          My new foster dog should arrive in a few days or so, just in time for my AP English Language test! Yay!  Those things should balance each other out though.  Hopefully it's potty trained because if I come back from a 6 hour test and have to clean poop off of my ceiling I'll have a breakdown.

I've decided to add an unrelated, adorable awwwww picture of an animal at the end of every post.
Have a cute goat!  I think it's a goat but I'm not sure!

I've Always Wanted A Pug

          Emperor's best friend.  Thousands of years ago.  Even though pugs' owners have all moved down the social scale quite a bit, they don't whine and still rock on with their little piggy tails, snorting, and obscene amounts of drool.  Like Margo Kaufman said,

"The pug is living proof that God has a sense of humor"

          Why that would attract me, I have no idea, but I absolutely love pugs and have craved one since I was a child.  After some googling I did in preparation for this post, I found a great rescue in my home city, LA, that focuses only on pugs.  I am going to beg my mom to let me foster for them.  And by begging I mean basically offer to sell my soul to the college board if my mom lets me take care of a pug.  

The Holy List of Pugly Facts

1. Pugs are recognized as the oldest breed of dog, possibly dating back to 400 BC.  How regal and majestic.  

2. The Latin phrase "multum in parvo," meaning "a lot of dog in a small space," was often used to describe pugs.

3. A long, long time ago, the Catholic Church banned freemasonry.  A small group of dissenters formed their own group and named it The Order of the Pug, because of pugs' perceived loyalty and trustworthiness.

4. A group of pugs is called a grumble.

5. Adult pugs manage to sleep, on average, for fourteen hours a day.

6. The smushed up faces of pugs classifies these pooches as "brachycephalic": this term means that their head is broad but short.

7. Famous Prince William of Orange was saved from a Spanish attack when his pug's barking woke him up in enough time to flee.

8. Dead royalty that has also owned pugs consisted of Queen Victoria and Empress Josephine Bonaparte.

9. Pugs are horrible swimmers.  They have a huge trouble breathing, and their short legs do not propel their thick tubby bodies very well.

10. Although bad swimmers, pugs can run at about 3-5 mph.  Not exactly cheetas, but pretty good for a peanut with 4 legs.

And Now, Some Photos of Why I Love Pugs:

Mom, if you're reading this, yes, this is my plea for a pug.  Love you!

Man Finds Brush Tailed Possum in His Shower- Cute!

Australia.  The land of huge venomous spiders and infamous "drop bears."  When I clicked on this link from Reddit this morning, I was expecting a nest of spiders to have eaten someone or something.  Standard Australia, right?

Nope, I was wrong.  It was a sleepy, adorable fuzzy little possum.  I wanted to hug it.  I wanted to be it's best friend.  Obviously this is not the correct choice for someone who encounters wildlife camping- we are told to let the animals be and don't disturb them.  Thankfully, the man who discovered this brush tailed possum just let him/her be.

The video is extremely cute and extremely admirable.  Take a look!

USA's Failure to Adapt

While America, the leader of the free world, thumps it's Bible on it's chest and calls other nations backwards and underdeveloped for not advancing technologically and mentally, we are downright hypocritical.

Albania, Belgium, Bulgaria, Croatia, the Czech Republic, Estonia, France, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Iceland, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia, Spain, and Turkey - more than 80% of NATO - have repeatedly confirmed to nonpartisan organizations such as PETA that no animals are used for military medical training exercises.  If so many countries, some with a far smaller budget than America, can respect animal rights, then there is no reason for the US to maim and torture animals.

The overwhelming minority of NATO -  Canada, Denmark, Norway, the U.S., and the U.K. - still use animals (pigs are the favorite) to train their medical personnel as if this was the eighteenth century.   For some gruesome examples, the Canadian military cuts and poisons live pigs with toxic chemicals, the military of Norway uses high-velocity bullets to break pigs' bones, and the military of Denmark, with U.K. participation, subjects live pigs to bullet and blast wounds.  The real kicker is our own country; we stab, shoot, dismember, burn, and ill thousands of live animals.

The basis of the American philosophy is that the government simply represents the people's wishes.  So, by technicality, the American people are eager to inflict horrific pain that would probably make Obama pee his pants on mere pets, sometimes even man's best friend.  Americans do NOT want this.  "We the people" have never even voted on a heart wrenching issue that could be easily resolved by the purchase and use of lifelike human simulators.  These simulators breathe and bleed; they are extremely effective in preparing military personnel in treating battle wounds.

The American people need to teach their government to adapt to the twenty-first century.  Stop being barbarians and show the rest of NATO that you don't believe yourself to be above animal rights.

New Blog

Hi all,

This is a further continuation of my old blog.  The email I used to write the blog has been permanently compromised, so I had to make a new one.

The last few months have been some of the hardest of my life, and that is why I haven’t posted anything.  From the insane amount of schoolwork to actually being hospitalized for a “cold,” I have had no time to write on my beloved blog.  I’m going to try and make weekly installments, focusing, on of course, Wags and Walks, my permanent dog, Tiger, and various other animal rights issues.

Tiger is mentally retarded.  I’m not being dramatic and exaggerating his level of stupidity- according to numerous vets and animal behaviorist, I possess a mentally impaired canine.  What Tiger is to other dogs is what a child with down syndrome is to the rest of the population.  You can see a few adorable photos of my Ti-ti here.  He’s also half-blind, and gets super gnarly/nasty stuff in his eyes that I have to take care of (ew).

Basically, now that my ski career has been drastically reduced due to knee injuries, I’ll be spending wayyyy more time at home and therefore wayyy more time with Tiger.  I’ll start chronicling his moods, my care for him, and his interaction with other animals.

Also, I will be chronicling some current and serious animal rights issues around the globe.  Hope you enjoy!