Yes, I'm still listening to 'Needle Through A Bug'. It's just good.
A collection of random musings; I'll warn you now, there are spoilers for some literary works ahead.
I was talking about the Chronicles of Narnia with a friend, and she said she ahted them, because Susan didn't arrive in Heaven at the end of The Last Battle. She thought that Lewis implied that being a silly teenage girl means you go to Purgatory/Hell/whatever. It seems that several people were similarly distraught at this point. I don't understand that reasoning. It's always been simple to mean--the reason Susan didn't appear in Heaven at the end of The Last Battle was simply because she wasn't dead.
Arguably one could get up in arms about the fact that she didn't go to Narnia, either--but Diggory, Polly, Peter, Edmund, and Lucy only showed up in Narnia because they were dead. They died in a train crash, which also killed the Pevensie's parents. Jill and Eustace were also dead when they met them, having been killed at some point in the battle, or possibly the ensuing apocalypse. Susan was not dead, so she didn't appear.
Besides, why would they bring up that 'Once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen in Narnia' refrain so often if Susan got booted out for being a teenager?
On to Shakespear. The titular characters of Romeo And Juliet are not the ideal of a couple in love, and were never intended to be so. The fact that so many people hold them up as a golden standard of love... actually explains a lot about why dating and marriage is kind of screwed up nowadays. Romeo and Juliet were fourteen and thirteen, respectively, and were basically morons. The bit Shakespeare actually wanted people to take in was the Friar's 'Love to moderation' speech at the wedding--but most modern performances cut that scene because it's such an unromantic thing to say at a wedding.
It also makes Edward and Bella from Twilight by Stephanie Meyer being compared to Romeo and Juliet frickin' hilarious, though.
Saturday, 11 October 2008
Friday, 10 October 2008
i won't imagine the pictures
Pushing the Envelope" - American Head Charge.
I'm trying out this image-adding thing, so you're get a photograph. Let's see...
This is M10, the Social Science building at my university, as you can probably tell. It's where the criminology students basically live. I believe they're largely fond of it because of its gaping black maw, as shown. All the doorways look like that.
I don't really understand the love affair criminologists have with staircases, either (this building was erected with them in mind, according to the professors here.) M10 is riddled with them, the way an ant nest is riddled with tunnels; an endless number of winding staircases, going down into floors that seem subterranean for their distinct lack of windows. Sometimes staircases come together and cross over each other like a house in a farce, which rather ruins the gloomy appeal for me, but apparently criminologists don't see much in the way of the farcical.
It also holds a room dreaded by all students--the overflow exam room. It's a small, cramped, claustrophobic lecture theatre, and it stinks overwhelmingly of carpet glue. (Remember what I said about a lack of windows? This would seem to be a natural consequence of that.) Students only come to that room when their professors were woefully underprepared for the course, so not only is it an extremely unpleasant room to attempt to engage your brain in, it also implies a level of inadequacy in your education which tends to tug at the nerves until the end of the course.
I don't have much reason to go into M10--my own 'home' is at M24, who may well be the subject of a later photo-based post. But there you go, a little snapshot of my life.
I'm trying out this image-adding thing, so you're get a photograph. Let's see...
This is M10, the Social Science building at my university, as you can probably tell. It's where the criminology students basically live. I believe they're largely fond of it because of its gaping black maw, as shown. All the doorways look like that.I don't really understand the love affair criminologists have with staircases, either (this building was erected with them in mind, according to the professors here.) M10 is riddled with them, the way an ant nest is riddled with tunnels; an endless number of winding staircases, going down into floors that seem subterranean for their distinct lack of windows. Sometimes staircases come together and cross over each other like a house in a farce, which rather ruins the gloomy appeal for me, but apparently criminologists don't see much in the way of the farcical.
It also holds a room dreaded by all students--the overflow exam room. It's a small, cramped, claustrophobic lecture theatre, and it stinks overwhelmingly of carpet glue. (Remember what I said about a lack of windows? This would seem to be a natural consequence of that.) Students only come to that room when their professors were woefully underprepared for the course, so not only is it an extremely unpleasant room to attempt to engage your brain in, it also implies a level of inadequacy in your education which tends to tug at the nerves until the end of the course.
I don't have much reason to go into M10--my own 'home' is at M24, who may well be the subject of a later photo-based post. But there you go, a little snapshot of my life.
Wednesday, 8 October 2008
you forced my hand and made me do
Edit: Part Two is here.
Title from 'Things You See In A Graveyard', from the Repo! soundtrack. This is The Pit Bull Rant, Part One. The second part will be posted later. I'll link to it from this post when it's up. Just for the record, to see bigger or better quality picture, click on 'em.
Pit bulls--TRUE pit bulls, by which I mean the American Pit Bull Terrier, the Staffordshire Bull Terrier, and the American Staffordshire Terrier--are small dogs. Not one of them weighs over twenty kilos, which is in the vicinity of forty pounds if you don't use metric. They're all around forty or fifty centimetres high, so around sixteen inches. They are smaller than a labrador. So if a dog any bigger than that goes after you? It ain't a pit bull. It's either a mutt, or a different breed of dog you can't recognise.
Take this test. See if you can identify a real American pit bull. I guarantee you'll miss a fair few times, unless you're intimately familiar with the breed.
For example, this is not a pitbull. This is a mutt. Her name's Honey, and she's pictured here in full flight across a beach. She does have some staffordshire bull terrier in her, but she also has boxer, rhodesian ridgeback, and mastiff in her, and the most dominant breed is actually labrador. I've mentioned her before--I got her for ten bucks after seeing an ad for 'labrador' puppies, so called, in the Weekend Shopper. The mother was a friendly, yellowish dog with short hair; patently not a labrador, but a cute dog. While Honey does have some pitbull-like features, she's too big, clocking in at about sixty centimetres tall, and has the wrong body-shape. The pit bull breeds have deep chests like hers, but Honey's body tapers off after that in the manner of a retriever's, whereas true pit bulls have a consistent barrel-shape.
Anyone familiar with the pit bull breeds can tell you that this is also not a pit bull. This dog was accused of mauling an older man who was walking past it's house. The media immediately slapped the 'pit bull' lable on this particular beast. This is as much a pit bull as I am. It's a mutt. If anything, it looks like a shar pei or dogue de bordeau cross. Another breed I'd toss in as a possibility is the patterdale terrier. It's definitely not a pit bull.
For comparison; here we have a composite image of an American Pit Bull Terrier, an American Staffordshire Terrier, and a Staffordshire Bull Terrier--with acronyms, for your convinience. They're all winners in their breed classes at dog shows, and so should be the best representation of their breeds. (I'm not sure about the AST in the middle there, actually, but she came up on a reputable site and it could always just be a poor camera angle, so she'll do.) The picture quality is not great, but you can see what these dogs have in common--wedge-shaped heads, deep chests, thick bodies, and strong legs. You can also see that they're on the small side. The first APBT is at the larger end of the range for pit bulls, and he only comes from the judge's knee to the judge's thigh, bearing in mind that the judge is actually a foot or two behind him in that shot and not a tall man himself.
Title from 'Things You See In A Graveyard', from the Repo! soundtrack. This is The Pit Bull Rant, Part One. The second part will be posted later. I'll link to it from this post when it's up. Just for the record, to see bigger or better quality picture, click on 'em.
Pit bulls--TRUE pit bulls, by which I mean the American Pit Bull Terrier, the Staffordshire Bull Terrier, and the American Staffordshire Terrier--are small dogs. Not one of them weighs over twenty kilos, which is in the vicinity of forty pounds if you don't use metric. They're all around forty or fifty centimetres high, so around sixteen inches. They are smaller than a labrador. So if a dog any bigger than that goes after you? It ain't a pit bull. It's either a mutt, or a different breed of dog you can't recognise.
Take this test. See if you can identify a real American pit bull. I guarantee you'll miss a fair few times, unless you're intimately familiar with the breed.
For example, this is not a pitbull. This is a mutt. Her name's Honey, and she's pictured here in full flight across a beach. She does have some staffordshire bull terrier in her, but she also has boxer, rhodesian ridgeback, and mastiff in her, and the most dominant breed is actually labrador. I've mentioned her before--I got her for ten bucks after seeing an ad for 'labrador' puppies, so called, in the Weekend Shopper. The mother was a friendly, yellowish dog with short hair; patently not a labrador, but a cute dog. While Honey does have some pitbull-like features, she's too big, clocking in at about sixty centimetres tall, and has the wrong body-shape. The pit bull breeds have deep chests like hers, but Honey's body tapers off after that in the manner of a retriever's, whereas true pit bulls have a consistent barrel-shape.
Anyone familiar with the pit bull breeds can tell you that this is also not a pit bull. This dog was accused of mauling an older man who was walking past it's house. The media immediately slapped the 'pit bull' lable on this particular beast. This is as much a pit bull as I am. It's a mutt. If anything, it looks like a shar pei or dogue de bordeau cross. Another breed I'd toss in as a possibility is the patterdale terrier. It's definitely not a pit bull.
For comparison; here we have a composite image of an American Pit Bull Terrier, an American Staffordshire Terrier, and a Staffordshire Bull Terrier--with acronyms, for your convinience. They're all winners in their breed classes at dog shows, and so should be the best representation of their breeds. (I'm not sure about the AST in the middle there, actually, but she came up on a reputable site and it could always just be a poor camera angle, so she'll do.) The picture quality is not great, but you can see what these dogs have in common--wedge-shaped heads, deep chests, thick bodies, and strong legs. You can also see that they're on the small side. The first APBT is at the larger end of the range for pit bulls, and he only comes from the judge's knee to the judge's thigh, bearing in mind that the judge is actually a foot or two behind him in that shot and not a tall man himself.
Tuesday, 7 October 2008
inconceivable!
Given the people I know, I don't think a Sarah Palin fan will stumble across this blog... so, have a link to an article about her debate that summarises almost everything I felt was wrong with it. (If it tries to make you log in, you can get a password from Bug Me Not.)
The one thing it didn't mention was something that I found a little scary as opposed to comical; it was the moment directly after when Biden choked up talking about his late wife and child.
What Palin should have done: made some sympathetic noises and a nice, conservative-friendly comment about the importance of having a mother figure present in a child's life, or about how single parents need more support, or whatever.
What Palin did: blinked and launched back into her "John McCain is a maverick" shtick. I honestly expected her to show a touch of human feeling, but... no.
On that note, regarding her use of 'maverick': You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.
The one thing it didn't mention was something that I found a little scary as opposed to comical; it was the moment directly after when Biden choked up talking about his late wife and child.
What Palin should have done: made some sympathetic noises and a nice, conservative-friendly comment about the importance of having a mother figure present in a child's life, or about how single parents need more support, or whatever.
What Palin did: blinked and launched back into her "John McCain is a maverick" shtick. I honestly expected her to show a touch of human feeling, but... no.
On that note, regarding her use of 'maverick': You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.
Monday, 6 October 2008
My hair is orange.
No, I'm not kidding. My hair is orange. It was black, but now... it's orange. Huh. There you go, then, lesson learned--if I'm going to bleach black hair, I can't do it half-assed. At least it looks all right--in most lights it comes out fluro red, so it's more Blood Rayne than Stephanie Plum.
No lyrical title today because my iPod has been critically wounded. Usually I'd just pull a line from whatever song I'm listening to at the time (bonus points it it's vaguely relevent) but I have no music. Plus... my hair's orange. What more can I say?
No lyrical title today because my iPod has been critically wounded. Usually I'd just pull a line from whatever song I'm listening to at the time (bonus points it it's vaguely relevent) but I have no music. Plus... my hair's orange. What more can I say?
Sunday, 5 October 2008
just a little glitch, patch it up again
Title from 'Throwing Punches' by Page Hamilton.
The other day, I was wearing leather boots. I wear leather boots a lot--most of mine are old and beat-up and comfortable. These ones looked kind of new, because I'd buffed them up with Dubbin (it shines and waterproofs the leather) the night before.
Anyway, I was walking through a square in the city, and a protester threw tomato sauce all over my nice, clean, buffed-up leather boots and new jeans that for once in my life actually fit okay. Needless to say, I was slightly unhappy, and expressed myself vocally to this protester. Turns out they were vegetarians crusading for an end to animal slaughter.
Now, ignoring the fact that the grain and vegetable industries kill several hundred million tiny animals like field mice and rats with big harvesters every year (why don't vegetarians protest safer way of harvesting grain? I guess rats and mice aren't cute enough--though I personally am often worried by the thought of minced rat ending up in the wheat used to bake my bread,) I believe in eating meat. It's good for you, after all--in a different way to how broccoli and carrots are good for you, sure, but it's still good for you.
When I was younger and more idealistic, I thought I would become a vegetarian. I like almost all animals. Horses like me better when I smell herbivore than when I smell carnivore. Then... I met chickens.
My mum kept one or two chooks at various times in her life when she was a kid, little bantam hens and one rooster named Smedley von Sturdley. Now, I love bantam hens. They're not part of the meat or egg industry, although I guess you could use the hens for laying. They're mostly backyard pets. I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about all those grotesquely fat, blond chickens that will one day end up on your plate.
Look at the eyes of a meat industry chicken. (Yes, I'm including free-range in this. They're the same breed.) Now go watch Dawn of the Dead, and look at the eyes of the zombies. There's a distinct resemblance--shrewd, but dumb as a box of hammers.
Actually, now that I think of it, chickens are mean bitches.
Maybe a better example would be a meat industry cow. Again, look at the eyes of a cow, then at the eyes of a movie zombie from Shaun of the Dead or something. Same thing. Shrewd, but so, so stupid. They have all the personality of a hamburger on hooves. And unpleasant, too--cows can (and do) projectile shit when they run. Often they drool, piss, and shit at the same time. An entire herd of cows running around with every orifice leaking is a sight to behold. Especially at feeding time. If one cow sprays the five cows next to it with dung, none of them notice--they all just keep eating.
The current slaughter methods are pretty shitty, of course, and I would prefer it if all meat was free range and humanely killed, but frankly, if we didn't eat cattle, they would become extinct. If we turned them loose they'd just follow us around, waiting for us to go refill their feeding trough--still leaking, of course. There's only a couple of species of truly wild cattle left. They mostly live in Asia and their numbers are diminishing--animals like the kouprey and the gaur. There definitely aren't enough around to knock sense into our domestic steaks. Meat industry cattle have been bred for generations to have the intellect of your average rock, and to taste great when roasted with potato and onion.
I personally would rather not feel responsible for the end of a species, so I keep on eating cow.
The other day, I was wearing leather boots. I wear leather boots a lot--most of mine are old and beat-up and comfortable. These ones looked kind of new, because I'd buffed them up with Dubbin (it shines and waterproofs the leather) the night before.
Anyway, I was walking through a square in the city, and a protester threw tomato sauce all over my nice, clean, buffed-up leather boots and new jeans that for once in my life actually fit okay. Needless to say, I was slightly unhappy, and expressed myself vocally to this protester. Turns out they were vegetarians crusading for an end to animal slaughter.
Now, ignoring the fact that the grain and vegetable industries kill several hundred million tiny animals like field mice and rats with big harvesters every year (why don't vegetarians protest safer way of harvesting grain? I guess rats and mice aren't cute enough--though I personally am often worried by the thought of minced rat ending up in the wheat used to bake my bread,) I believe in eating meat. It's good for you, after all--in a different way to how broccoli and carrots are good for you, sure, but it's still good for you.
When I was younger and more idealistic, I thought I would become a vegetarian. I like almost all animals. Horses like me better when I smell herbivore than when I smell carnivore. Then... I met chickens.
My mum kept one or two chooks at various times in her life when she was a kid, little bantam hens and one rooster named Smedley von Sturdley. Now, I love bantam hens. They're not part of the meat or egg industry, although I guess you could use the hens for laying. They're mostly backyard pets. I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about all those grotesquely fat, blond chickens that will one day end up on your plate.
Look at the eyes of a meat industry chicken. (Yes, I'm including free-range in this. They're the same breed.) Now go watch Dawn of the Dead, and look at the eyes of the zombies. There's a distinct resemblance--shrewd, but dumb as a box of hammers.
Actually, now that I think of it, chickens are mean bitches.
Maybe a better example would be a meat industry cow. Again, look at the eyes of a cow, then at the eyes of a movie zombie from Shaun of the Dead or something. Same thing. Shrewd, but so, so stupid. They have all the personality of a hamburger on hooves. And unpleasant, too--cows can (and do) projectile shit when they run. Often they drool, piss, and shit at the same time. An entire herd of cows running around with every orifice leaking is a sight to behold. Especially at feeding time. If one cow sprays the five cows next to it with dung, none of them notice--they all just keep eating.
The current slaughter methods are pretty shitty, of course, and I would prefer it if all meat was free range and humanely killed, but frankly, if we didn't eat cattle, they would become extinct. If we turned them loose they'd just follow us around, waiting for us to go refill their feeding trough--still leaking, of course. There's only a couple of species of truly wild cattle left. They mostly live in Asia and their numbers are diminishing--animals like the kouprey and the gaur. There definitely aren't enough around to knock sense into our domestic steaks. Meat industry cattle have been bred for generations to have the intellect of your average rock, and to taste great when roasted with potato and onion.
I personally would rather not feel responsible for the end of a species, so I keep on eating cow.
Saturday, 4 October 2008
after this the rest is all bullshit
'Bullshit' by Mindless Self Indulgence for the title.
Another plug; Kate Harding's Shapely Prose. It's been slow there recently, but it's a generally awesome blog, and reading through the archives is well worth the time. As a plus-size lady with some pretty serious body-image issues I find it invaluable.
Still haven't gotten seriously started on that damn statistics assignment, nor the two writing assignments I also have due that week. Hmm. Tomorrow is going to be a long, dull day.
Oh, and psst--if you haven't download the very cheap, very awesome Repo! The Genetic Opera soundtrack yet, you really really should. It's already made its way into my Most Played list, and there are songs I've been listening to for years on there.
Another plug; Kate Harding's Shapely Prose. It's been slow there recently, but it's a generally awesome blog, and reading through the archives is well worth the time. As a plus-size lady with some pretty serious body-image issues I find it invaluable.
Still haven't gotten seriously started on that damn statistics assignment, nor the two writing assignments I also have due that week. Hmm. Tomorrow is going to be a long, dull day.
Oh, and psst--if you haven't download the very cheap, very awesome Repo! The Genetic Opera soundtrack yet, you really really should. It's already made its way into my Most Played list, and there are songs I've been listening to for years on there.
Friday, 3 October 2008
you're beautiful
Title lyric from 'Needle Through A Bug' from the Repo! The Genetic Opera Soundtrack. I've had this album since it came out on September 30--I got the digital download from Not Your Parents Opera but you can buy it at least four different ways--and oh. My. God. This album is like aural crystal meth; highly addictive and euphoria-inducing. It's something like ten bucks to download, or about twelve bucks to order a hard copy from Amazon.com and more than worth the money. Hell, buy a few dozen and hand them out to your friends. You will be so popular.
Thursday, 2 October 2008
this is the new shit
Title is the titular lyric from 'This Is The New Shit' by Marilyn Manson.
I'm a bit too wasted to post properly just now, so here we go. Wallaby linked me to this little piece of wtf. As she said, "Starts out funny, then gets scarily realistic."
The author there is right--trying to work out how some of these people think is quite frightening.
In other news:
I'm a bit too wasted to post properly just now, so here we go. Wallaby linked me to this little piece of wtf. As she said, "Starts out funny, then gets scarily realistic."
The author there is right--trying to work out how some of these people think is quite frightening.
In other news:
- The job market here is so poor I'm starting to seriously consider prostitution. Something like 40% of female students in Melbourne do it, apparently, although that may well be overly sensationalistic. Alternately I guess I could put an ad in the local paper as a dog walker/stablehand, but I really wish Starbucks or something was hiring so I could just drop off a resume and hope for the best. Bah.
- I am doing NaNoWriMo this year. (Haven't heard of it? Here.) Would anyone be interested in seeing my progress posted here? I'll probably put at least the first 1700-ish words up. So far, my main idea is a shameless rip-off of at least one Shakespearean play.
- I haven't started my statistics assignment yet. It's due on Tuesday. But that's okay, because it's only 1200 words. I can write 300 words a day on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Sound good? Not to me. Statistics classes and assignments are, for me, one huge long hooker moment.
Wednesday, 1 October 2008
they'll never find a happy home for you
Title lyric from 'My People' by The Presets.
I think this blog is going to have to become a place to put my rants out of necessity. Occasionally things happen that bring certain thoughts to the forefront of my mind, and I can't get anything worth doing done until I excise it--not a relevent blog post, not another few thousand words of novel, nothin'. So here we go.
I worked for the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animal--the RSPCA. You can find statistics about how many animals enter the RSPCA here (everyone can read PDF files, right? If not, just google Adobe Reader and download the free version.) Note that, excluding animals who were reclaimed by their original owners, the vast, vast majority of animals were euthanised. I wish there was some way animal rescue services could operate without euthanising animals, but there really isn't one. And even in death, these animals often go on to do things like act as training tools for vetinary students--which, if not the most dignified ending for a dog's corpse, is certainly a more productive option than many others.
Some of these animals are presumeably dumped for legitimate reasons, although I have no idea what those are. I do not believe any of the following are truly legitimate reasons: moving, pregnancy, allergies, sickness, or money problems on the part of the human, or behavioural problems caused by humans on the part of the animal.
The reason I disregard all reasons relating to humans are because, assuming you don't have a friend or family member who could take the dog, it costs next to nothing to advertise and sell an animal. I know for a fact that there are a lot of people who are looking for pets in the weekend paper, or on Craigslist, or any other local equivalents. The dog I currently own, who is lying next to me as I type and licking my foot, was picked up from someone running an ad for 'labrador puppies, $10' (yeah right) in the paper. A woman I work with picked up a pair of adorable Burmese kittens for some exorbitant sum by finding their breeder on Craigslist just the other week. You're not guaranteed to sell it, but even if your deadline does expire, you can always hand the animal off to a trusted friend who can then attempt to sell it on for you. (Admittedly this works a lot better with young animals, but it's not impossible to sell your older dog with some good advertising and a little presentation. A fair number of people prefer buying older dogs because they can, at least, control their bladder.) Hell, you can even print off or photocopy a few dozen flyers and stick them up along popular walking routes or in shopping malls. It's not hard.
When it comes to behavioural problems by animals, I have discovered one thing--about one percent of animals have an issue they were born with, like being incontinent or too aggressive. One percent of the time, there's nothing you can do about it. The rest of the time, it ain't the animal's fault. It is not hard to fix most behavioural problems in small animals. There are incredibly simple ways to stop your cat from peeing on the carpet, or your dog from barking excessively. Even if your dog bites or some other extreme form of behaviour (which, again, I almost always refuse to believe the people responsible for raising and training it did not cause, be it directly or indirectly) you can instantly solve the problem by buying a ten dollar muzzle and making the dog wear it in situations where he may bite! How cool is that?
Sigh.
I do know what it's like to have animals with issues that simply aren't your fault. I once rode a horse that had, ever since it was a foal, been headshy--for the non-horsey people reading, that means every time someone went near the horse's head, it flinched back and freaked out a little bit. There was no inciting incident, and no matter what we tried, nothing would get the horse to stand quietly while we were trying to put on his bridle or whatever. Eventually we managed to figure out a method of putting the bridle on one-handed while holding on the halter, and then taking the halter out from under the bridle, which we made sure to teach to the person hired to finish his training. However, I've also ridden a horse who was headshy because she needed her teeth floated, and one who was headshy because his previous owner used to smack him in forehead when he did something wrong, and one who was headshy because someone tried to teach him to rear on command and screwed it up badly.
I also believe animals that are dangerous and do not have the opportunity for extensive retraining should be put down. I wish there was someone out there willing to train dogs that attack without provocation to be nice family pets without wanting up to several thousand dollars for their services, but people like that simply don't exist a lot of the time.
But frankly, I believe dumping your animal is the worst thing you can do. It doesn't matter if it isn't euthanised, or isn't picked up by someone who fights dogs (I'm pretty sure this fate would befall my dog if she were ever dumped; while she's a labrador/staffy/boxer/ridgeback/golden retirever/bulldog/etc. mix, she does bear an awful resemblance to a pitbull.) It doesn't matter if the best family in the world comes and adopts your pet and gives all the love and training and treats it needs until the day it dies. You're still an asshat for dumping your pet. In an ideal world, the RSPCA would be there to find homes for stray animals, and only have to euthanise those with too many issues to find homes or those who are physically damaged and would require incredibly high-maintenance care to extend their life. But because people don't neuter their pets, or don't realise that the novelty of a Christmas gift tends to wear off, or decide they can't be arsed to catproof their baby's room when they get themselves knocked up, it's filled with animals that should really be other people's problems.
Please, please, if anyone's reading this who hasn't done this already: having an animal neutered is not a huge expense, it doesn't take very much aftercare at all, if they happen to be a working animal it has a very short recovery time, and it'll keep any little bundles of fluffy joy appearing unexpectedly. Moreover, take the time to go to some obedience classes--you can find them for as little as ten bucks for an hour or two of training--and teach your dog things like 'sit', 'stay', and 'come'. I'd also suggest locking in your pets at night, for a whole host of reasons. If you have a purebred that consistently wins at dog shows, is extremely well-trained, has never been responsible for a mutt puppy, whose introduction to the gene pool will improve the breed--more power to you! Your dog can keep his balls. But make sure he is never responsible for a mutt puppy, and make sure the bitches you breed him to are as high quality as he is, or higher.
For the record, a brief history of my pets: two budgies named Blue and Green, two show-winning purebred Chow Chows named Leo and Bear (technically my uncle's, but they lived with us a lot of the time,) two cats picked up from the RSPCA named Rupert and Daisy, a lizard named Saffron, two mice named Bubble and Squeak, briefly an extremely elderly cockatoo my friend couldn't keep anymore named Charleton, and--currently my only pet--the aforementioned ten dollar mutt, Honey. I'm also in the market for a horse, but will probably not be buying any until some time next year. I have never dumped an animal and never will--unless by some mischance I find an actual, legitimate reason for it. I doubt that will ever happen.
I don't currently have room in my life for another dog, or I'd adopt a few dozen from the RSPCA. Just for the record, adopting and hoarding more than you can keep is just as bad as actively abusing them.
I think this blog is going to have to become a place to put my rants out of necessity. Occasionally things happen that bring certain thoughts to the forefront of my mind, and I can't get anything worth doing done until I excise it--not a relevent blog post, not another few thousand words of novel, nothin'. So here we go.
I worked for the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animal--the RSPCA. You can find statistics about how many animals enter the RSPCA here (everyone can read PDF files, right? If not, just google Adobe Reader and download the free version.) Note that, excluding animals who were reclaimed by their original owners, the vast, vast majority of animals were euthanised. I wish there was some way animal rescue services could operate without euthanising animals, but there really isn't one. And even in death, these animals often go on to do things like act as training tools for vetinary students--which, if not the most dignified ending for a dog's corpse, is certainly a more productive option than many others.
Some of these animals are presumeably dumped for legitimate reasons, although I have no idea what those are. I do not believe any of the following are truly legitimate reasons: moving, pregnancy, allergies, sickness, or money problems on the part of the human, or behavioural problems caused by humans on the part of the animal.
The reason I disregard all reasons relating to humans are because, assuming you don't have a friend or family member who could take the dog, it costs next to nothing to advertise and sell an animal. I know for a fact that there are a lot of people who are looking for pets in the weekend paper, or on Craigslist, or any other local equivalents. The dog I currently own, who is lying next to me as I type and licking my foot, was picked up from someone running an ad for 'labrador puppies, $10' (yeah right) in the paper. A woman I work with picked up a pair of adorable Burmese kittens for some exorbitant sum by finding their breeder on Craigslist just the other week. You're not guaranteed to sell it, but even if your deadline does expire, you can always hand the animal off to a trusted friend who can then attempt to sell it on for you. (Admittedly this works a lot better with young animals, but it's not impossible to sell your older dog with some good advertising and a little presentation. A fair number of people prefer buying older dogs because they can, at least, control their bladder.) Hell, you can even print off or photocopy a few dozen flyers and stick them up along popular walking routes or in shopping malls. It's not hard.
When it comes to behavioural problems by animals, I have discovered one thing--about one percent of animals have an issue they were born with, like being incontinent or too aggressive. One percent of the time, there's nothing you can do about it. The rest of the time, it ain't the animal's fault. It is not hard to fix most behavioural problems in small animals. There are incredibly simple ways to stop your cat from peeing on the carpet, or your dog from barking excessively. Even if your dog bites or some other extreme form of behaviour (which, again, I almost always refuse to believe the people responsible for raising and training it did not cause, be it directly or indirectly) you can instantly solve the problem by buying a ten dollar muzzle and making the dog wear it in situations where he may bite! How cool is that?
Sigh.
I do know what it's like to have animals with issues that simply aren't your fault. I once rode a horse that had, ever since it was a foal, been headshy--for the non-horsey people reading, that means every time someone went near the horse's head, it flinched back and freaked out a little bit. There was no inciting incident, and no matter what we tried, nothing would get the horse to stand quietly while we were trying to put on his bridle or whatever. Eventually we managed to figure out a method of putting the bridle on one-handed while holding on the halter, and then taking the halter out from under the bridle, which we made sure to teach to the person hired to finish his training. However, I've also ridden a horse who was headshy because she needed her teeth floated, and one who was headshy because his previous owner used to smack him in forehead when he did something wrong, and one who was headshy because someone tried to teach him to rear on command and screwed it up badly.
I also believe animals that are dangerous and do not have the opportunity for extensive retraining should be put down. I wish there was someone out there willing to train dogs that attack without provocation to be nice family pets without wanting up to several thousand dollars for their services, but people like that simply don't exist a lot of the time.
But frankly, I believe dumping your animal is the worst thing you can do. It doesn't matter if it isn't euthanised, or isn't picked up by someone who fights dogs (I'm pretty sure this fate would befall my dog if she were ever dumped; while she's a labrador/staffy/boxer/ridgeback/golden retirever/bulldog/etc. mix, she does bear an awful resemblance to a pitbull.) It doesn't matter if the best family in the world comes and adopts your pet and gives all the love and training and treats it needs until the day it dies. You're still an asshat for dumping your pet. In an ideal world, the RSPCA would be there to find homes for stray animals, and only have to euthanise those with too many issues to find homes or those who are physically damaged and would require incredibly high-maintenance care to extend their life. But because people don't neuter their pets, or don't realise that the novelty of a Christmas gift tends to wear off, or decide they can't be arsed to catproof their baby's room when they get themselves knocked up, it's filled with animals that should really be other people's problems.
Please, please, if anyone's reading this who hasn't done this already: having an animal neutered is not a huge expense, it doesn't take very much aftercare at all, if they happen to be a working animal it has a very short recovery time, and it'll keep any little bundles of fluffy joy appearing unexpectedly. Moreover, take the time to go to some obedience classes--you can find them for as little as ten bucks for an hour or two of training--and teach your dog things like 'sit', 'stay', and 'come'. I'd also suggest locking in your pets at night, for a whole host of reasons. If you have a purebred that consistently wins at dog shows, is extremely well-trained, has never been responsible for a mutt puppy, whose introduction to the gene pool will improve the breed--more power to you! Your dog can keep his balls. But make sure he is never responsible for a mutt puppy, and make sure the bitches you breed him to are as high quality as he is, or higher.
For the record, a brief history of my pets: two budgies named Blue and Green, two show-winning purebred Chow Chows named Leo and Bear (technically my uncle's, but they lived with us a lot of the time,) two cats picked up from the RSPCA named Rupert and Daisy, a lizard named Saffron, two mice named Bubble and Squeak, briefly an extremely elderly cockatoo my friend couldn't keep anymore named Charleton, and--currently my only pet--the aforementioned ten dollar mutt, Honey. I'm also in the market for a horse, but will probably not be buying any until some time next year. I have never dumped an animal and never will--unless by some mischance I find an actual, legitimate reason for it. I doubt that will ever happen.
I don't currently have room in my life for another dog, or I'd adopt a few dozen from the RSPCA. Just for the record, adopting and hoarding more than you can keep is just as bad as actively abusing them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)