Wonderful places to donate on behalf of animals

Throughout the year, we strive to share generously with organizations that work to combat poverty, homelessness, anti-women sentiments, and psychotic conservatism and Christian nationalism. But, in my opinion, how we treat non-humans is as important; animals are, against humans, defenseless creatures. By and large they are enormously sentient, gentle, stoic beings from whom we can and should learn much. They weather hardship and pain with fortitude, they are full of grace and grit, and when treated with love they respond in kind with distinct personalities. I hope one day to have an animal sanctuary of my own, to welcome one and all creature great and small.

Just today, while attempting to rid a pasture of shiso (invasive horror; never plant or allow it near you), I snuggled every goat and cat who wanted said snuggle, and when Rambo lay in a sunny pile of leaves for an afternoon respite, I joined him, resting my head on his belly, my arm around his neck, scratching at his lead. It was a wonderful moment.

As I do most Decembers, I have given almost all of my paychecks to animal welfare organizations, and I share them with you here in case you are inclined towards a last-minute gift that will be wholly and thankfully utilized.

1. Farm Sanctuary: incredible group that rescues, advocates, and educates farm animals like cows, goats, pigs, and sheep. You can donate generally or “adopt” one of their animals. You cannot go wrong in supporting FS, and right now, there is a 100% match going on.

2. Cats on Mars: Eugene Kibets is single-handedly saving thousands of cats in Ukraine. He climbs ladders into bombed-out buildings, rescues orphaned pets and ferals, gets every being the medical treatment it needs, and is cool as get out. He’ll drive clear across Ukraine to save any cat and does on the regular. Support via Patreon (I do) and/or via his PayPal (I also do this): catsonmars.ukraine@gmail.com. It’s legit.

3. Niall Harbison is an Irish emigre in Thailand dedicated to loving and supporting in all ways the country’s many street dogs. Today, for example, he cooked a full Christmas dinner for more than 100 dogs, and he spends thousands a month on medical care for sick babes. His donorbox is legit.

4. Berkeley Humane: one of many humane societies doing work that I would consider godly were I believer. One of my best college friends is a board member, and they (in CA) put all donations to their cats’ and dogs’ needs.

5. Closer to home, in my WV county, Berkeley County Humane. This is not a wealthy area, and they are doing crucial work on a shoestring. Please consider supporting the poorest of animals, too.

Thank you so very much.

Brittle

I feel brittle these days, a discomfiting awareness of angles and haste and chill. Each time I sit down to write, I freeze, erase, and leave. This is never a good sign, this drying up. Some of it is busyness, surely. Between holidays, teacher days, and illness, neither J nor O has had much in the way of full weeks of school since September. I need space and can’t seem to get it.

Parenting is a motherfucking bear. It is hard and relentless and it’s really easy to fuck up, and sometimes I just want to wash my hands of the enterprise. Yes, yes, yes, it’s wonderful and all that jazz, but the daily slog of thanklessness and question marks and laundry and limits is and feels mammoth.

I daydream often and in a deeply soulful way, of land and horizons that are away and vast. To space and slowness and kindness and quiet. To muddy Wellies and reinforced overalls and great gusts of wind.

Daily, I feel half here, half elsewhere.

I want to get off this hamster wheel and away from arrogant billionaires and lying terrors who are never held accountable and too much least-common-denominator behavior. I saw a headline recently about how worrisome it is that people are spending so much time alone, and I get the concern, yet I want to yell, “are you fucking kidding? Have you looked around and/or been in public lately?” There is only so much ugliness people can witness and take, both personally and societally, and shit, I understand the desire to hermit.

I want to have the time to feel bored. To make things, to finish a book, a lengthy thought.

I have a deeply-rooted sneaking suspicion that the world is on some epic, crucial fulcrum. You can keep Jonesing, struggle, or opt out. I prefer C.

When I was little, I wore dresses that twirled and I did not like to be dirty. I also did not like to be wet unless I chose to be wet, via shower, pool, or opted-into slip-n-slide. I woke up early to shower and style my hair, you would not have found me gardening.

And then, as life goes, and then just like Nanny always said, “you can bury your troubles in the garden.” And I’m in the dirt as often as possible, working quietly and trying to make space to hear the quiet inside voice that gets ignored on the regular.

I don’t think that I expected, when I was young, to change so much during life. But I have changed, in many ways. Maybe that’s what middle age is about: coming to terms with and choosing how to honor who you were, are, and may still become.

Anyway, this blog doesn’t seem particularly “good,” but at least it’s something, I suppose. Buon weekend, all.

Little good to say, so back to Ireland

Jack still doesn’t have a physics teacher so we’ve hired one (if that is not antithetical to the mission of public education…), I just watched a professional dog walker let four pups pee and crap all over my front garden (non-yard green space is EVERYWHERE around), a guy laid on his horn this morning when I stopped for a school bus letting elementary schoolers board, and I was nearly hit by another driver who seemed to feel it her right to turn left because she wanted to. Italy has elected a hard-core right-winger who cozies up to people like Steve Bannon, Berlusconi, and the other right-wing Italian political parties, trump is still not in jail, and high schoolers in VA are walking out en masse today because Gov Youngkin is trying to enact anti-transgender legislation. You go, students! I am totally with you!

I am really pretty sick of all this crap, and I am also sick of mosquitoes and still heartbroken over Federer’s retirement.

So, back to Ireland. We paused as I was about to share Day 6 of my Ring of Kerry tour. We began by driving through Cahersiveen, home of Monsignor O’Flaherty, a significant member of the Catholic resistance to Nazism during WWII. He was responsible for saving ~6,500 Allied soldiers and Jews! Thank you, Sir!

Then to Killorglin where, every August, the Puck Fair is held. As I learned, most Irish towns have annual festivals of which they are enormously proud. Killorglin’s is one of Ireland’s oldest festivals and involves men heading into the local mountains to capture (kindly) a wild goat and bring it back to town. There, a chosen girl anoints the goat king (King Puck), it is tied in the center of the festivities, and everyone drinks and celebrates (and cares for the goat) for three days. The goat is then returned to the spot it was found and released.

Signs were everywhere, for the Fair was quickly approaching. I was quite sorry to miss it, frankly, but maybe another time. As you can see in this article and the following photo from said article, it was extremely hot at this year’s festival and King Puck received hourly vet visits and plenty of cold water and shade. Delightful!

I do regularly wonder if the chosen goat is enormously confused during its three days away from its flock, if it is then happy to return, and if the others know and/or miss it during its absence. Hmm.