Suspicious Minds

You know that the world’s going to Hades in a hand basket when a sad story, such as the one broadcast all over mainstream media today, leaves people feeling so mixed up. Or is it just me? A woman in Nova Scotia drowned a couple of kittens last summer and got fined $5.00 for it in court today. Yeah, yeah…this initial ‘teaser’ lead bit on the radio leaves you thinking…”You crazy, sadistic b..tch! They should drown YOU”. Then, you hear the sad flip-side of the story; she fed a stray cat, fed it some more (The Cat Came Back is the song that comes to mind- Harry S. Miller 1893), and bing, bang…she’s got one cat+2 kittens… She’s poor, can’t get help from her town’s officials, and decides to euthanize the kitties in a bucket. Groan. Of course, Suspicious Minds (written by Memphis songwriter, Mark James and the last #1 hit for Elvis Presley in 1969- his last) like mine ask, ‘What cat has only two kittens’!? Maybe she lied about THAT too…and actually drowned a litter of 14. Not that it matters much, they’re all dead, regardless. But NOW, the SPCA is crying foul. They want “BIG FINES AND JAIL TIME”! said their head mouthpiece with emotion. My question? Where were you guys when this nutty, albeit well intentioned stray-cat-feeding woman was busy phoning around, trying to find someone to off the felines? Sure, “dangerous precedents are being set”, yada, yada, but NOW you’re worried that everyone is going to think it’s OK to euthanize Fluffo ’cause it’ll only cost five bucks instead of the usual $179.00 at the vet? Sigh. Then, the legal beagle for this woman (gotta be legal aid lawyer) said a bunch of really stupid things (he compared his client’s action against that of the person “who hanged that dog in Point Pleasant Park” …I can do without hearing that sort of thing). It did not endear me to the situation or to this woman…still…she’s poor…she loves the animals…a regular Doctor Doolittle ….who simply done too much. “We’re caught in a trap….”

Help Me! I’m Being Gassed!

People sometimes say that dogs smell bad. They even say I smell funky once in a while,  but no one has ever experienced a smell (BIG STINK) like I have. Lucy the cat  gasses me and mum whenever she poops in the litter box. It’s absolutely toxic! That feline is polluted. Mum sings “Smelly Cat” (from Phoebe Buffet’s rendition on Friends….the most current pop TV reference she can muster ’cause mum gave the TV away) and sounds like she MEANS it…like she shares my pain. Do you think Lucy ate a really old, dead gopher?  Are her insides rotting out?  Is she just doing it for attention? Or because she doesn’t get to go outside like me? Is she working on a secret weapon for a third world country that can’t afford a real bomb? If anyone knows why Lucy’s trips to the litter box smell so bad, please write to mum. She doesn’t want to get up in the middle of the night to scoop the box anymore.

Message to Opal and Lucy (our cat)

Now hear this Opal and  Lucy! When mum goes into the bathroom and shuts the door, it means I want PRIVACY!  I can not escape out a secret passageway. Trust me, I am not  doing anything particularly interesting.  Poking the door with your noses to see what’s going on, is NOT necessary. Lucy, I promise not to eat your food while I’m in there. I know you will not die of starvation while I am taking a bath. I’ll be in there 15 minutes tops.  There is no party going on and there is no one else with me. I do not require assistance from either of you. I am not in danger of drowning or flushing myself down the toilet. Thank you for your co operation.

A Sobering Reminder

Yesterday, my sweetie’s apartment building went up in flames. Luckily, no one was injured. However, 70 residents (mostly elderly) are without a home until further notice.  My Significant Other heard the fire alarm go off and went outdoors to investigate. This building is prone to false alarms.  In the minutes that L stepped out of the building people started to stream out. The fire department arrived simultaneously, The story is that  the apartment nearest the fire triggered the smoke detector. It was unoccupied at the time. However, a tenant heard the endless buzzing and summoned the super.  He entered the apartment and faced a blaze, and yelled for the tenant to pull the fire alarm and call the fire department. My sweetie called (from a stranger’s cell phone) to give me the news. Standing in shock, without a jacket, ID, keys, or Meerah the cat, L was not allowed to return into the building.  Most residents were housed by the Red Cross at a local arena.  Meerah? L was told that all cats would be collected by the SPCA’s staff, once the fire fighters declared it safe, with the most vulnerable (nearest the danger)  being rescued first.  Dazed and without a worldly possession,  L learned this morning  that little Meerah had been rescued last night,  then taken to the SPCA  Emergency shelter until morning, then transferred to a vet across town for examination. The cat was treated for dehydration and returned to the SPCA shelter where she remains with the other rescued cats until further notice.  A friend of ours who lives in the same building and who was also forced to leave her cat behind, learned, to her horror this morning that somehow her cat was not in the apartment when the SPCA rescue team went in to find her.

Last week, L checked my smoke detector when I complained that it should have gone off after I dropped food on the stove’s burner and did not.  L urged me to report it. I did so quickly (I am the ultra-prepared person when it comes to potential disaster). My big mistake, was not insisting that it be checked immediately by an electrician. So, today, after my seven thousand phone calls on L’s behalf (to the Insurance, the Red Cross, the SPCA, the EMO…) I picked up the receiver to make one more call; “come fix this thing today or I will call the fire Marshall”, I advised my landlord very forcefully. My defective smoke detector was taken away and a new one installed by an electrician within 1 hour.

There are some things too precious to conceive loosing,  including my animals’ lives and my own.  I urge you all to check your smoke alarms immediately. If you do not have a kit ready to take out your door when a fire alarm goes off, get one together. Include ID, medication, important numbers and papers…anything you would need to evacuate.  Have a plan to evacuate WITH your animals and be ready to do so any time the alarm goes. Know where the carrier is for your cat. Be ready to get it out quickly, loading it with the cat, gathering the bag and dog and getting  OUT.  Practice doing so until you can do it in your sleep.

Don’t Sit On the Cat! and Other Advice For Blind People

People ask me all sorts of questions about how I manage to do this,  that and the other thing. Here’s a sample: “How do you cook without burning yourself?”   “How do you know when your period has started?”   “How do you know if the lights are on or off?”  ”Do you ever step/sit on the cat?”  ”How do you know if the food in your ‘fridge is still good?”   “How do you know what bus to get on?” Sigh.  Frankly, I worry about the people that ask these questions. For their benefit, and that of those people with vision loss out there who haven’t quite ‘got it together’ yet, here are a few more tips.  Cooking is fun for me. Sure, it is a bit of a different process. I do not attempt to multi-task when cooking for safety reasons. It is one thing for a sighted person to roam away from a stove-top full of pots to make a phone call or balance their check book, but I like to stick with the task at hand. It is safer to be by the stove and avoid potential a disaster…like setting the kitchen ablaze and ruining dinner in the process. I use larger pots and pans than sighted people might.  This helps avoid overflow when things boil. I use fewer pots, preferring to make many recipes that can be made with one or two pots instead. I prepare ingredients beforehand so that they are ready to add when I need them. My experience as a chef comes in handy some days. I cook effortlessly for the most part. I seem to have an internal guidance system which helps me time things right; set water to boil in huge pot, chop garlic and vegies while waiting, cook pasta (keep lid off and metal spoon to stick in pot  handy to prevent ‘pasta eruptus’ on the stove), drain pasta (into large colander IN sink), put pot back on burner (no need to wash it), add olive oil and garlic (inhale deeply), add vegies in order of ‘cookability’.  OK, I just invented a word, so sue me. I refer to the vegies that take longer to cook, like carrots, celery, turnip… then  stir the cast iron pot (prevents any sticking and cooks evenly), add other vegies (like green beans, zucchini and tomatoes), add spices and minimal vegetable stock.  I  let it simmer for a while. When that’s cooked, I put the multigrain pasta into the mix and stir it up. Voila! I have a big honking pot of tasty, healthy pasta and vegies without need for fuss and 5 hours at the stove. I listen to my talking book or radio while I cook and clean up as I go. If I drop food on the floor,  two things happen; I immediately say “Leave It!” for Opal’s benefit, and then pick it up and toss. Some people find that long oven mitts helpful to avoid burns. I don’t bother, but then I have years of experience. You can buy them through assistive aids sites (like Maxi Aids.com). If I am chopping and need to set down my knife, I slip the blade under the cutting board, so when I come to look for it, there will be no gashed fingers to deal with. I also NEVER put knives or glass items in the sink. These are set aside or washed and put away immediately (Hey! I take blood thinners  and don’t want to spend my day at the ER).  About the funky food in the fridge (FFF). I keep a close ‘eye’ on the contents of my fridge, checking and using items regularly. Like with all my ’stuff’, I keep items in assigned places in the fridge. I label containers of leftovers with a date, though normally, they are eaten within a couple of days or frozen for future use. When in doubt, I enlist someone with sight to scope out the quality of food (usually around the same time they look at my clothing for stains). 

Our cat, little Lucy is a chatty cat most of the time. That’s very helpful for us both. She learned very quickly when she came to live with me, that I can’t see her, and she needs to STAY OUT OF MY WAY!!  Once in a while, she goes incognito and silent (sheesh). You can put a bell on your pet’s collar. I always check the seat which my big butt is about to occupy. This is a good habit for blind people to get into. That way, you avoid sitting on your cat, dog, hairbrush, basket, aunt Mim etc. 

Independent living for a blind person is good and admirable. However, my wise advice? Don’t be an idiot! If you NEED help, ASK for it. Don’t waste your time and elevate your frustration level by worrying about stuff. If you are lost, listen for footsteps and ask the person attached to the legs where you are, or if they can get you  to a point you are familiar with. If you don’ know which bus has pulled up or when to get off it,  ask. If you need to find a washroom anywhere or want a clerk to find something in a store for you…ASK.   Ask with a strong voice, not like a timid mouse. Ask politely but with conviction. It’s OK. 

Lights on or off? check the switches routinely. Or, if you’re feeling wealthy, you can buy a talking light detector. And knowing if your period has arrived? Mercifully, I’m menopausal, but I do remember a time when I used my nose efficiently to detect the distinct odour of blood.

Brand New Day

The best part of going to bed at night, is the assurance that I will wake up to a new day and a fresh start.  No matter how horrible a day has been,  I can start a new one with the feeling that the day before has been erased.  A clean slate, Tabula Rosa and all that.   I woke this morning singing ‘Brand New Day’. Van Morrison does a better job, I am certain, however I felt the urge, given the day I had yesterday.

Yesterday, I woke at 4 am to the unmistakable sound of Lucy (our cat) vomiting.  Sigh. I got up and took care of my little calico. This involved cleaning up, cooking brown rice to settle her stomach and giving her fresh water (in Opal’s dish,  of course).  The radio news really put a spin on my mood too. It seems that a man was stabbed and decapitated  in an unprovoked attack by a fellow passenger on a Greyhound bus in Alberta.  It’s been a violent week in this world.  Unitarian Universalists in Tennessee were killed in their church by a shooter who did not approve of our UU ‘liberal views’.  I mourn with my fellow congregants.  In local news,  a  bus driver was attacked on her bus by a man who tried to sexually assault her.

I thought that work might reset my mood. It did not. My computer coughed up a cyber hairball and refused to operate. The arthritis in my hands, neck and spine seemed intolerable.  Step out, I thought. I saddled Opal and off we went.  I am in desperate need of orthotics and new shoes. I know this because of the shooting pain in my feet as I walk. No wonder I’ve been so cranky lately! Opal and I went to purchase a small birthday gift for my sister at the mall. In Basket Emporium, we stood near the counter and waited for assistance. A shopper came into the store and exclaimed, “You’re beautiful!”.  Her comment was meant for Opal, of course.  I replied, “thanks, but I have a sweetie”.  She  did not seem to appreciate my humour.  It’s all about the dog some days. I just happen to be the woman attached to the end of Opal’s harness.  I hobbled home and prayed for the day to end. Mercifully, it did.

So, when I woke this morning, the promise of a better day was intoxicating and induced me to sing. I tried “A New Day has Begun”  (from Cats), but I could not recall the lyrics and it brought Celine Dion to mind, which is deffinitly not the way to start anyone’s day. I chose Van’s tune…”Brand New Day”.

“Please Release Me…”

If you’re as old as I am, you will remember the song written by Eddie Miller in 1946 that was popularized by Englebert Humperdinck in the 60’s… “Release Me”. However, if you are older, you may be more familiar with songs bearing the same title performed by Wilson Phillips or the Swedish group, Oh Laura. No matter. For my purposes, the tortured lyrics of all of those tunes do not have much bearing on this blog. Here’s what happened this morning that had Opal singing her OWN version.

It was 5 am when Opal gave me my daily wake-up kiss. I stumbled out of bed as I do 365 days a year and proceeded to don my clothes like a robot. We then went outside to give her the opportunity to relieve. The routine drill when we return to our apartment is for me to plug in the coffeemaker and to begin the much-anticipated activity of feeding the girls. Perhaps my zombie-like stupor was more pronounced than usual this morning. I managed to pick up Opal’s dish, go to the cupboard where the rubber tote filled with dog food is located, scoop a mug full of her kibble into the dish, add the warm water, set the dish down on her place mat, and…. walk away in a daze to deal with Lucy’s dietary needs. I gave Lucy her kibble ration in one bowl, a spoon-full of soft cat food in her tiny saucer and fresh water in her dish (all lined up neatly on her Christmas-theme place mat that is identical to Opal’s). Then I thought to myself, ‘ something is wrong here’. Opal was thinking that too. In fact the thought bubble over her head was singing ” Please release me…” Yes, I had forgotten to ‘release’ Opal to her food. There she sat, undoubtedly salivating and praying for me to come to my senses! It might seem harsh to train dogs to wait for permission before approaching their food, however this type of discipline does have its positive results. Dogs, particularly Guide dogs must understand the hierarchy in their ‘pack’. I am the leader of my pack. Opal knows that above all, she can depend on me as her leader, to be in charge, to care for her and to take care of business. (oops, I just squeezed two more references to stale songs; ‘Leader of the Pack’ by The Shangri-Las and “Taking Care of Business” by BTO) The moment I came to my senses and realized that Opal was waiting for me to release her to her food ration, I spoke the words that are always music to her ears…”Good girl, eat your breakfast”. I occasionally use a feeding ‘whistle’ to do the job, but that’s a bit much for my neighbours so early in the morning. You can bet that it doesn’t matter to Opal what means I use to ‘release’ her, as long as I do so eventually.

Like Cats and Dogs

I have had dogs and cats in my life since I was a child… but never both species at the same time.  That would all change when I decided to get a Guide dog in 2005. My cat, Little Lucy, did not seem to know or care what I was going on about when I broke the news to her. I had seven months or so to ‘plan’ before I left for Ontario (to attend the Guide dog training) before the big convergence of dog and cat.  More accurately, I had seven months to fret and worry about the imminent demise of my cat. Sometimes, I varied my paranoid ideology with visions of a big dog being clawed into bloody submission by Lucy. I had no hard and fast research to back up my notion that there would be trouble; just the usual stereotypical references to ‘fighting like cats and dogs’ that I had been exposed to. My friends, family members, neighbours, and the trainers at Canadian Guide Dogs for the Blind were patient with me as I asked probing questions and tenaciously sought advice like a dog with a meaty bone. They pointed out the obvious; Lucy would be ‘upset’ for a while.  Then there were things that launched me into a frenzy of home-preparedness activity; chiefly, the installation of a device (rope, hook and eye) on the bathroom door. This would, in theory, leave enough of an opening to allow Lucy to enter the bathroom and access her food, but very cleverly, keep out the dog I was to come home with. I had dismissed one brainiac’s idea of cutting a cat hole in my door… I was responsible for damages to the flat if we moved. I jigged the device without difficulty. It was the LENGTH of the rope that nearly launched a United Nations summit. I had no idea what size dog I would be coming home with, but I did not think it would be too small a dog. Yet, my nephew insisted I shorten the rope and limit the access space every time he came over to visit and passed comment on my ‘rig’. By the time I was done, I felt certain that a Miniature Schnauzer could not squeeze into my bathroom. There was more. I spent an entire 24 hour period trying to coax Lucy to pee in her new litter box. Again, after much consultation, it seemed advisable to up-grade to the covered type of box. I  recall sitting outside the new,  deluxe model with Lucy in the middle of the night, waving treats and begging her to ‘try it’. She would burst, I thought, feeling helpless as I listened to her cry in frustration.  Once I figured out that the ‘door’ (flap on the litter-box) was scaring her, I removed it and resumed my plea. Her success overwhelmed me. I felt like a mum whose kid has finally been potty-trained. She was showered with praise and love.   It was not easy to leave Lucy with my friend, Alice for a month while I was in Manotick.  Something odd happened when I boarded the flight to Ottawa…I  almost completely put thoughts of Lucy out of my mind. That was a good thing, because Guide dog training is very demanding. It was not until Opal and I were on the return flight to Halifax, that I really gave much thought to Lucy again.  Opal and I had a few days alone before Lucy was due back home. I did not give her much thought during those few days either. Opal and I were shattered. It was all we could do to eat, sleep, groom, and relieve ourselves. It’s a little hazy now, but when Lucy arrived home with Alice in the carrier (and her van full of ’stuff’ –litter-box, dishes, grooming tools, bed, condo, body pillow, food etc),  she bolted for the bookcase as she first set eyes on Opal’s gigantic black head. There was some minor screeching.  I turned to Alice and said, “That went pretty well, don’t you think?”. In the days to come, Opal and Lucy would eventually learn about each other. That’s what animals do. They sort each other out. Opal (hopeless optimist that she is) longed to play with the ‘new kid’. That would take a while… 18 months actually. Now, two years later, Lucy is quite fond of Opal. Lucy knows that she is smaller and physically vulnerable, yet she also knows that she is in charge (though I’M in charge of both of them). Lucy will only drink out of Opal’s dish. She likes to drag off Opal’s bones and toys to the blanket which she also appropriated from Opal, but will share sometimes. They sniff one another to no end (mostly at each other’s ends aka butts). When one is not feeling well, the other is very concerned. Opal tore her dew claw 18 months ago and had it removed. Her foot was bandaged and she was all drugged up when we finally returned home from the vet. This was Lucy’s shining moment. She came over to Opal, licked her bandaged paw and purred, as though saying, “Wow, what happened to you? Can I help?” Opal licked Lucy’s head in appreciation and we all fell asleep on the floor together, huddled in solidarity. So, if you are worried about bringing a cat or dog into a home where one already resides, my wise advice is; be prepared, be observant, be patient, and when they are merged, let them sort one another out!

I Love Lucy

I have written endlessly about my Guide dog, Opal. Today I am devoting my words and long-overdue attention to my cat, Lucy. It is April 1 st today. It is Lucy’s birthday, and that’s no April Fool’s joke.  Little Lucy is seven years old today (more or less).  Four years ago, on this very day, I went to the Bide-a-While animal shelter in search of a feline companion with my friend, Betty.  We were ushered into the ‘cat room’ of the local animal shelter that morning.  In this large room were upwards of thirty cats, all roaming or sitting on ledges and posts, vying for attention in hopes that someone might adopt them.  Betty is a serious cat lover. That is why I enlisted her help.  She also has good ability to describe things, including cats.  I stood in the center of the cat room and hoped for inspiration or a sign that ‘this is the one’.  Betty immediately sat on the floor and began to play with a tiny tabby. “This little guy is so friendly, Helen” she said.  By now I had found a gigantic fluffy cat sitting on a window ledge  and  working on its tan.  ”Hi there”, I greeted the big pussy as I attempted to stroke it.  It replied with an angry howl and clawing swipe at my hand. Hmm, I thought,  I don’t think we’re meant for each other either…  I moved across the room to a four-foot scratching post where a little calico sat quivering.  Betty persisted in trying to connect me with the friendly, beautiful tabby. “This guy is soooo nice. Come see him” she said for the second or third time.  Meanwhile, the terrified calico was doing a number on my heart and head. “Betty, look at all the toes this cat has”, I remarked. “Yeah, a double toed calico”, she explained…”oh my gosh, see how cute my tabby friend is” she went on, still lobbying on behalf of the perfect feline adoption specimen.   I ignored Betty and reached out to the little calico.  She was obviously terrified.  I made up my mind on the spot.  ”Betty, this one really needs a chance”, I said, trying to convince myself that taking on a cat with ‘issues’ was the thing to do.  I rubbed the top of the cat’s head. A little purr came out. “That’s it, we’re going home,  and this girl is coming too”, I announced.  Betty knew better than to disuade me.  We went to the office and filled out the paper work. I paid the adotion fee and was told the following about my new cat: She had been left by a family who “could not handle her”, and maybe one or two owners before that. She was three years old, spayed, weighed seven pounds, had been checked by the vet and given her shots.  They had no knowledge of her name. We put her in the carrier and left the shelter.  At home, a clean litter box, water and food dishes, a scratching post and a few toys awaited her. Betty asked if I had a name in mind.  I thought for a moment and announced, “Lucy”.  This cat for some reason,  reminded me of Lucille Ball. Perhaps it was her ability to survive hard times, or the bit of orange in her multi-coloured coat that made me think of  my childhood heroine.  I always loved Lucille Ball. I thought she was a spunky (yet vulnerable at the same time) woman. I had come to know her, like millions on “I  Love Lucy”.  My life with Lucy turned out to be challenging.  It would be 3 months before she would come to me or allow me to pet her.  She is a nervous cat.  I though she had asthma for a while, but soon realized that she was hyperventilating and only having and ‘attack’  when she was overstimulated by petting.  She did not like to be picked up (still doesn’t) and it soon became clear to me that she had been abused by past owners.  Her belly area was off limits for touching. I suspect she had been picked up and thrown or kicked more than once.   My trust would be earned over time.  Lucy soon became the center of my life and the focus of my attention. This happens when you have no partner or children.  She came with bad habits. Lucy will chew electrical cords, plastic bags, and rubber bands if they are accessible.  She might also be called a glue addict…licking envelope glue and chewing sticky tape of any kind if she finds it. She will lick photographs too and stick her paw in my glass of water, given the chance. Unlike the people who gave up on her, I stuck it out and accepted that I must keep her environment safe. I put away all the things she likes to chew or lick and keep my water glass in my hand until it is empty. She rewarded my patience with love.  Yes, I love Lucy for many reasons. She is a chatty cat who ‘talks’ when I come near.  This is good, given that I can’t see her so I don’t need to worry about her being underfoot.  Like all cats, she has a personality, definitely an ‘attitude’ and ‘moods’ I can’t figure out (who can possibly figure out a cat?).  Two years into our love-fest, I changed her world by changing mine.  I left Lucy at a friend’s house for one month and when she came home expecting a happy reunion with ME, she was intead, greeted by a new roomie; a furry black beast. That would be Opal.  Lucy did not take this change well at first. In fact, she immediately jumped up to a bookcase and cowered there for two days. Finally she descended to eat and use the litterbox, but prefered to live up high for months.  I felt guilty that I forced her to eat in the bathroom (keeping food out of Opal’s reach). I felt like a traffic cop for a while too, what with giving commands,  ”Opal stay!” and “Lucy, go eat!”, my hands waving at both of them as I sent them to separate parts of our apartment.  Grudgingly,  Lucy accepted that Opal was sticking around and not just a temporary burden.  She learned that Opal would do her no intentional harm.  (She also discovered that a lab’s wagging tail can knock a cat over and it’s also not a good idea to be near Opal when she does the supper-time happy dance).  I became so wrapped up with my new guide dog, that Lucy went with insufficient attention for a long while.  Fortunately, she figured out that by demanding what she needed (some ‘luvin’), she would get it from me.  Coming into my bed for a ‘cuddle up’ of ten minutes or so several times a night seemed to make things tolerable for her.  Our relationship will never be as it was, but I like to point out to Lucy that she now has a kind ’sister’.  She asserts herself with Opal by demanding to be groomed first and drinking out of Opal’s water dish. She drags Opal’s bones and toys off to corners, sits in Opal’s toy box, and expects Opal to walk around her when she is ‘resting’ in the center of the floor.  At some point, I stopped running interference and let them sort each other out. That’s what animals do naturally.   She stares at me and then walks away insulted when I say something stupid like, “Lucy come”  (as a result of my habit of giving Opal commands).  What am I thinking!?  Trying to give a command…to a cat?!  Now, Opal, Lucy and I  have group cuddles that could inspire a Halmark greeting card.  Lucy earned her keep at our old place by catching  the mice as the weather turned cold. I almost (ALMOST, but not quite) want to buy her some little mice to catch in our new rodent-free apartment, just to give her something to do. Hopefully, the weather will warm up in Nova Scotia so that I can put Lucy’s harness on and take her outside for some fresh air and leaf chasing.  Walking Lucy feels much like (now that I am so accustomed to going out with 60 lb.Opal),  walking a balloon.  We are planning to buy Lucy a new ‘necklace’ (code word for collar in our home) as a birthday gift for Lucy.  I suspect she hid her old one,  knowing I need to cut her toe nails soon. (Her necklace is handy to keep her from escaping the pedicure).  I don’t know what exact date Lucy was born, so I chose today, her adoption anniversary, as her birthday.  A friend suggested bonbons and ‘I Love Lucy’ dvd’s for her…I have no TV to play dvd’s, so I’ll just wing the entertainment part of her celebration.  Lucy’s idea of a favourite snack is any crunchy food like tortilla chips (organic and unsalted). We will have crackers in bed tonight. Happy birthday, Lucy.  We love you. 

Horrific Animal Cruelty Incident…How did this happen?

Yesterday, the media broke a story here in Nova Scotia, that has everyone reeling.  Reports revealed that over one hundred animals, including 80 cats and 27 dogs, were rescued from a site which had been operating as some sort of ‘animal shelter’ in Port Hastings, Nova Scotia.   The SPCA had been trying to investigate this situation for several months.  It was not until last Sunday, that they had the legal authority to search the premises.  When their team of workers, along with RCMP officers, entered the Celtic Pet Rescue centre, they were horrified to find two building full of animals in deplorable conditions.  Cats and dogs were lying about in toxic filth. The stench of ammonia was so bad, that some of the workers were not able to proceed.   A number of animals were found dead.  The basement was filled with sewage where animals lay. Cats were so encrusted with feces, that their colour could not be determined until they were taken away and bathed for hours. A dog and her nine puppies were found in a crate, hidden by boxes, nursing her pups.  It was estimated that many of the animals had not been attended for over sixty hours.  SPCA workers were shocked (and they don’t shock easily) by the scene.  They had anticipated a rescue of 30 or so animals and ended up with a scene they had not expected or prepared for. The situation necessitated two trips to remove the animals.  The cats and dogs were taken to sites in Halifax and Dartmouth, for the most part, and work began to evaluate their condition and treat them.  Nine cats were found to have Feline Leukemia. The response has been overwhelming from concerned animal advocates.  Even people who are not big animal lovers have expressed sadness and concern, upon hearing the news.  Offers of veterinary care, donations, and requests to adopt have poured in.  Of course, the first question on everyone’s mind, is HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?  The woman who was granted a license to operate an ‘animal shelter’, has not been charged yet, though public outrage will undoubtedly result in a careful investigation on the part of the authorities.  It is expected that charges will be laid. Background information on the operator of this ’shelter’, is sketchy.  The SPCA is the only organization that has the right to actively investigate and seize animals in such circumstances in Nova Scotia.  Their resources are limited and their powers are also not extensive.  The woman who applied for, and received a lisence to operate this place, is reported to have met standards to open.  How and why conditions deteriorated is unknown.  Without legal authority, it was not until recently that the SPCA were granted a warrent to enter, even though they had requested permission to examine the site, and were denied. They could not act.  If an adult is suspected of physical abuse or neglect of a child, the system moves very quickly.  Obviously, society’s conscience and values, do not provide for the same intense scrutiny and care for animals,  as it does for children. We can’t seem to strike a balance. Comment?