Animal Cruelty- WTF is wrong with people?!

Today's rant is which has affected me in my own back yard... literally.

For those who don't know me, I am an animal lover. I am a crazy cat lady as well (I type this straining my shoulder reaching past the cat on my lap to the keyboard), but that's a story for another day.
I have met an awful lot of fuckwits in my time, and firmly believe that animals are better than humans over all, and deserve to be treated well.

I volunteer with my local Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to animals, and am always saddened to see just how many people neglect their pets, pay no attention to obvious medical problems, or are so overwhelmed by their own "need" to have a pet that they disregard the animals' survival and wellbeing needs. "Oh I love my dog, but I can't afford to get it spayed.. now it's had 6 puppies I have to give them all up for adoption." [It always reminds me of the Catholics scene in Monty Python's Meaning of Life "we'll have to sell you all for medical experiments"].

Recently I decided to expand my flock of two backyard chickens again. I saw some advertised on the noticeboard at my work as being "older" hens, which I thought would be good to adopt, as I don't care if they don't lay as regularly as some people would, and I'd give them a good life, not having to meet with the axe if they aren't "productive" enough.


I picked them up, and as soon as I got them home I noticed they had some scaly leg mites. Then I looked closer at all 4, and was horrified- it was the worst case I'd ever seen.















Most chickens are prone to getting the parasites, but its relatively simple and cheap to treat, and shouldn't have long lasting health implications if you do. By the state of these poor chooks it was evident they hadn't had it treated in over a year, if ever- an obvious severe case of neglect- to the point where two of them had already lost toes, and one could barely stand.

I treated it by covering their feets and legs with vaseline, which I applied by hand. As gentle as I tried to be, two of the chickens' feet started bleeding as soon as I touched them, as the skin was so damaged and split. It became obvious that one of them was going to lose another toe, which was barely hanging on by a thread of tissue.

I moved them into a smaller isolation pen so they wouldn't infect my existing hens, and there'd be less room to walk around- forcing them to rest.





I also dusted all the area with mite powder to stop them from breeding any more, and wormed them to ensure no other nasties were living in them.

10 days later- after just the one treatment, this is how their feet looked: 

Some were worse off to begin with, but obvious reductions in the mite infestation can be seen. 

I gave them another coating of vaseline and re-dusted the coops. It took me about 30 minutes and $30 to treat all the hens. As I still have plenty of vaseline and mite powder left, the ongoing treatment will cost me $0, and just a little time and effort to make a big difference to their well being. 

Considering how little time money and effort it took me, it sickens me to think that some people are too lazy and neglectful to take care of their animals properly.

I will post another update soon to show how they turn out.

Gay Hate: When Mental Health Problems are Not an Acceptable Defence

I sympathise and empathise with many people who have had mental health issues in their lives. I understand how hard it can sometimes be to cope with daily life, and that on occasion some reactionary behaviours such as pushing away people who try and help you, unexplainable moods and outbursts of crying or anger may occur.

Unless a person is suffering hallucinations or paranoid delusions, however, I cannot see a situation whereby targeting another person for simply living their life, bullying, harassing and starting a hate page about them, would be justifiable. 

http://www.adelaidenow.com.au/news/national/army-did-nothing-to-stop-gay-hate/story-fncz7kyc-1226577414391

Given that the perpetrator was a member of the Army, it is likely that his PTSD was a incurred during a battle incident on deployment to a conflict zone, and symptoms should be associated with being attacked with a gun or being bombed. Even in the unlikely circumstances that the perpetrator in this case had been assaulted by another man at some point in his life in what he may have perceived as a "gay" attack, which his PTSD was attributable to- to go so far as to start a facebook hate page against homosexuality is despicable. 

People with mental illnesses are not incapable of applying moral standards to life, conducting business (it would appear he was well enough to still be in the workplace), and determining what is or isn't reasonable behaviour. For the courts to excuse death threats on the tenuously linked basis that the perpetrator was mentally unwell is almost an endorsement that displaying hatred towards someone because of their sexual orientation is an understandable or justifiable behaviour. 

Poor call by those who made this determination. Qui tacet consentit.

One who condones evil is just as guilty as the one who perpetrates it.

-Martin Luther King

A response to Sarah Beaulieu's "How I stopped being an angry feminist and started loving men"

The other day I was sent a link to a news article about research showing the world's population may be getting more stupiderer (*ahem*- yes that's intentional), which was on a somewhat poor quality "news" website. 

My eyes were drawn to the "other articles" section of the page, with a big title "How I stopped being an angry feminist and started loving men". My eyes rolled instinctively, and I felt myself groan at what I anticipated would be an ill-informed anti-progressive sanctimonious self-enlightenment "my whole life changed" piece, but felt my finger dragging the mouse pointer to the link (http://www.news.com.au/lifestyle/relationships/how-i-stopped-being-an-angry-feminist-and-started-loving-men/story-fnet09p2-1226580988910), like passing a car crash and feeling your neck involuntarily to the horrors you know you subconsciously want to think.

I'm hearing echoes of Craig Reucassel, ala Shock Horror Aunty, in my head "people want to be outraged!" and nod in woeful agreement that, while not normally easily baited, this one indeed pulled me in.

While tempted to listen to my own advice to not fight stupid, as you'll only be dragged down to their level then beaten with experience, I haven't had a good rant in a while so....

Firstly, I think Sarah Beaulieu is doing as much harm to the cause of feminism as she seems to sanctimoniously claim she is doing for promoting "good men". The use of the terms "angry" and "feminist" in close conjunction perpetuates the harmful misnomer that all feminists are angry. Similarly, to suggest that you cannot be feminist and love men (or anyone perhaps she believes- if we feminists are such angry hateful people in general?). 

Feminism is defined as: "the doctrine advocating social, political, and all other rights of women equal to those of men." (www.dictionary.reference.com)

Feminism is NOT:
- man-hating
- promoting the rights of women above and beyond or over men
- prioritising women's needs over others'

Unfortunately this is not widely understood, and there are some common cross-overs and confusions that occur by applying false logic which do a lot of harm to genuine equality and feminism, such as:
- women who have been hurt by a man (or men) and feel anger or hatred towards men, and self-associate with feminism as they see a cause which advocates that they should have had a right to exist free of violence.

However, the "I call myself a feminist therefore I am one (although I am hateful towards men)" is an association that spreads, similar to how the "I am a member of the priesthood and therefore am a good Catholic (although I rape children)" association tarnishes the image of the Catholic church. The actions of a few statistical outliers who choose to be more vocal, receive more attention and media, and perpetuate negative false associations. 

I'm not going to get into the equally preachy self-as-an-example-which-proves-my-theory-of-everything "I am a feminist and I love men " blah blah because it won't achieve anything- one person's experience can be a record, but it does not attest to the broader ethical or moral standards of society, or even the average human experience.

Her basic premise is sound- to encourage harmony, but it is done so in the way of the patronising Mormon door-knocker "I want you to go to heaven, which is why I tell you everything about your life is wrong, try to force you into my way of seeing the world, and if all else fails I'll judge, pity and pray for you."

The way Beaulieu words the article could actually promote further hatred of women by promoting old negative stereotypes, and be counter-productive to her stated intentions of reducing violence against women and improving male-female interactions and relationships.

So, Sarah Beaulieu, I encourage you to think about the, likely unintentional consequences, but incredibly poorly thought out approach to how you advocate for causes in the future.

Songs and Associations

Some people pass through your life and leave a mark in ways you wouldn't have expected- little memories, some like gifts, which all make up who we are.

One for me was a guy I was dating earlier this year, who in most respects was fairly unremarkable. We had some fun together, but it was never serious. When he stopped calling, I didn't think anything of it, as I had no real desire to see him again either. Nothing unpleasant- we'd just used up all we had to gain from each other, and it was time to part.

What stays with me, was his habit of putting on certain music in the morning while he showered and dressed (okay, and some other funny things too, like the videos of him nude bungee jumping, but that's a story for another day). 

While I'd always liked the song "Little Lion Man" when I heard it on the radio, I'd never sat down and listened to the full Mumford and Sons album (Sigh No More) before either. A few months passed and I found some tunes entering my head, so I bought the album for myself and now I am a huge convert, so thank you, 26- you gave me a new top ten album of all time.

Now there is also a song which, whenever it comes on the radio, I think of him and smile at the memory- "We are young" by Fun (no, not Paul Dempsey singing of "...dangled upside down from a great height..."). 

Other songs bring a smirk any time your hear them, like "What are ya (a yob or a wanker)", by TISM, which was unfortunate enough to work its way into the CD shuffle the night I lost my virginity. Talk about panic as he bolted across the room to change the song (also incidentally the night I learned of the bouncy comedy that is a naked man running). Somehow I don't the introductory phrase of "I'm a wanker...I'm a wanker... I'm a wanker..." was exactly the image he wanted to be giving at that moment.

Indelible images burned on your brain, which whenever you hear the songs, they rise again to the surface: The Johnny Cash cover of Hurt by Nine Inch Nails will always remind me of one ex-boyfriend. Any music by The Doors will always make me think of a friend I lost too young.

One of my favourite bands of all time is Something for Kate, and albums by their singer Paul Dempsey. They always make me think of a friend form university, when we'd be sitting in the corner loving the songs, reciting the lyrics, and everyone else would look at us like we're loonies. 

Recently though, someone has given them new associations, and I'm not sure what to make of it all- Will I be left with a smile when I hear them, or a desire to switch off? For now its a knot in the stomach, but there's no rest from this paralysis.

The Henry VIII guide: How to get rid of 5 Wives

I received a message last week from my sister, who was quite hysterical as she'd heard that our father was leaving his wife, who is in a nursing home, and had proposed to another woman he'd been having an affair with, using his wife's ring. 

She had found this out after calling our stepmother ( our father's wife), who said he'd been having an affair for a while, and that she needed a lawyer and wanted her ring back.

This is all quite unthinkable for most people, and sound more like a plot from Days of our Lives or some other horrendous soap opera, than real life. Then you take into consideration that our father's current wife is his 5th, and that the ring in question, which he had allegedly proposed to someone else with, was already recycled- having been given to my mother as an anniversary gift (which she subsequently suggested he insert rectally, so to speak, in their divorce). 

In an update to the story, it turns out the current wife had a stroke last week, and is having a lot of delusions, as a result of that and her existent dementia, of which this story is just one. 

But where's the fun in reality? What's more pertinent is that we all found this to be a credible reality, and believed it to be actually happening, as opposed to just being a figment of a decaying, dementia patient's mind. 

About to turn 31, I am beginning to see a smattering of divorces among my friends. At the time they married they were very much in love, and im sure they hoped for and envisioned a lasting future together. These days we think very little of someone having been divorced, and in some ways it's almost endearing: isn't it nice for someone to have been so passionately devoted, even if naively, to want to ignore any flaws in another person and devote themselves to each other.  As humans we make these mistakes, but at some point it's normal to expect that people learn from them and grow or change. 

I was talking to some women at a party recently, who were in their early 50s. There was also a rather suave guy there, pushing 60, but looking great in a suit, a big smile for everyone, and who seemed intelligent and friendly, not arrogant to talk to. The women were single, as he evidently also was, but none of them seemed intersted in  him, despite him having what seemed to me to be some attractive qualities. I asked them why they weren't interested in him, and their response was  simply "He's been divorced TWICE!". 

Interested, I pursued the matter further, and the comments were along the lines of, "doesn't he learn!?" and "there must be something wrong with him!". I didn't tell them about my father, as I've had that awkward shuffling and avoidance of conversation too many times before.

As one of my brothers once pointed out, a 6th wife would make our father like King Henry VIII, although he hadn't rid himself of any by means of beheading. (Not that I'd be sure it had never crossed his mind. )

In one sense, it's actually quite impressive that he has convinced that many people to marry him. As my mother said- he was very romantic when dating, very convincing that he'd been misunderstood by his previous [3 at that stage] wives, and just wanted someone to love.  As it turned out he just wanted someone to love HIM (the concept of loving someone else is irrelevant to a pathological narcissist- everyone loves them in their mind) without question, even if he kicks your children or punches you in the face.

Growing up with this reality gives you a very warped view of relationships, marriage and love. Where everyone who "loves" you, will manipulate, humiliate and abuse you. 

It's interesting when you're also painted as guilty by association- I can't tell you how many boyfriends' parents I've met who clearly disapprove of the family I come from, and push for them to dissociate from me. A child has no choice what family yet are born into, or grow up in.

So what has all of this taught me? I can't tell anyone what is the right thing to do, but I can talk for days about what NOT to do. 

 I approach relationships very cautiously- too cautiously- and have lost several partners through not giving up enough of myself fast enough, but having witnessed such intense manipulation and deception, and the abuse that ensued, trust is not something I develop easily. I would feel safer walking naked through the middle of Kabul holding a placard stating "fuck Allah" than I would to tell a partner I loved them. Even writing is in conceptual form gives me a feeling of tightening in the chest- the beginning of a panic attack. 

I have created a self- fulfilling prophecies: if I reveal too much of my past, be myself, or don't do what they would want, they will reject me. So I hold back to extremes, and they wind up leaving anyway, probably through frustration as much as impatience. Thus reinforcing the belief that no one will ever understand my situation or want to be with me.  Do I recognise my own role in these situations, and kick myself every time it happens? More than you could possbily imagine. 

Shaken out of bliss

I'm Sitting in the Garden bar in Zadar- this place is one of the nicest places I've ever been in. Absolutely magical- situated on the peninsula Which juts out into the adriatic, housing the town which has existed for 3000 years, and the atop of the ancient town walls. You look across the inlet to the mainland, watching the night time reflections dance on the water. 

I ordered a vanilla mojito- possibly the best cocktail I've ever had. The lounges are so comfortable I sunk back, listening to the amazing lounge beats and drifting into deep, dreamy relaxation. 

Then there was an electrical fault- and the music and lights went off, leaving the harsh cackling of the group of Spanish tourists nearby to scrape into your psyche, and completely jolting you out of that dream like state.

 Like a warm shower, easing all your aches  after a hard week, beginning to feel like maybe you'll morph into a human being again- then suddenly the water going cold - leaving you feeling shocked and ruining all that was.

From something which seemed so beautiful, like nothing you'd ever imagined possible, to a harsh reality which was perhaps thinly veiled in partly the moment, but largely only existing in your imagination. 

It seems the perfect metaphor for my life recently.

Black dog tours

When you go to another town, city or country, you can experience many different things- see new sights; better weather, or just different if that's what you're after; taste different foods and meet different people.

The one thing which is quite inescapable is what rattles around in your own brain. Travel can be fantastic for opening new parts of your mind or distracting you for a while, but the demons of doubt and self loathing lurk close behind, like a shadow growing longer in the day and waiting to consume all at night fall.

The black dog is not stopped at quarantine or customs, nor is it required its own passport, but travels freely right along side you, perhaps imperceptibly at first. Then one day the delirium of a new holiday wears off, and jet lag creeps up, weighing you to the spot until you roll over in the middle of the night and it's staring back at you. Big black eyes which sear into your core, making it impossible to deny that all you had been trying to pretend you weren't is still true.

For me, it's right beside me in the mirror most of all, saying that you can't hide what you are- no make up, change of clothes or different surroundings will hide what a freak you are. I am disgusted with you, and everyone else is too.

Every time you manage to forget about it, When y walk down the street, there are so many eyes- laughing, mocking, taunting eyes, which remind you of this- you are a fucking weirdo freak who will never be acceptable. Other people are just a reminder of what you're not- they may be beautiful, comfortable, happy, laughing, with fulfilling lives. You walk past them, empty, as though performing a role, although badly, and they mock your failure at trying to be one of them.

Away from work, home and it's usual distractions, the banale routine of normality, it is only more apparent, the hollowness of it all. The shame of loneliness you daren't confess for fear of further mocking, and the paralysing ironic inability to talk to people and remedy the situation.

And so I drift, alone, through country after country searching for a soul I will likely never have.