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I may be single again, but I’m certainly not alone. I’ve never had trouble making friends, and, I’ve been making more new ones in recent weeks than I had in the previous year altogether. And yes, some of them are men. And no, I’m not naive enough to believe they really just want to be friends, but that doesn’t mean it has to go their way, either. In fact, right now, I’m enjoying spending time by myself, and am very protective of the extra space that’s been allowing me to reinvent myself as the philanthropist I’ve always wanted to be. And it all starts with my newly registered business Cause for Action. For a couple years now, I’ve turned the idea for this business ’round and ’round in my head, even getting a weak start last year designing a very uninspired website. All that changed last month when the business finally became a stepping stone to completing a couple real projects that I’ve been pouring myself into – heart and soul. The first is a documentary project that I can’t reveal at this time, as it’s pending sponsorship. The second, is a fund-raising event called Compassion is in Fashion, that will feature local “celebrities” walking the catwalk accompanied by adoptable canines. Nothing gives me a greater sense of purpose than having an outward focusing goal – to facilitate the adoption of 40 lovable canines in the year that I turn 40. So, for a substantial period of time I will be turning my attention away from this blog, to spend time on these two important projects. You can catch me at www.causeforaction.com and www.causeforaction.com/blog to learn more, and hopefully, help spread the word on some issues that are near and dear to my heart. I hope to see you over there!
The beauty of friends is that they often see the oncoming train, and steer you clear, before you ever realize the extent of the problem. Maybe you were just walking alongside the tracks to see what signs of life spring up in between. Or maybe you were crossing the tracks over and over in an effort to test your chance for either luck or misfortune. Or, even scarier, maybe you were standing square in the center of the tracks, waiting in anticipation of that final glimpse at life – there, and then forever and at once, gone. All I know is that a set of good friends is what everyone needs in his or her darkest and brightest hours. Thank you Max, James, and Ashley for helping me avert a most certain danger, and keeping me focused on the many stops that still lie ahead. I love you dearly, my friends.
Llamas and dogs make friends, but just how deep do they bond? When Gaze, the llama, gets out of sight of his constant companion, Baylord, the llama, he kicks at the dirt, pulls on the leash, and gets downright unpleasant. Dublin and Checkers met for the first time on the weekend this photo was taken, but these dogs were instant best friends…a reaction that neither dog has shown with any other canine in her or his life. No one can doubt the mutual affection and attachment that is so readily apparent between these two sets of furry beings, but how deep does that well run? I imagine it runs as deep as that between human friendships. And it probably never hits a rough patch, or dissolves suddenly during emotional turmoil. My guess is that friendship amongst the four-legged is an unlabeled, unconditional phenomena that is never given a second thought, and that’s probably how it weathers every storm.
(NOTE: The video at the end of this post contains a story spoiler. So, please read this first…)
My day started off the same as every other this month. Feeling the weight of depression that only a broken relationship can impart, I dragged myself out of bed and blamed myself immediately for the ugly state of the world. It’s a good thing for my dog, or I might not even bother waking up and feeling sorry for myself. So, this is progress. But the reality is, it does get much easier every day and I notice that I don’t miss the person nearly as much as I agonize over what I did wrong or could have done better. Always the ruminating overachiever. However, today was a little different, because I really didn’t care about over achievement either. I just wanted to get on with my life again. And never was there a better way to start doing that then to immerse myself in the situation that was about to unfold on this sunny California morning.
So, I dragged myself out of bed, threw on whatever would get me out to the beach (obviously aware that there would be no fashion show) and leashed up Dublin the Dog for our regular morning outing. I walked with a neighbor woman for most of the walk up the beach and talked about work, life, and dogs. I’m not one to walk and talk for a long part of my morning venture, but today I just felt like the company. If I were to analyze the workings of the universe, that should have been my first indicator something was different. I dropped the woman off at her spot on the beach and then turned around to begin the walk home. Dublin the Dog turned with me and stayed really close on my heels, not obsessively exploring the sand dunes as she normally would. That would be hint number two that something was about to happen.
So, I walked and walked and suddenly realized I hadn’t looked back at Dublin in a while. When I did finally turn to locate her, I couldn’t believe what I saw. Back a 100 paces in the sand sat Dublin, upright on her hiney, and directly to her left sat a baby…penguin. Well, that’s what my eyes first witnessed, but upon closer inspection I realized that Dublin was actually sitting side by side with a black and white seabird of some sort – that just happened to be sitting up on its haunches like a penguin. So there sat my cattle/bird dog, sitting beside this penguin impostor, as though they were in a movie theater watching a very boring film of me. As I moved in closer I instinctively knew, from having rescued many birds before, that this bird was not sitting by a bird-eating dog by choice. He was sitting there because he was detained against his will. By the time I was near enough to touch the bird, I had already pulled off my Geoffrey Beene vest that had become my standard bird catching apparatus on these morning walks. As I moved in quickly to cover the bird and pick him up, Dublin the Dog became very vocal and threatening upon seeing the “baby penguin” start to move. But this bird was so calm, cool, and collected, that both Dublin and myself seemed to pick up his vibe and we both instantly mellowed out. As I walked with this fabulously round, quite heavy creature tucked away in my vest, with only his sweet face and beak peeking out, I became overwhelmed by the smell of petroleum. At first I thought I must have walked past a heavily tarred area in the sand, but then I realized the smell was so overpowering, it seemed to follow us down the length of the beach. Suddenly it hit me, and my heart sunk – this little bird was a victim of an oil spill. Sure enough, when I got him home and pulled him out of my vest, I saw that both of my hands had been completely blackened by the thick coat of petroleum on his underside. I was absolutely sickened that this poor, innocent creature should have to endure this misery because some careless captain, or boater or whoever the hell had spilled this deadly substance into the ocean – this poison that renders a bird’s feathers and thermal protection completely ineffective, leaving them to die a slow agonizing death by hypothermia.
Fortunately, this bird was lucky. I knew from experience that Patagonia, that wonderful outdoor clothing company with a conscience, takes birds and other injured or orphaned animals right at the front desk of their Ventura headquarters. With my bird friend in the back seat, I headed down to Patagonia, nearly suffocating from the stench of tar infiltrating every nook and cranny of my car. I couldn’t believe one little bird had absorbed so much of this black poison. When I got him to Patagonia, Kim Stroud, the tireless Director of the Ojai Raptor Center (www.ojairaptorcenter.org), met me at the front desk and whisked him off to a courier who would bring him to Santa Barbara for a special intense cleaning process, and then further on up the coast for rehabilitation. Kim informed me that this bird was a Murre and that these guys live far out in the waters of Channel Islands and beyond, and are rarely seen on the coast unless injured. Evidently, they are so used to living in seclusion that they seem to sense no fear from dogs or humans, and that’s why this creature never once tried to poke my or Dublin’s eye out with his dagger-like beak. When I left him with Kim, he was peaceful, yet still spunky, and ready to get back to the day to day business of being a seabird. It is my belief that he will get to do that very soon.
People, please, if you see an animal in despair, do your best to help it. Don’t convince yourself there’s nothing wrong or that the animal can help itself. If something feels wrong to you, it probably is wrong. An injured seabird is likely to be mauled to death by a dog, or suffer horrendously for days on end as its system slowly shuts down. Think ahead and store the numbers on your cell phone for the rescue groups in your area that provide resources for injured or orphaned wildlife. The help you can provide one of these fallen creatures, often just by making a simple phone call, is tremendous. It’s almost always the difference between life and death. And if able to make a conscious choice, I guarantee you that seabird would choose life. Absolutely and without a doubt.
I’m tired of wrestling alligators and demons and emotions. So tired. It’s time to set the alligator free and gain some peace, quiet, and perspective.
Say What You Will