The Wedding Party

I am getting old. I'm pushing 51 and I've been set in so many ways. I feel a certain dignity, however, in my age, that I didn't have as a younger man. I have pride in this unasked for dignity. But this dignity, I'm finding, can also be my captor as I find myself sneering at younger people doing undignified things. Sometimes I forget that I was young and tired of my father. But not today.

There is a video going around on Twitter of the start of a wedding. "In my day" (old words), the organ would play the traditional wedding march, or even a contemporary but beautiful and solemn song as the groomsmen, bridesmaids, best man, and the nervous couple would enter the holy chambers to begin their lifelong trek. When I started watching the video, this is what I expected. But the opening notes of this wedding ceremony had little to do with my idea of what a wedding ceremony should be.

The song opened with the synth sounds of Chris Brown's "Forever" - a dance tune, complete with thumping kicks and vocoderized vocals. I felt myself bristling at first, felt my eyes scrunch up as the groomsmen made their way down the bridal path. But this was no traditional entrance. At first, the groomsmen held pieces of paper resembling notes of some kind, something you might expect. But out of nowhere they threw them into the air, revealing colorful confetti. Lord, and then they started dancing! Badly dancing, like guys forced to dance so they could get laid. My mind is thinking "preposterous," but my feet are tapping, uncooperative. This is a circus. They should not be doing this.

Two bridesmaids start dancing down the aisle, doing badly choreographed dance moves. I notice that they look a little embarrassed, but that they also look *happy*. Dressed in red, they dance their way to the altar. Behind them are more groomsmen, one of which walks on his hands, no less. I notice the audience. No one crying here. They clap as the groomsman finishes his hand walk, and I notice everybody in the audience is smiling and laughing. This is not how I got married.

You can't see it in the video, but all of them are circling back to the start. All the groomsmen and bridesmaids now are dancing down the aisle in unison. And just when you think it can get no sillier, the groom himself - hidden by the dancers - bursts through them and somersaults his way to the front, dancing his way to the altar. What the hell?

I started feeling strange, and something stirred inside of me that I did not expect. Tears streamed from my eyes. What in the hell am I crying for, I thought at first, but then it came to me. These were tears of joy. Not my joy, mind you. Theirs. I understood. Weddings are supposed to be joyful, but most are long and tedious. Not this one. I could say that they were thumbing their nose at old men like me, but that's not how it seemed, exactly. They were not trying to shock or offend. They were enjoying their day, making this a true celebration *their* way, bad dancing and all.

The audience laughed, hooped and hollered, and shared their joy. Tears ran down my face as I opened up and felt the simpleness of what they were doing. I shared their joy - exactly what they had planned and hoped for. This was the wrong reason to be crying at a wedding, especially for an old man like me, but I did not want it to stop. Something inside of me was coming out of hiding, something I had forgotten.

The bride came next, and did some simple dance moves down the aisle to join her groom. It was no longer silly, and in a sense more dignified than anything I've witnessed in a long time. Chris Brown pumping, people clapping and hollering, and people dancing badly down the aisle to their own beat - these were their own people, and even though they looked a bit embarrassed at times, everyone felt the wedding party's joy. The entire audience was uncannily unified by all the craziness, and it indeed was a true celebration.

I watched the bride join her groom, and the video ended. But I, who wasn't there, who didn't know any of these people, felt what they did, and I was no longer an old man. Something inside of me stirred, something I just assumed was dead in me. I wiped my silly tears, thankful that I still had the capacity to feel. And what was supposed to be a long and solemn occasion turned out to be a joyful day, that not only they, but myself will remember for a long time.

I want to thank them for their silliness, and for saying to hell with tradition and doing it their own way. I do not feel so old today, and there is absolutely nothing, not in any way, silly about that.

"Double your pleasure, double your fun..."

-@hoomin

The video can be found here.

Not Be Had

He is alone
orange and iron-willed
rusting on ferrous legs
Old and stubborn
he will not be had,
for having been had
has not served him well

Ragged, beaten, 2nd class
tattered fur, starved
tortured by parasites
never a peaceful place to sleep
never a safe place to hide
Worn and tired
he will not be had

She tries, she begs
she connives, she feeds
but rusting iron cannot feel
cannot trust, cannot rest
In a hidden place, away
he suffers in indignity
iron weighing him down.

He eats only when she goes,
his iron bones heavy
wearing out, wearing down
Four legs with twisted tail
heavy as the weight of the world

And she waits
she plots, tears of frustration
Would trade her dignity for his
but he will have none of it
Rain snow, beaten by the sun
rusting into oblivion..

He will not be had.

-@hoomin

Tiny Noses and Airplanes

I am waiting for them. It is seven in the morning in the middle of September. I listen for the planes outside, the whining of their engines rising as they taxi closer to where I'm working. I'm a security guard at one of the major airline's air cargo centers. I know they're coming, but I don't know exactly which days they'll arrive. I keep my eyes open, watching for them. There are just a few people here with me. There are always just a few people here during working hours, labeling boxes, stacking boxes, driving forklifts, or sometimes just watching TV between arrivals. To these people, what I'm waiting for are just packages, but to me they are so much more.

A forklift rolls in, and I see them come in. I recognize the small wooden slats of the crates, measuring a foot and a half by two feet. There are two crates, one stacked on top of the other. They are on top of some bigger, heavier cargo - electrical components of some kind, bags of coolers containing medical specimens, and a few cardboard boxes with hazmat labels, all placed on the same pallet. The forklift drops them with a thud and drives off. I have to hurry. I only have so much time to do what I need to do. I walk quickly to the pallet of crates. As I get closer, tiny sets of eyes peer through the slats following the sound of my footsteps. I lean down and look through the slats of the top crate. There are about twenty kits, and most of them are awake. The rest are asleep, exhausted from the ordeal of their flight. The ones that are awake are excited by my presence. Some of the kits lick my nose while my face is against the slats. I hear a commotion from the bottom crate, and I move my face down and peer inside. This crate contains roughly another twenty kits, some standing on their back legs, noses sticking out from between the slats, watching me in curiosity.

The floors of both crates are an absolute mess. In a corner of each crate are two cans. One can has a tiny bit of water in the bottom, mixed with some feces. The majority of the water has spilled out of the can and has dampened the pine shavings that the kits are using as bedding. The other can contains a few pieces of kibble that somehow managed to stay in place during the flight. The rest of the kibble is spread throughout the floor of the crate, mixed in with damp shavings and more feces. The conditions of both crates are the same. This is how the kits have traveled for hours.

The cans are not very big, about the size of small tomato sauce cans. Not very much food and water for twenty kits, it would seem. And now the cans are fouled and nearly empty. I reach into my coat and pull out my plastic sports bottle. I fill it with fresh water from the water fountain. Slowly, I squeeze the bottle to release the water. I place the tip between the slats where the kits can reach it easily, but there are too many. The kits who are awake fight each other for a few licks from the bottle. They are so thirsty. They push and shove each other for the water, sometimes crawling on top of each other to get to the bottle, and sometimes pushing themselves up from the bottom. Almost all of the sleeping kits are awake now, roused by the commotion, and they join the melee. There are just too many, and even though I can refill the bottle, none are getting very much water as I stand in one place. I walk around the crate, sliding the water bottle between the slats, moving the bottle so that each of the kits can get a decent drink. After slowly walking around the top crate quite a few times, I move the bottle down to the bottom crate and circle around it in the same manner. The entire time, kits from both crates follow me as I circle around them, every once in a while standing on their back feet and sticking their noses out, vying for my attention. They are so cute, and as much as I want to stroke their little noses, I simply can't. There's not enough time.

I hear the whining of the jet engines getting louder. I have to hurry. More planes are coming in, and these pallets will probably be moved to make room for the newly arrived cargo. I don't always know where they take them. I refill the water bottle at the drinking fountain. I then squirt streams of water into all four cans in an effort to clean them. It is not a perfect job, but the cans are cleaner than they were before. Even as I'm doing this, the kits are trying to drink the dirty water that's streaming from the cans. Once finished, I fill one can in each crate with water. I then pull a bag of kibble I have brought from home out of my coat pocket and fill the other two cans with the kibble. A small scramble ensues, and the kits eat and drink from all four cans. They are no longer moving in the belly of a plane, so they should be OK. My job requires that I attend to other, more official duties. I have to leave the kits now. I need to make my rounds. The pet stores are supposed to send someone to pick up the kits as soon as possible after they arrive, but often that doesn't happen. If the kits are not picked up within a few hours, they are stored with luggage and other freight in a secured area, sometimes until the next morning. This is the last I will probably see of them.

It is the next morning; it is September eleventh. It is just after nine in the morning and all the freight-handlers are watching TV. There is nothing to do. All planes have been grounded. One of our planes has been flown into one of the Twin Towers, probably by terrorists. Shortly afterwards, another company's plane hits the other tower. Everyone is in shock. The fiery crashes are replayed over and over again, and we watch in disbelief. I realize that I will not be seeing any thirsty kits today. Most of our planes transport animals, and my heart sinks as I wonder about the plane that hit the tower. I reach into my pocket and feel my sports bottle, pathetically empty and useless. I close my eyes and think back to all those tiny noses between the slats, thirsty and looking for attention...

Later, when I get home from work, the first thing I see as I walk in the door are my own tiny noses, sticking out of the bars of their cage, waiting for me as they always do. And even though their water bottles are mostly full, I empty and refill them - just because I can.

(This story was related to me over several weeks as my wife described what she saw working as a security guard at one of the air cargo terminals. This is a true story.)

Miles To Go

(I originally posted this on New Year's Eve 2008, but it was deleted after my blogger account was changed.)

It is officially New Year's Day, as I sit here writing this. I have had a long day, and a short nap, and for some reason my mind is still awake.

I have had a *day*. First thing, off to the doc's for the usual 8am diabetes follow-up, which usually includes some kind of banter with my doctor. She looks older than I remember, and a bit tired. I've seen her for years. We have learned to put up with each other. Today, she asked me if was taking the new cholesterol meds that she gave me. Nope, I said, it makes my hands numb and I need my hands. She gives me the eye, and tells me that I really should be taking it. I am thinking about what I have to do later, and I pause before I answer her. I said no, I am not going to chase every shadow that comes my way. She hands me some free meds and I'm out the door. So far, so good...

I take my time. It is my day off, this New Year's Eve, and I only have this left to do. I remind myself that she is not really there, but she *is* really there and I have to go pick her up. I feel an urgency to get there, but I drag my feet. It's cold today, riding my bike to do everything, and I will put on some miles. I make my way to Corrales where she waits at the vet's. She is there. I almost wished she weren't, but then where would she be? Stupid questions, just get going while it's still warm enough not to freeze my fingers to the bone. I have a long way to go. A Robert Frost poem comes to mind - "Miles to go before I sleep." Many miles. I head home.

I hand her to my wife, gently, as if I were handling eggs. My wife won't be doing this with me, even though I know she would if I wanted her to. It is too many miles, and too cold to be riding a bike. Besides, I have to bungee a pick and shovel to where she'd sit. I can do this. I redress in my room, and see dirty socks mixed in with other dirty clothes. They are safe now. I take one of mine, first one I see, and then take one of my wife's - a dirty one with a hole in the heel. I put them in with her. She won't mind dirty socks. Never did before. Any sock was a good sock, as far as she was concerned.

I leave home for the second time, and head for Josie's Mountain. No good way to get there from here. I head north. I would tell you where Josie's Mountain is, except it wouldn't matter, and you couldn't find it anyways, maybe unless you lived here. Josie's Mountain is not the official name of the "mountain" we go to. I named it myself. You can do all kinds of stuff like that if you don't care about "official." I don't think it has a name, but it's falling down, and that's what we like. The mountain is constantly crumbling, and no one would ever be foolish enough to build there. That's a good thing, especially when you have lost count of how many dogs and ferrets you've buried there. (Josie was an old English sheep dog, who died unexpectedly. She was the first one buried on the mountain, so that's what we call it.)

I have to take back roads no matter how I go, so I figure I'll try the shortcut. Bad idea. Snow and mud are not your friend on a bike. My shoes and socks are now wet and muddy. I turn back and head north to almost Santa Fe where I have to make a U-ey and come back south on the back road. It is warmer, now, about 46 degrees or so, and my hands are cold but comfortable. I am not far from where we're going. This is the first time I'll be doing this by myself, but I know I can do this. She has to be with him. She and he came as a pair from two dingbat students who kept them in a garage. He died a few years back, but she made it to almost eight. I wonder if they will remember each other, and my mind distracts itself by asking itself more stupid questions. I see familiar rock formations. We are here.

I park my bike, and unpack. I have her and a pick and shovel to get over the fence without ripping my pants on barbed-wire, hopefully. The road, a winding two-lane, is busier than I remember it. I try hard to sneak in to the scrub, but it's a bit difficult to sneak a three foot long pick with a bright yellow handle anywhere. I don't want people thinking I'm stealing plants or rocks or Native artifacts, for Pete's sake. I hope no one stops. I'm not entirely sure the truth would be better. I listen for the silence on the road, and I make my way.

The temperature is above freezing, but there is snow in the shadows. The ground is not frozen, but soft and wet from the snow. My work is easier than I expected, and I am done in no time at all. It is time to do this now, I tell myself. Gently, I open her sleep sack, as if I might somehow awaken her. Stupid stupid. She looks as if she were sleeping, curled nose to tail. I put the socks underneath her so she'll be comfortable, and I think stupid stupid, but I do it anyways. That's the whole point of the work of collecting all those socks - to be comfortable, isn't it? I distract myself with the stupidity of my thoughts while I avoid the inevitable, but the tears come anyways. I hold her for a long time, and then I let her go. I tell her that my wife and I love her very much, and that I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm sorry about, but I say it anyways. It's what I said when I stroked her head at the vet's as he stopped her suffering. I didn't know then either, really.

Go find him, my little girl. He's close by, and I have to get home. It's cold, and I have miles to go before the sun sets and it gets even colder. My feet are wet and frozen, but I am at peace. I head home.

I get home, tired and numb, but satisfied that it is done. I tell my wife about the trip, and we cry a bit more. I go to my room to change out of my wet clothes so I can warm up. I sit on the bed as I change, and my wife comes in. She is gathering my wet clothes, but stops to tell me about the pile of socks underneath the bed. She has left the pile undisturbed for a few days now, not having the heart to move them. I smile and nod, and we look at each other and understand. We have been together almost twenty years, and there is a new year coming. Understanding just comes. After a short nap, I watch Anderson Cooper drop the ball in New York. Two more hours to go here. I listen to Art Bell welcome the New Year in different time zones. I have to work in the morning, but my mind is wide awake. I wonder when I will run out of clean socks. No matter. Any sock is a good sock.

I will miss my little sock thief, my blessed ward of St. Franky - the wonder ferret who escaped twice and was returned to us by grace both times. I thought she would always be here. That's what luck will do to you, I guess. Make you stupid. I am just getting tired, glad to be done with today. The words of Frost are on my lips, although I don't say it out loud. I have to get up early, and it's way late. Like Frost, I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. Miles to go.

"...Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow..." - Robert Frost

In memory of Bubbles (2008-12-27) and her mate Scritch

Open letter to those who would torture, torment, or kill animals for their own entertainment...

To those inclined to pit one animal against another, just so you can watch the most savage act of nature acted out in the comfort of your garage - I have something to say to you:

Buy a ticket to somewhere wild. When you get there, don't stay at a nice hotel. Get off the plane and keep walking until you see no more beings that look like yourself, preferably in the jungle somewhere. You are now in the environment of that which you admire. Good. Now strip off your clothes and shoes. Don't worry about getting scratched up, or getting sores on your feet. Shoes, clothes - they are for wimps, certainly not for those who enjoy the rawness of nature.

Keep walking until you are thirsty. Drink from the nearest stream or body of water. Don't worry about microorganisms, or getting sick - nothing small can hurt *you*. You are in the wild. There is no time for this kind of worry in the wild, only the most primal instincts. That is what you admire, right? Keep on walking until you are deep in the wild and totally alone. This is the life, huh?

Walk a bit more, until you come across that which you most admire - a predator of some kind. Lions, bears, wolves - it doesn't matter, does it? That's what you came here for - to be with the strong and the powerful. Are you hungry yet? Good. So are they. It will be such a gallant struggle to see who comes out on top. Aren't you excited? They can smell that you are. But not to worry. It will be a fair fight. You will not be confined to a cage or a ring. Neither will they. Now is your chance to witness nature firsthand, to be a part of it in all it's glorious savagery. Only the strongest will survive...

Isn't this great? Aren't you liking this? Wait - why not? You're helpless and afraid, you say? You want your shoes and clothes back, a nice hot shower, and a comfortable bed, you say? Not *really* liking the savagery of nature now, are you?

Think about that, you sorry bastard, the next time you get the urge to entertain yourself with another being's helplessness. Remember what it felt like to be sore and tired, thirsty and hungry, helpless and afraid. You are not so different from them when it comes to those things. The only way that you *are* different is.. well, unspeakable and incomprehensible. You have lost something along the way. And I am miserably ashamed of you.

Gourmet Ferrets

My internet connection has been down (the missus didn't pay the bill on time and we were disconnected :/ ), and I haven't been able to read the FML (Ferret Mailing List) for a couple days. First thing I read was Maren's post. I was bewildered, disgusted, and outraged at the situation she described. You can read it for yourself below:

_________________

Maren's FML post:

Date: Thu, 2 Jul 2009 12:52:04 -0400
From: Raisins From Heaven Ferret Rescue & Sanctuary in Hernando, MS
[email removed for spam prevention]
Subject: Literally From The "Jaws of Death"

I am still in shock. I still cannot believe all of this myself and I thought that I had seen everything. Until yesterday...

On Wednesday morning, I received a call from a girl "Nancy" who said her friend's boyfriend had several large snakes and claimed that the boyfriend had been given a pair of ferrets over the weekend from a friend of his who got them from another friend who was losing their house and gave up, not only their ferrets, but two cats. (I held my breath for what I hoped I would not hear next...) And she overheard the two boys at the house talking about having some friends over for Saturday, the day they were to feed the ferrets to the snakes. OMG! I thought I was going to throw up. by the end of the conversation with Nancy, I was crying.

This is something you hoped and prayed was not going on out there but feared that it not only could, but did.... and now it was happening in my "backyard." I had to stop it ....! Whatever it took, I was going to get those ferrets! (oh yeah, BTW, I have a carry permit and have learned in this town, you better be prepared)

"Nancy" reluctantly gave me her friend's cell number and I convinced this friend to give me the address and name of the guy that had the snakes, the ferrets, and the cats. I risked my job and went there during my lunch hour knowing I was not going to leave without the ferrets or the cats!! It turned out they are kittens, about 3 months of age. The ferrets are male and female - a pair of black sables about 3 years of age. I was lucky...the boyfriend was there and the kittens and the ferrets were still alive and on the premises. And, so were about two dozen snakes of all sizes...... ugh! I hate snakes and really, really fear them ... and to have so many in the house and for me to be in that house with them took every bit of strength that I had ... I was literally shaking. I felt like all of the color had rushed out of my body but I had to get these kids out and now....

I called police dispatch (on speed-dial) and a cruiser came out and we all discussed the situation. The police refused to do anything. I was at my wit's end so I offered him money - I don't buy ferrets but I finally convinced him to take $250 for the kittens and the ferrets. I called Joe and he took out all of our savings ... but lives were saved. This all took about 2 1/2 hours and I still have a job, thankfully. (and, just like most of you out there, I always carry two carriers with bottles and what-not in my car at all times and so I was prepared for travel)

I am now contacting my state representatives in an attempt to add to existing laws or initiate legislation in this state to prohibit this sort of activity. Not sure if I will be successful or even what this legislation would look like for the state legislature to debate on -- or, for that matter, even what my legal precedents are, but I am not going to sit by anymore and hope this does not happen. In this state, there are many friends and supporters of animal rights issues and I have already gained some preliminary interest amongst two legislators. And, I am sure anything that we might propose WILL BE met with opposition by businesses engaged in perpetuating this type of activity - namely Petco who sell "feeder mice" and other small animals. Trust me, Petco will argue the interference with business (federal Interstate Commerce Clause) defense and use their lobbyists against any proposed legislation that might reduce their profit margin. Petco's motto of "pets come first" (or something of that nature) is hypocritical and the reason I have not done any business with them in years. I just can't take it - going into their stores, seeing the kits and watch people buy feeder mice. I just can't...what a horrible death for those poor things ...!

The kittens and the fuzzies are at the vet office today for examination and assessment.

I am still hoping to wake up from this nightmare ... still trying to believe that people are not this evil and humans with kind hearts still exist.

Maren Doshier Founder/President Raisins From Heaven Ferret Rescue & Sanctuary Hernando, MS (and surrounding areas)"

Date: Thu, 2 Jul 2009 15:05:50 -0400
From: Raisins From Heaven Ferret Rescue & Sanctuary in Hernando, MS
[email removed for spam prevention]
Subject: Whoops - left out something!

I forgot to include in my previous narrative this bit of information and, after emailing a few folks about this rescue off the FML, I decided to include the details just in case anyone else out there should ever, God forbid!, have this situation come up where they had to "do something" also.

The federal laws will not allow anyone to record telephone conversations...however, you are allowed by law to tape record an active-live conversation. No, you don't have to notify them either. When I showed up at this creep's house, a tape recorder was going and I had already recorded date, time, location, and nature of recording. So, when the police arrived. I met them with the recording of this idiot admitting to the ferrets, cats (kittens), and snakes. This idiot at first denied everything but when the subject of money came up, the truth came out - enough so that the one officer told this guy that I had a tape recording of our conversation and, even though he did not have authority to arrest him, he URGED him to sell me the kittens and the ferrets and avoid possible criminal prosecution for animal cruelty and abuse since I had him on the record as admitting he was going to feed the ferrets to the snakes on Saturday (but he would not admit to having an audience nor would admit to using the kittens as bait).

Both officers stayed with me to ensure the ferrets and kittens were surrendered once the money arrived. Both officers also surveyed the house and the snakes and were visibly appalled. I think that is the real reason they too wanted the kittens and the ferrets out of there - if this guy was not going to use the kittens and ferrets as bait for his, ugh snakes, then what were they there for? It was more than obvious to anyone that this guy was into snakes and clearly not a "warm and fuzzy" pet owner. He had no provisions for the ferrets or the kittens and kept the kittens in a small dog kennel and the ferrets in a large aquarium - probably used for a snake before the ferrets showed up. So, his story along with my recording proved this idiot was not being truthful.

I have the officer's written report (this morning) and the recording and have approached Judge Potter (also this morning) with all of this and hope to not only work with state legislators but want this guy prosecuted for something and the snakes, well.....destroyed or relocated to a sanctuary for such creatures.

Maren Doshier
_________________

Subsequent reply and more horrors:

Date: Fri, 3 Jul 2009 07:52:02 -0500
From: zoosferretsanctuary
[email removed for spam prevention]
Subject: Re: Literally From The "Jaws of Death"

Maren, your post struck a note in my heart. This was the issue, years ago, which affected our decision not to adopt out to the general public.

Unfortunately, feeding ferrets to snakes is somewhat common out there :(

Our story dates back to November of 1998. At that time, we had only rescued 6 or 7 ferrets. We were very new at the whole thing--and very in love with ferrets already. We had rescue cards printed up, and placed them at a couple of pet stores, and hung them on some bulletin boards.

One afternoon, I was at Petco, buying food for the ferrets, when I noticed a college kid wearing an NIU sweatshirt. He was standing at the hexagon ferret tank, looking at the baby ferrets. (We are about 20-25 minutes from Northern Illinois University) I approached him, and started up a conversation.

"Aren`t they cute?" I gushed. He said "I`m waiting for them to go on sale. They`re gourmet, you know." I shot him a look, thinking he was joking--but he was dead serious, and continued on. "Yeh--when they go on sale, I pop for one for my snake sometimes. He loves them. And me & my friends look in the paper for the `Free to good home` ads too--we get a lot of them that way" He told me what kind of snake he had, and what kind of snakes a couple of his friends had. (I can`t remember what they were now.)

I have a pretty strong stomach, but , like you, Maren, I thought I was going to hurl, right there, in the middle of the store!!!

During the drive home, I envisioned a poor little ferret, pleading for help from the human who had placed it in the enclosure with a snake. Knowing the danger it was in---and no way out...

A few weeks later, we got a call at 9:00pm. A male voice said to my husband "Yeh--How late are you open. I need a ferret"

Kurt said "Oh, that`s my wife`s department. Here"--and handed me the phone. I asked him if he would like to come the next day & meet our babies, and began to talk about them. He interrupted me, saying "Never mind." and hung up.

At that point, Kurt & I decided that Zoo`s Ferret Sanctuary would not be adopting out to the general public. We only send them home with people we know & trust.

I realize that snakes have to eat too---they just won`t be eating OUR kids.

Bless your heart for saving those babies, Maren.

All our best to Raisins From Heaven Ferret Rescue & Sanctuary.

Love, Zoo

_________________

I am still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that this kind of thing happens. I have written my own two cents to people who would torture, torment, or kill animals for their own entertainment...

To those inclined to pit smaller/weaker animals against bigger/stronger animals, just so you can watch the most savage act of nature acted out in the comfort of your living room - I have something to say to you:

Buy a ticket to somewhere wild. When you get there, don't stay at a nice hotel. Get off the plane and keep walking until you see no more beings that look like yourself, preferably in the jungle somewhere. You are now in the environment of that which you admire. Good. Now strip off your clothes and shoes. Don't worry about getting scratched up, or getting sores on your feet. Shoes, clothes - they are for wimps, certainly not for those who enjoy the rawness of nature.

Keep walking until you are thirsty. Drink from the nearest stream or body of water. Don't worry about microorganisms, or getting sick - nothing small can hurt *you*. You are in the wild. There is no time for this kind of worry in the wild, only the most primal instincts. That is what you admire, right? Keep on walking until you are deep in the wild and totally alone. This is the life, huh?

Walk a bit more, until you come across that which you most admire - a predator of some kind. Lions, bears, wolves - it doesn't matter, does it? That's what you came here for - to be with the strong and the powerful. Are you hungry yet? Good. So are they. It will be such a gallant struggle to see who comes out on top. Aren't you excited? They can smell that you are. But not to worry. It will be a fair fight. You will not be confined to a cage or an aquarium. Neither will they. Now is your chance to witness nature firsthand, to be a part of it in all it's glorious savagery. Only the strongest will survive...

Isn't this great? Aren't you liking this? Wait - why not? You're helpless and afraid, you say? You want your shoes and clothes back, a nice hot shower, and a comfortable bed, you say? Not *really* liking the savagery of nature now, are you?

Think about that, you sorry bastard, the next time you get the urge to entertain yourself with another being's helplessness. Remember what it felt like to be sore and tired, thirsty and hungry, helpless and afraid. You are not so different from them when it comes to those things. The only way that you *are* different is.. well, unspeakable and incomprehensible. You have lost something along the way. And I am miserably ashamed of you.