Nim Chimpsky, the book

I finished reading Nim Chimpsky: The chimp who would be human, by Elizabeth Hess. It was, predictably, a moving book that certainly left me with a lot to think about.

Funny how a few hours away from the page-turning helps to organize your thoughts. As I was reading the book, there were times that I wanted to call Ms. Hess and ask her if there was anyone who could live up to her seemingly open disdain. There were few characters in the book who came across seeming to possess even a small measure of respect, and since a few of the characters are individuals I've admired for one reason or another it was hard to read repeated, unrepentant critiques of their character or motives.

It was only after I put the book down and stepped back a bit that I got it. Regardless of their motives (some of which were more noble than others), just about every person who involved themselves with primate language experiments had no real idea what they were doing. And with every stumble, frustration or upheaval the one who truly always paid the price was Nim. I'm sure that those who claim to still feel guilt or sorrow over his story are telling the truth, but that doesn't change the fact that when they reached the ends of their collective ropes, it was Nim who was left hanging at the end of it, dangling.

Nim Chimpsky is not easy reading, especially if you are someone who has deep feeling about sentient creatures, but it is an important book. Having taken a little time after closing the cover, if I were to call Ms. Hess now I think I'd simply say "Thank you."

"I don't know where you get it from"

My mother calls, as she usually does on weekend mornings, to catch up on the banalities of our days. As part of our usual ritual, she asks me if I'm reading anything, as we're both pretty big readers. I tell her I'm knee-deep in Nim Chimpsky, knowing as soon as I say it how the conversation will go from here.

"What's that about?" she asks. I take a deep breath before I give the barest of synopses about the subject matter, a biography of a chimp used in sign-language studies in the 70's.

"I don't know where you get it from, all that animal-stuff. You sure didn't get it from me," she replies. She continues to extol for the next several minutes on how she simply doesn't understand how I turned out the way I did, as it relates to my feelings about animals and their well being.

She's right, but only partly. Certainly as I was growing up my family viewpoint about pets and animals was substantially different than the edicts I live by as an adult. We had pets --- many, many pets when I was young. But the dogs remained forever outside, regardless of weather, age or health. We had cats, too many to name. While they were all spayed or neutered, they were fed the almost-cheapest food at the grocery store, allowed to roam fairly freely and should one get injured or ill it was almost certainly a death sentence, as my family felt it was ridiculous to spend money on treatment when there were reams of other animals available for replacement. Taking animals to the pound who "didn't work out" was also acceptable, for the same reason.

So when she looks at me and sees who I am, when it comes to pets and animals, she sees someone utterly unrelated to how she raised me. I see something else. I see myself as someone who is an absolute product of my environment. Back then, I was young, too young to have much say in the events of the household. I tried, sometimes to the point where I was punished for not knowing when to declare the battle lost, but I made little impact on their world. It was not beyond me to make an impact on mine. I read everything I could find about animals --- companion animals, farm animals, research animals --- animal training, animal behavior, physiology, and the relationship humans have with animals of all stripes. And I became the person I am, the one she can't quite reach when it comes to matters concerning fur and feathers.

I don't blame her for it, nor do I think it bothers me as much as it does her. There are so few people who share my life who get how deep it all goes, and fewer still who wish to venture even part of the way down the path with me, into the shadowy places that cause you to question the very nature of humanity.

People hear me talk of small things and assign the "animal lover" badge to me, then move on, having neatly boxed me into a label. I know they don't get it. How can they? Most of the time I feel like a walking freak show, the animal weirdo who spends an awful lot of energy, time and money trying to empty the ocean with a teaspoon. It makes me awkward. It makes me wish I could turn it off, the way people change the channel on the television when they've had their fill of a particular program. But I can't. I can no sooner change the passion I have for animals and their well being than I can change the color of my eyes. I can only hope that along the way I maybe touch a person or two, and a person or two can touch me back.

And when we do, we won't have to ask "where we got it from", because we'll already know.

Bakersfield SPCA Open House

I go to the Bakersfield SPCA's Open House for two reasons. One, I want to be able to take a few photos and give them a teeny, tiny bit of publicity, unless this is one of the few blog posts to get more than four hits, in which case they'll get a smidge more. Two, because it's an excuse to go there that my husband can't argue with. Since we've been by there three times in past couple of months, he'd be well within his veto power to say no, but there's no way of getting around a special occasion. He picks where we go to breakfast before we head out, his small consolation prize.

It's busy. So busy that cars are parked a goodly distance from the BSPCA. We get a great spot just a couple of businesses down, next to a driveway so we can't get blocked in.

The bright yellow sign is the first thing I see. This is the entrance to the cat spay/neuter clinic. I love these clinics and can't figure out why we can't find the money to do more. It's desperately needed.

As we walk I take in the booths and the people who are here to support the BSPCA and get a little pet care.












Next up is a Sheriff's dog. Though I'm not a huge fan of the prong collar, as I watch him, he's definitely more "dog" than he is "Sheriff" right now, so it's all good.


Lots of vendors are at the Open House, educating folks who came by, and in many cases donating services and goods on behalf of the BSPCA's mission. I'm grateful that local businesses are willing to donate their time and services, even during this horrid economic time.













Some of the great raffle prizes that were donated.

I'm thrilled that a shepherd mix that I fell in love with a few weeks ago has been adopted I see his photo on a sign. The BSPCA named him Scruffy. Maybe now that he has a new home I won't see him in the back of mind so much anymore.

Doesn't much matter. As we walk down the rows of kennels a quiet girl, staying amazingly calm in the midst of the chaos, slowly sidles up to the fence. My heart is lost in her attempt at dignity. Note how rusted the gate is. There are a lot of places at the BSPCA that are showing their age. Wouldn't it be amazing if a fence company or fence contractor stepped up and donated some new fencing to them? What a public relations coup.

I head to the cat house, half-hoping Romeo has been adopted, half-not. If he's here, maybe today will be the day I bring him into my life forever. Romeo (my name, not one given to him by the BSPCA) is a brilliant flame-point mix with gorgeous blue eyes and a sparkly personality.

Fate holds. Romeo found a home. I apparently have a decent animal sense, as those who catch my eye catch the eye of others as well. Of course, being at the shelter, there's always another cat to fall in love with.

This week it's two grey kittens (although only one of them would sit still long enough for my pathetic photo skills). I take one look at them and have two simultaneous thoughts --- I don't have one that color and They're the exact same color as our carpet. We'd never notice the additional pet hair.

But they're kittens. Gorgeous, sassy kittens who will find a home with relative ease. It's the adult cats who are languishing here, and were I in a space where I could bring home another cat, I'd be taking one of the older ones who are as desperate for another chance at being part of a family as any kitten.

I've seen enough. My past heartthrobs have moved on, there's a really nice turnout for the event, over 100 cats will be altered before the day is out, and the weather is perfect.

I've got to get back to my pets at home. They're waiting for me.

Assistance for shelters to help animal victims of foreclosure

The Humane Society of the United States (HSUS) is offering grants of up to $2,000 to shelters and rescue/adoption groups (must be a 501(c)3) to establish, expand or publicize programs to help people care for their pets during this time of economic turmoil. To apply for a grant, click here.

To view some of the other grant opportunities and financial assistance programs that are available, click here.

Pet Emergency Funding Assistance

Given that these days are fraught with so much economic uncertainty, there are sure to be occasions when someone you know is one pet emergency away from having to give up their pet.

Before that happens, please be sure to check out all of the resources that may be available to assist you in the event of an emergency. United Animal Nations has compiled a list (though neither they nor I am claiming that it's comprehensive) of resources to check into if you find yourself in need of some emergency funding for your pet's medical needs.

To review the list, click here. Additional resources may be found here.