7 am. A perfect November morning: brisk, a slight breeze, leaves crunch beneath my feet as Murphy, my dog and best pal, walk the wooded trails at the back of the farm. Suddenly, Murphy takes off like a bullet, and I look ahead and see them: wild turkeys--a flock of twenty or more--scurrying, now rising into the air as the mad yellow dog gets closer. Yes, turkeys fly, and when they see a 80-pound dog charging at them, they fly well and quickly.

Mind you, Labrador Retriever though he is, Murphy has no inclination whatsoever to kill. Zero. He once rushed toward an injured squirrel, but when he realized the squirrel couldn't run, he lay down not more than two feet from it, and simply watched.

But oh, my, my, how the dog loves the thrill of the chase. That's when his DNA kicks in. Because he knows that he is not allowed to chase ANY Catskill Animal Sanctuary animal, I don't try to stop him once he picks up a deer or turkey scent. Not that I COULD, anyway.

It's close to 8 when we return. Breakfast is being delivered to Catskill Animal Sanctuary residents. I reach into the fridge, pull out four small cooked pumpkins left over from our Taste of Kindness cooking demonstration (stuff a pumpkin, not a turkey, we encouraged people!) and head to the barn. The pig dishes sit on the floor, already filled with apple, pear, banana. Oooh, how they love pumpkin, though!! Lorraine tears big hunks and divides them evenly so that Zoey, Hampton, Mabel, Ozzie, Claude, Valentino, Jojo, Hazel and all the rest can all enjoy the soft, slightly sweet flesh.

I walk out into the barn aisle, and the din is deafening. When twenty pigs know it's nearly breakfast time, they make A LOT of noise. Squeals and growls and grunts come at me from all corners of the barn, layered with the anticipatory whinnies of the horses. The pigs seem to be swearing--DEMANDING their damned breakfast--while the horses seem to be saying "oh boy oh boy can't wait can't wait breakfast here it comes oh boy oh boy...."

Suddenly a woolly head appears. It's Hannah the sheep, and her front hooves are resting on the 4-foot front wall of her stall. "Where's mine?" she bleats.

From the opposite end of the barn, Alex hollers, "Here they come," and a dozen goats race and buck and spin down the aisle and outside toward their pasture, where breakfast awaits them. We call this wonderful display The Goat Parade.

At the front of the barn, Kathy loads the purple pickup with hay for the outside animals. In the distance, the cows call, and so do the roosters, the ducks, the geese. Every one of our 170 animals loves this moment: the sun is up, they're about to come outside to enjoy the day, and breakfast is on its way.

Make a joyful noise unto the world. And they do, every single morning.

Well, he's NOT gaining weight...after putting on 100 pounds in the first couple months at Catskill Animal Sanctuary, Andy's little body is still wretchedly thin: every rib visible, his spindly little legs way too long and gangly -- part horse, part antelope. Veterinarian Heather O'Leary of Rhinebeck Equine has suggested that he's now ready for a gradual transition to a diet higher in calories and fat, so Walt will be concocting yet another custom blend, to be fed
four times a day, along with all the hay he can eat.

But he sure has gained strength and energy and ATTITUDE. We're able to turn him out now, this horse who was chronically and severely underfed for his entire life and who was so weak upon arrival that he could barely stand. Even now, he rests -- stretched out flat in his lushly-bedded stall -- for an hour or more at a time.

And oh, what a joy to see him charging around the pasture!! A stallion who can't yet be gelded since one testicle hasn't dropped (and an invasive surgery under full anesthesia would still be too much for such a compromised being) he goes out with our two bovine youngsters -- Rudy, a steer from Catskill Game Farm, and his blind friend, a little cow named Helen.

For the most part they ignore each other. Meanwhile, though, Andy is thrilled to be out in the air, nibbling remaining shoots of grass, stretching his legs, spindly as they are, and whinnying longingly to the mares across the road. Mostly, Andy runs. He trots and canters then gallops, snorting and tossing his head much of the time. Sheer delight at being free; sheer delight at feeling GOOD...surely for the first time in his life.

You GO, boy...you GO...

It's been months since I wrote about Buddy--the THIRD blind horse named Buddy taken in by Catskill Animal Sanctuary--and the one whose lovely face graces the cover of my book, Where the Blind Horse Sings.

How delighted I am to report that after eight months of patient work--initially by Allen Landes, who took over with Buddy shortly after I was so injured that working with him could have been disastrous (see earlier entry titled "Back Pain"), and then by Walt Batycki, our devoted animal care director, Buddy has become an independent horse, capable of going out on his own and grazing for several hours. No panicking, no charging into fences, no maniacal circling.

A few months ago, Walt began taking Buddy out to a flat pasture and lunging him (the human stands in one spot, turning in a circle while the horse, at the end of a long "lunge line," trots in a circle approx 50'-60' in diameter). Lunging had been Buddy's only form of exercise with his previous owner, and while it helped him release his excess energy, it gave rise to a dangerous "default" behavior. When Buddy was frightened (as blind animals easily are, obviously), he'd trot in fast, frantic circles whether or not a lunge line was attached to his halter. Much like an autistic child who repeats the same motion over and over, Buddy would circle, and circle, and circle...increasing both his speed and the angle at which he leaned into the circle...until he would often fall down. Snapping him out of the behavior was HARD as HELL and involved some physical risk.

But time passed. Walt's patience remained. "You need to think about weaning him," I suggested, as I had begun to struggle with quality of life issues. Are we really helping this animal if the best he can do is leave his stall for 45 minutes a day to trot in a repetitive circle? No. Buddy had to be weaned. Suggestion turned to gentle insistence.

Buddy's crazed circling slowed. And then, for the most part, it stopped. Our third blind Buddy was weaned off the lunge line that connected him to Walt, who had so clearly become Buddy's security blanket. For a few days, Walt remained in the field, sitting close enough to Buddy so that if his pal did spook, the sound of Walt's voice would reassure him.

So now, eight long months and many chiropractor and massage bills later, Buddy is going out to the pasture...ALONE!!! Yes, Buddy has graduated! He's out now for a few hours in the afternoon. For the most part, he grazes quietly. Like his predecessor, the Buddy of Where the Blind Horse Sings, he lifts his head high and listens HARD if a sound is unfamiliar. If he's really spooked, the circling, still his default coping mechanism, kicks in. But you know what? He can generally calm himself now. That's right. The horse who could not be calmed and centered eight months ago can do calm and center himself. I'll bet that's the biggest victory he's had in a long, long time.

And Walt, if you're reading this: Thanks. You kicked ass.

Good morning, animal lovers!

For those of you considering taking the turkey off the table four days from now, here's the recipe that knocked the socks off Catskill Animal Sanctuary guests a few weeks ago. We had a lovely little event -- if seriously hampered by the downpour -- comprised of readings in the barn from my book Where the Blind Horse Sings, tours to meet some of the notable four-legged characters from its pages, and then a vegan cooking demonstration/tasting by Julie Barone and Julie Gelardi.

What a hit!! Everyone in the room went back for seconds, and I saw a few people waddling up to the table for a third helping!! Tastier than any turkey, by a long shot!

By the way, we LOVED this cornbread stuffing, but you can put your favorite Thanksgiving stuffing inside a pumpkin instead of a dead bird. It's that simple!! We cooked the stuffing separately in a glass dish, then stuffed some into the pumpkin and spooned the rest around the outside of the glazed and gorgeous pumpkin, garnishing with parsley. Beautimous!!

Cornbread Stuffed Pumpkin: More Decadent Than Any Butterball!!

Wash and scoop out seeds and pulp of 1 medium-large (or 4 smaller) pumpkin or other winter squash. Bake in a 350 degree oven with lid on for 45 to 60 minutes, or until pierced easily with a fork.

Make the stuffing per instructions below, and feel free to stuff inside the pumpkin AFTER cooking or to pile the stuffing around the turkey, garnishing beautimously with your favorite herbs. Serve w/your favorite vegan gravy: a mushroom/rosemary gravy works for me!!

Cornbread and Pecan Stuffing
First, make the cornbread:
1 cup all purpose flour
1 cup yellow cornmeal
2 tsp baking powder
1 cup plus 1 Tb water
¼ cup vegetable oil
¼ cup maple syrup
1 tsp salt

1. Heat the oven to 350.
2. In a bowl, mix the dry ingredients.
3. In a separate bowl, mix together the wet ingredients.
4. Add the wet to the dry and mix as little as possible. Do not over mix. Just fold, gently, with a rubber spatula.
5. Pour into an oiled 9-inch cast iron skillet or 8-inch square baking pan or 9-inch pie plate. Bake for 25-30 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean.

NOTE: Fine to make the cornbread ahead of time to make your holiday cooking easier. It's OK if it's a little stale; in fact, that will make for a better stuffing!!

Next, the really yummy part:
Stuffing (easily doubled or tripled)

1 large yellow onion, diced
1 bunch celery, trimmed and then diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
¼ tub of Earth Balance (that is not a typo. If you're concerned about fat intake, try reducing amt. of "butter" and substitute extra veg stock)
1 recipe cornbread, above
1 loaf of your favorite bread, stale if possible, cut or torn into chunks
1 cup vegetable stock (or more!)
1 cup pecans, roughly chopped
1 generousTb dried sage
2 generousTb fresh chopped parsley
2 tsp salt (that’s what recipe calls for, but I used one tsp. and it was ample)
1 tsp pepper
1 cup fresh, whole cranberries or 1/2 cup dried cranberries

1. Melt the Earth Balance in a large stock pot. Sauté the onion, celery and garlic until the onions are translucent. More of a sweat than a sauté, actually…
2. Turn off the heat and add the rest of the ingredients. Mix well. If it seems too dry, add more melted Earth Balance or veggie stock, or some of both. Yes, that is a lot of fat. You'll know why when you taste it. This kind of indulgence is ONLY for Thanksgiving!!
3. Stuff into a baked pumpkin, or individual delicate squashes, or a casserole dish. Do NOT stuff into a dead bird. Bake for a good 30 minutes at 350 degrees. You want the inside piping hot and a little soft, with the outside golden brown.
4. You may also add sautéed mushrooms, any kind, for extra flavor and richness

Have a warm, happy and turkey-free Thanksgiving from your pals at Catskill Animal Sanctuary!

Published on Wednesday, November 21, 2007 by CommonDreams.org
George Bush: Pardon All the Turkeysby Bill Maher

New Rule: The president can't pardon just one or two turkeys this Thanksgiving. He's got to let them all go.

It's probably too much to expect from the man who wanted "no child left behind," then vetoed health care for kids. But think of the upside. Freeing the turkeys might help the president's credibility when he says things like, "We don't torture."

Take a look at this video, shot just last month at a typical American turkey slaughterhouse, and this one, shot undercover last year at a Butterball slaughterhouse by investigators from PETA, and you'll see that my use of the word is no exaggeration. Butterball employees, taking a page out of the Abu Ghraib handbook, laughed while they kicked, punched, stomped, and even sexually assaulted turkeys.

These people should be arrested. They would be if the turkeys were dogs or cats. Too bad our animal protection laws make about as much sense as fighting a war against a country that doesn't have an army. Even though 98 percent of the land animals Americans eat are turkeys and chickens, the federal Humane Methods of Slaughter Act specifically excludes birds from protection. I'm not kidding.

The Butterball plant in the video slaughters about 50,000 turkeys every day. Fifty million turkey corpses will go into American ovens this Thanksgiving. More than 9 billion turkeys and chickens are killed in the U.S. each year. But not one of them is guaranteed a painless death, as documented in this video that was narrated by my fellow animal-lover and HuffPo Blogger, Alec Baldwin. The Senate can find time to vote to condemn an advertisement, but not to add birds to humane slaughter laws.

So in the face of this surreal situation, in which, once again we can't put our faith in the president, I ask you to do what I'm going to do and pardon a turkey this Thanksgiving. It's not hard. Just eat something else (ideas here and here ). Not someone else, because it doesn't seem fair to spare a turkey and roast a hunk of pig or cow instead. If we can bow our heads in gratitude for our families, our friends and our big screen TVs, and then carve into a creature who lived a miserable life and died a horrible death, then our ethics are about as sensible as Britney's parenting skills.

Former Vice President Al Gore should be the first to take the meat-free Thanksgiving pledge. Since raising animals for food generates more greenhouse gases than all the cars and trucks in the world combined, is it too much ask Mr. Gore to stop gazing at his Oscar and his Nobel Prize long enough to read the United Nations report that calls the meat industry "one of the top two or three most significant contributors to the most serious environmental problems, at every scale from local to global"?

For those of you who believe that the war is just and that global warming is a figment of the elite liberal media's imagination, here's the straight poop:

* Turkeys and other animals raised for food produce 130 times as much excrement as the entire U.S. human population - all without the benefit of waste treatment systems. Sewage spills, waste-filled waterways and underground aquifer contaminated with e coli are the meat industry's gift to Americans this holiday season.

* Turkey meat has just as much cholesterol as the pieces of cow and pig called "red meat." Eating meat is linked to heart disease, high blood pressure, obesity, some cancers, and diabetes.

So do the right thing. Instead of stuffing a turkey this year, stuff the tradition of turkey for Thanksgiving right where it belongs - in history's trash can.

-Bill Maher

I spoke on Thanksgiving afternoon at the Berkshire Vegetarian Society's "Living Thanksgiving," held at the United Methodist Church in Lenox. Eighty people were there; no turkeys died to feed us. Rather, there was table after table of everything but the turkey: cranberry sauces and pilafs potatoes and yams and entrees like loafs and souffles and tortes and stuffed vegetables. And then, of course, there was stuffing...lots and lots of stuffing. Isn't Thanksgiving really about the stuffing, after all?

My beloved pal Murphy the dog was invited in, and had a grand time in the midst of so many good smells and animal lovers--he begs very politely, and more than one guest succumbed to his patient entreaties.

I read from Where the Blind Horse Sings. I talked about the life-altering lessons learned from broken animals made whole again. Questions from the audience were wonderful and provocative, and in the end I invited the group to visit Catskill Animal Sanctuary the following day. It was a lovely afternoon.

I pulled up to my house at 6:30 under a nearly full moon. I walked up the back steps, stripped off two jackets, and walked immediately to the oven with the pumpkin pie given to me as I left the church. I piled old newspaper, then cedar kindling, then locust and oak logs in the fireplace, and an amber glow lit the living room.

Just outside my front door, I heard the horses (for those who don't know, my house is in the middle of one of our horse pastures). I peered out to see old man Maxx and his friends Callie and Hazelnut. Their heads leaned over the deck railing; their ears pricked forward in eager anticipation of a friendly greeting and a treat. No carrots to be found, however, and my fruit bowl, often piled high, was vacant.

I wonder.....

I pulled the pie out of the oven, shoved one arm then two into my red cordurouy jacket, then my green one, and walked out to the deck.

"Animals," I whispered...."animals....look what I have!!"

Murphy got the first bite, shoving his snout right into the center of the pie. Callie was next. She sniffed tentatively: what kind of treat is THIS?? and then licked the surface, ever the lady. Hazelnut did the same.

And then came Maxx. Maxx, the thirty-something-year-old gelding surrendered to CAS after his owner died of cancer. Maxx, the gelding with his harem of six mares. Maxx, the pumpkin pie lover who took one perfunctory sniff and then smashed his muzzle so forcefully into the pie that I nearly dropped it, and then again, delighting in its texture and sweetness.

"HAPPY THANKSGIVING, MAXX!!" I exclaimed, laughing heartily.

Murphy and I stayed on the deck for another few minutes, surrounded by horses content to remain right there with us, drenched in moonlight, soaking up the love and savoring pumpkin pie.

Like millions of turkeys every year, Norman was destined for the Thanksgiving table. But thanks to an interesting twist of fate, some well-timed phone calls, and a few soft hearts, Norman celebrated Thanksgiving with the rest of the crew at Catskill Animal Sanctuary.

When WSPK, a Beacon-based radio station, advertised “turkey bowling” in their parking lot, the calls and e-mails, all of the "you've GOT to save the turkeys!!" variety, poured in.

SURELY the event was a prank. Curious and concerned, though, Julie and I drove down to Beacon, videocamera tucked beneath Julie's arm. (Many many thanks to my "Anything for the animals!!" assistant Julie, who woke way, way too early for her liking.). There, though on-air djs bragged about "the crowd," a mere seven spectators stood in the cold, waiting to bowl frozen turkeys at ten pins borrowed from a nearby alley.

A blue SUV pulled up with "Norman," the frightened turkey borrowed from a nearby turkey grower, in the back.

"Who's gonna get him out?" a heavy woman with heavier makeup asked.

"It's a she, not a he, and you need to be careful. She's already terrified," I said. Julie stood just behind us, recording the spectacle.

A guy reached in, grabbing Norman by the wing.

"That is NOT how to hold a bird," I stated flatly. Wrap your arms around her so you can pin her wings and support her weight. Otherwise, you'll both get hurt."

Norman and her cage were set up between two loudspeakers. The dj continued to spin the story, describing how the turkey was having fun, the crowd was having fun...golly gee weren't we all having FUN? Meanwhile, all Julie and I saw were a terrified bird, seven cold people, and three butterball turkeys in plastic bags waiting to be slid down a "bowling alley" comprised of plastic garbage bags.

So there we stood in the parking lot--12 people if you included Julie, me, and the radio staff--and a turkey locked in a crate.

"I'd like to take this bird to Catskill Animal Sanctuary," I said to Jason Finkelberg, the station manager, who had apparently been called out because two strange women were much more interested in the LIVE turkey than they were in the "turkey bowl" competition....and because we had a videocamera.

"You can't," he explained. "He's the property of Quattros Poultry Farm. And what's Catskill Animal Sanctuary?"

I explained that Catskill Animal Sanctuary was a haven for abused farm animals, and that this was clearly an abusive situation. "And the turkey is a she, by the way."

"Look," Finkelberg said, his eyes dropping. "I just wanted people to have fun."

I softened a little. "Does it look like they're having fun? You've got only seven people here, and three of them look like unless they WIN the competition, they won't be having Thanksgiving dinner." I motioned to a chain-smoking mother and her two gaunt young daughters.

Finkelberg gave me Quattro's phone number. "What they want to do with the turkey is their business."

"Thanks," I smiled. "You know, you might rethink this event a little for next year. You're welcome to come celebrate at Catskill Animal Sanctuary--people WILL have fun...and so will the animals."

"Sounds good," he said.

A thought occurred to me. "Wait one more second," I offered. "I'd like to give you something."

A moment later, I returned from the car with a copy of my book, Where the Blind Horse Sings: Love and Healing at an Animal Sanctuary. "Here," I said, placing the signed copy in his hand. "This will help you understand why you really need to stop holding this event." I touched his arm and walked away. Inside I had written: To Jason: All hearts deserve to sing."

"Sure, you can have the bird," said Carmella, evidently the owner of Quattro's, over the phone. "You'll have to buy it."

For many reasons, Catskill Animal Sanctuary does not advocate purchasing animals from butchers, breeders, and the like. But this was an exceptional situation. "Norman" had some degree of notoriety, as the radio station had been hyping their "turkey bowl"' for weeks. If she could bring guests to Catskill Animal Sanctuary to discover that turkeys, cows, pigs, chickens and other animals that most humans eat are remarkable in their own right, then we needed to make an exception to our "no purchase policy."

Julie and I pointed the car in the direction of Pleasant Valley.

FRESH KILLED CHICKENS read a huge sign on the porch of Quattro's old clapboard general store. I stepped inside. A line of people waited at the single cash register. Each person held a newly-slaughtered turkey. Some had geese, ducks, pheasants as well. At the back of the store, guns and ammunition were for sale.

"Hi," I said to the cashier. "I'm looking for Carmella."

"She's at the counter," she said, pointing behind her.

Another long line. It was, after all, the day before Thanksgiving, and this was THE place, apparently, if you wanted "fresh-killed birds."

A man weighing easily 500 pounds hoisted each package to its eager recipient, who then proceeded to the cash register.

I approached the human tank. "Is Carmella here?"

An elderly woman walked toward me. "Kathy?"

"Yes. Hi, Carmella."

Carmella was a small, bent woman easily in her eighties. Though her hands were gnarled with arthritis, they were still strong hands. Carmella was a worker.

She came toward me and took my hand, pulling me to a screen door. We walked into a pantry, away from the eyes and ears of her employees. She looked up at me. "I love animals," she whispered. "I love all animals. I love these birds. I wouldn't do this if I didn't have to."

I could have said so much in that moment, but instead said only, "Why don't you come visit Catskill Animal Sanctuary?"

"Yes. I'd like to do that."

Carmella returned to her place behind the counter. I walked out, hurting not just for the millions of birds senselessly slaughtered for this one holiday, but also, somehow, for the person responsible for many of those deaths.

____________________

At the bottom of the drive, a stressed-out Norman still paced in her cage. "We're here to pick her up," I explained to a toothless gentleman who approached our car.

"I'll get her for ya," he offered, and before I could span the few steps between the car and the turkey, reached in to drag her out by the feet.

"Please, let me do it," I insisted as I pushed myself between him and Norman, her terror rising again.

We settled Norman into the back seat in a large crate thick with straw, and began the slow drive back to her new home at Catskill Animal Sanctuary, where she will live peacefully for the rest of her days.

Check out the video of "Norman's" lucky day: http://www.youtube.com/casanctuary.