Kathy Stevens

Halter HiJinx

2008-08-20T10:19:35Z

Andy and his best pal Bowie How much you can tell about a horse's personality by how much effort it takes to halter him? A lot. Old timer Maxx practically dunks his heads right into the halter. He trusts even strangers. His attitude speaks volumes of how he has have “seen-it-all” and reads people well enough to cooperate. And then there's Bowie, the youngster who arrived with the name Mister Bones . Bowie is getting much better about the halter. When he's hesitant, it's about fear. Bowie has filled out nicely and is a striking little guy (at all of about 14.2 hands); trust is slower in coming. In the stall, Bowie is a gem, but in the pasture, something can set him off: his nostrils flare, his eyes widen, and he evades the halter. Clearly Bowie associates being haltered with some sort of abuse. He's more confident by the day, and his panic attacks less frequent, but the occasional fright in his eyes tears our hearts out. Then there's Bowie's best friend Andy, the high-energy upstart--the one so severely starved a year ago that we didn't think we could save him. That was then. These days, Andy is a spotted CLOWN filled with spunk and moxie and play. The halter? Why it's not a halter: it's a toy with which to play tug of war! Try to quickly slip it on, but Andy is faster every time. He grabs it--over and over--and yes, it seems he's grinning. Big Ted the draft horse has another take on the whole haltering business. You'll remember him from Where the Blind Horse Sings (available on Amazon if you've not read it!). Ted is often anxious, and dislikes anything touching his ears. Yes, an 1,800-pound horse bent out of shape about over a thin piece of nylon brushing over his ears for no more than half a second. Go figure. When he lifts his head skyward and out of reach imagine being April, our staffer who may be five feet tall in her boots. In the end, it's our job to show them all that there's nothing to fear. If in the process April needs a ladder or Bowie needs ten minutes, well, it's just part of the healing process. As for Andy? Let him play...

The Pig Days of Summer

2008-08-18T21:15:11Z

They're so much like us...and here's more evidence. Enjoy...

Farewell, Mr. P.

2008-07-26T10:49:23Z

What a pig he was. Yesterday afternoon while nestled in a pile of shavings, Mr. Policeman, long time CAS resident and beloved member of the CAS family, peacefully gave up his struggle against painful degenerative arthritis and other old age related health complications. He was at least eleven years old. Mr. Policeman, who received his name from the NYPD after being seized in a Bronx drug bust, arrived at CAS five years ago as one of thirty refugees from a struggling farm animal sanctuary. Once his good friend Belle passed on, Police preferred the company of humans and chickens to other pigs. The one exception was Charlie the curmudgeon, whose miraculous story of recovery is told in my book, Where the Blind Horse Sings. The two often sunned themselves—sometimes rear to rear, sometimes snout to snout—on the shavings pile outside the barn. Police was an iconic figure at CAS, and a gentle spokesperson for his species. He had a particular soft spot for children, and “naptime” with Policeman (a child would straddle Policeman and then slowly stretch out along his massive belly, thus “taking a nap” with Mr. P), said more to them than our words ever could. Indeed, Police touched many hearts with his patience, his sensitivity, and his “I’m so happy to see you” grunt whenever he was approached. He was an intelligent and emotional being who shared peaceful bliss with anyone that took the time to know him. The impression he made, and the questions his kindness raised are an open invitation to reexamine who we are as humans and how we should live in order to be worthy of this kind of love and trust. Yes…what a pig he was. We at CAS are proud to have offered him a safe and loving environment in his last years. It was an honor to call him friend.

Duck video

2008-07-13T13:13:21Z

What does one do when she has a blind duck, a one-legged duck, and a coupla girl ducks who get mobbed by randy drakes? If she's at Catskill Animal Sanctuary, she makes a special needs duck pond!!

Bowie

2008-07-10T11:04:58Z

Bowie is Mr. Bones' new name. Just like David, he has a blue eye and a brown. And they look directly into mine, wanting to trust. Bowie is the Schoharie horse I wrote about in June. When investigators went in, they found a dead cow being eaten by dogs and a dead horse with a chain embedded in its leg (the other end of the chain was wrapped around a tire). Bowie had been taken out a couple weeks earlier by the man who screamed at me over the phone, threatening to turn him loose. He's just four years old, this lovely boy. We pulled his dead winter coat off in hunks, and once his skin could breathe, severe dermatitis cleared almost instantly. He's still 75 pounds underweight but one can virtually see the pounds accumulating around his rib cage, in his flanks and shoulders. It's the trust of humans that's slower in coming. Bowie has been beaten. He's nervous when we enter the stall, and when two humans enter, his tension heightens. Initially terrified of being touched, Bowie now allows us to touch him everywhere but his lower legs--and even that he allows when he knows the scary touch is followed by a bite of apple or pear or carrot. He's going to be a love! He's got a wounded heart, but it's a big one, and the door is open a crack--allowing us in, little by little. At Catskill Animal Sanctuary, each abused animal gets all the time that he needs. He'll heal at his pace, not at ours...

Mr. Bones and a Coupla Fatties

2008-06-17T15:21:22Z

Catskill Animal Sanctuary is officially at capacity. Twenty-three horses, eighteen cows, sixteen pigs, fourteen goats, ten sheep, two turkeys and umpteen rabbits, chickens, ducks, geese are as much as we can effectively manage right now. Not only are our costs increasing (as yours are), but we have so very many special needs animals. Blake the one-legged duck. Helen the blind cow. Mirage, Buddy, and Bobo, the blind horses. Policeman, the elderly pig. Beacon, the ancient potbelly. And so on. "The greatest good for the greatest number" is one of our mantras, but that mantra must always respect the bottom line, the physical space, the limitations of our heroic staff and volunteers. Notice, however, that I used the word "officially." Catskill Animal Sanctuary is OFFICIALLY at capacity. Unofficially, when a U-Haul pulls in the driveway loaded with furniture for the drivers' move to South Carolina -- and oh, yeah, with two grossly overweight and hyperventilating pigs--and the drivers say to you, "We've been driving all day--no one will take them", and you can see in their eyes that this is their final stop--they won't be searching for more sanctuaries, they won't be making phone calls for help -- then you hear yourself saying, "Yes, we'll take them," while another part of yourself is (at least internally) stamping and swearing "What's the matter with you??!!!" Welcome, Pinky. Welcome, Miss Piggy. And when you receive a phone call from Schoharie County about a horse named Mr. Bones, and the voice is ranting that "You're a ****ing sanctuary: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T TAKE THE ****ING HORSE. I'm going to TURN HIM LOOSE...LET THE GODDAMN BUZZARDS GET HIM FOR ALL I ****ING CARE!!!", then you hear yourself saying, "We'll take Mr. Bones," because, after all, people abandon their animals all the time--you know this now, seven years into rescue work--and because in Schoharie County, NO ONE is on the animals' side: not the police, not the district attorney. Welcome, Mr. Bones. We'll give you a new name and more love than you knew existed. Yes, Catskill Animal Sanctuary is officially at capacity.

The Declaration of Compassion

2008-06-11T11:14:22Z

Russell Simmons has signed it. So has Will Tuttle, author of the most important book I've ever read: The World Peace Diet. So have Jivamukti Yoga founders David Life and Sharon Gannon. The Declaration of Compassion is traveling around the country as one vegetarian celebrity after another learns of it from a friend and wants to add her name. It's en route now to Brooke Shields, then it will fly east for signatures from Moby, SNL's Kristen Wiig, and Academy Award-winning filmmaker Zana Briski (Born into Brothels). And the list keeps growing. Below is both the text and a link to add your signature. In form and tone, the Declaration of Compassion is modeled closely after the Declaration of Independence signed in 1776. Only our Declaration is not about England. It's about agribusiness. 100,000 signatures by July 4. That's our goal. Help us send a message to the corporations who perpetrate these abuses. Make a difference with your wallet... and your fork! Please join Catskill Animal Sanctuary at our 7th Annual Sanctuary Shindig on June 28 (Rain Date June 29) from noon to 6. 175 critters to kiss. Great food, great music, animal talks, health talks, silent auction and the long-awaited "Upscale Tent Sale." Then, at 3 pm, the unveiling of the Declaration of Compassion and a very special Signing Ceremony. Spread the word. Come to Saugerties, June 28, to add your "John Hancock" -- and declare your independence from agribusiness. AT CATSKILL ANIMAL SANCTUARY, JUNE 28, 2008 The Declaration of Compassion for the planet and its inhabitants When in the course of human events it becomes necessary for living beings to reconnect the bands which have separated them from one another and to assume the equal station to which the Laws of Nature entitle them, a humble respect of all beings requires that they should state what impels them to action. We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all creatures are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That whenever any form of human activity becomes destructive to these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or abolish it, and to institute new practices that shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. When a long train of abuses consistently and systemically harms them and all who share their planet, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such activities, and to provide new protections for their future security. In these United States, the history of Agribusiness is a history of repeated injuries and abuses, all intended to maximize profit to the detriment of animals, human beings and the planet that sustains us. To prove this, let the Facts be submitted to a candid world. Factory farming has blocked Laws for the accommodation and humane protection of any species of animal it sees as economically useful, resulting in unnecessary terror and prolonged suffering. It has resisted even such minimal improvements in animal husbandry as are common throughout the developed world. Its inhumane standards and practices would be illegal if imposed on companion animals. Agribusiness has consistently lobbied our Government against laws of immediate and pressing importance to protect our planet and our health. It has unleashed health problems upon a trusting public by sacrificing safety and public interest in favor of economic gain. It has contaminated our land, water and air with greenhouse gases, pesticides, waste and other substances that poison our environment. It has wasted precious resources for the production of meat that could have fed many times more people than are fed by animal flesh. It has conspired as a collective industry to knowingly deceive us with inaccurate claims, denying the truthful facts. It has spewed waste into our air, water, and land, with devastating consequences to our planet. It has prioritized profit above the health and general well-being of all creatures. An industry whose character is thus marked by every act which may define an oppressor is unfit to be the economic beneficiary of a free people. We, therefore, the representatives of Catskill Animal Sanctuary and other like-minded organizations, do, in the name, and by authority of the good people of the planet Earth, solemnly publish and declare, that we ought to be Free and Independent of meat-based diets and the ensuing damaging effects wrought upon humans, animals and our shared planet. And for the support of this Declaration, we mutually pledge to all fellow creatures our resolve, our fortitude, and our sacred commitment. http://www.thepetitionsite.com/1/DeclarationOfCompassion

Rocky and Phyllis

2008-06-09T18:25:04Z

Rocky is a broiler. Because of consumer demand for breast meat, broilers develop abnormally large breasts. Those that aren't slaughtered become Frankenbirds with massive legs, heavy combs that flop over from weight, and far more pounds than their skeletal, circulatory, and respiratory systems are intended to support. By extension, these birds have the same health ailments that obese humans do: chronic pain, shortness of breath, limited mobility. And they don't fare well in extreme heat like we've experienced over the last two days. But 22-pound Rocky managed, as did his friend Phyllis the rooster. Yes, Phyllis is a rooster. Phyllis was rescued by "Phyllis" from Brooklyn (http://www.reclaimedhome.com) in March after hiding out under a car in Bedford-Stuyvesant. "She's a hen," Phyllis--human Phyllis--pronounced. So Phyllis the chicken came to live at Catskill Animal Sanctuary, and settled immediately into being a farm chicken. No sirens. No screaming kids. No apparent threats to her survival like she experienced in Brooklyn. And soon, Phyllis fell in love with Rocky. The relationship is a bit like that of Hannah and Rambo (read all about how Hannah the sheep, another former Brooklynite, stalks the dashing Rambo, in my book Where the Blind Horse Sings, available on Amazon). Wherever Rocky is, Phyllis is beside him--nearly, but not quite, on top of him. Literally either pressed up against him, or pecking/relaxing within a foot of Rocky. "She's a hen," we agreed, noting the behavior. It was still too early to tell for sure, but we saw no tell-tale growth of the flashy comb that roosters develop. And besides, Phyllis was so taken with Rocky. Would two roosters not raised together really be smitten with each other? Phyllis crowed a few weeks ago. "Hey, people, this may be a pathetic excuse for a crow, but give me a few days to find my voice," said the pubescent ROOSTER named Phyllis!! Phyllis is as mad about Rocky as ever. And now that summer is beating down on us, we've given the two boys their own outdoor pen by the pond, beneath the shade of the willow tree. I still try to pick up Rocky each day. He's so very heavy that being carried by someone must be an incredible relief. I know it is, because he lets go fully, sinking into my arms, falling asleep within a minute, the sweet one-eyed boy. He's the last of 300 chickens rescued by Anne Marie Lucas (of Animal Cops fame) from an abandoned poultry market. Stuffed into crates, most of the birds had already drowned during terrible flooding. But 300 came to Catskill Animal Sanctuary nearly three years ago--some of them dragging limbs, some with eyes poked out, all of them filthy and traumatized. We cleaned and nurtured and fed and treated wounds. The weakest received intravenous fluids. When they were stronger, most of the birds went to adoptive homes--other sanctuaries, and the homes of friends who simply adore chickens. We kept thirty. Rocky is the last survivor. At a mere three years old, he has tripled his life expectancy.

1st grade field trip

2008-06-04T18:20:30Z

]]> terrify an animal, particularly one who's healing from past trauma, in a heartbeat. So Betsy and I sat them down for an introduction. Betsy Messenger, one of my all-time heroes, is a long-term CAS volunteer. She's also a teacher and environmental educator, and her skills were much appreciated today. What I love most about Betsy, though, is not her skills as a teacher. It's that despite how trying a given day might be, Betsy always has a smile on her face. Her glass is always half full--no, it's always ninety percent full. She's been a morale booster, a warm hug when it's needed, a smile that says, "We can do this," no matter what we're facing. Betsy is a phenomenal teacher BECAUSE she's a phenomenal human being. And so we sat them down, these 48 six-year-olds, under the willow tree by the goat pasture. Betsy encouraged them to define "sanctuary," and then I explained our most important rules: 1. This is a place where animals who've never known kindness come to learn to trust, learn to love, learn to be who they were meant to be. This is their home, and you are their guest. Sit down in front of them. If they want to approach you, they will. Otherwise, we'll move on. 2. The blind animals must hear your voice before you touch them. Stand in front of Bobo, for instance, and say, "I'm right here, Bobo, I'm right here." Let her find you. Once she knows you're there, you're welcome to touch her. And so on. It was a great day--for the kids and the animals! Give children the opportunity to participate in the healing, to feel the magic that passes that happens in that moment of connection. They'll rise to the occasion...every single time.

Three Little Lambs All Grown Up

2008-06-03T18:26:29Z

Though they've only been here a few weeks, Otis, Olly, and Nellie have virtually doubled in size. So today, we made their "grown up" status official by graduating them to the sheep field. Accustomed to their quarantine stalls, the threesome are a little overwhelmed: it's a big world out here!! But how delightful it was to watch them spend ten minutes charging through the big field, thrilled with their freedom, smelling each new plant, exploring every corner. Now...how to make their way into the flock... Stay tuned.

Oprah's 21-Day Cleanse

2008-05-26T15:08:11Z

It will come as no surprise to you that I'm more excited about Oprah's 21-day vegan diet than I am about the latest anti-cruelty legislation. I know -- call me naive, call me STUPID -- it wouldn't be the first time. As I write often, I understand why the "big guns" among us--HSUS, for instance--lobby for incremental change in the barbaric ways our food animals are treated. Big societal changes involving seismic shifts of consciousness happen incrementally. Congress would not consider a bill that proposed to abolish the slaughter of animals for human consumption...not today, not despite the devastation agribusiness wreaks on animals, on humans, and on our shared planet. So HSUS and others settle for small steps towards the day when we finally break the chains that bind these animals. There have been many encouraging steps in just the last year. Then comes Oprah. An American icon who's struggled in front of all of us with weight issues, who decides to go public with her 21-day cleanse: no animal products, no alcohol, sugar, or caffeine. Read about her journey, and share your thoughts with others at http://www2.oprah.com/foodhome/food/cleanse/blog/blog_1.jhtml What would happen if Oprah went vegan? Inasmuch as she influences what people read, you can bet that thousands --tens of thousands? hundreds of thousands?--would follow her lead. I, for one, am crossing fingers, toes, eyes, praying to spirit animals and gods and goddesses and mother earth, that not only will she feel and look better (which seems a no-brainer, given what we know particularly about dairy), but that the door that's remained closed in her otherwise big old heart will open to food animals: who they are, what we do to them, how they and we and our planet suffer mightily for it.

The Slaughter Truck

2008-05-22T20:34:22Z

I saw one today. "Don't take Rt. 81," my Dad cautioned when we discussed my route home from Nashville. "It's a truck route. Scary as shit to be boxed in by 3 tractor trailers going 75 mph." I considered Dad's advice. I didn't relish the idea of driving nearly 600 miles, much of it mountainous, surrounded by trucks. But the other option, driving WAY east via 64 then heading up 95, would add close to 100 miles to the trip. So at 6 am, I said a teary farewell to my aunt Beverly Ann, her husband Frank, and mutts Bailey, Sammy, and Levi, then pointed the car toward 81. Around 1 pm, with the sun high in the sky, the day warmed. I opened the windows...and that's when I smelled it. A slaughter truck, climbing the hill in the slow lane as I approached it on the left. I don't often travel long distances via interstate highways, so it's rare that I encounter these deathmobiles. I've seen chicken transport trucks jammed so tightly with crates of chickens that many have suffocated by the time the animals arrive at the slaughterhouse for their barbarous deaths. Long before I began the work of trying to raise awareness of these delightful beings' sentience and the depth of their suffering, I wept when I passed the trucks. Aluminum boxes on a flatbed, rows of oval holes cut into their sides for ventilation. But that's all--that's the single accommodation for the animals, and that's done only so they won't die in route to the place that will slit their throats, dip them in boiling water, rip out their feathers, neatly slice off heads and feet, clean and package what remains of their battered bodies. Today, I did more than weep. You see, I know who these animals are now. I know that they're so much more like I am than I ever would have believed. I know that each one is individual, each one is unique, and I know that each chicken, each pig, each cow, duck, turkey that is grown and killed to feed us has an emotional range that is probably quite similar to mine. In Where the Blind Horse Sings, I recall with delight the life and lessons of one chicken named Paulie. Paulie was the barn peacemaker, a frequent passenger in my car (I usually insisted that he ride shotgun, though my lap was always his preferred seat), a good friend to my dog Murphy, and our regular companion at lunch. There have been other chickens, too, birds so full of quirky personality and a desire to communicate that one swears they really have vocabulary if only we could understand it. Today's truck was stuffed with pigs. Stuffed so tightly that what I looked at through the ovals was just a solid mass of pink. No doubt snouts were jammed into rectums and sharp hooves into tender skin because the object, of course, is HARDLY to allow the animals to take this harrowing journey in comfort, but instead to smash as many bodies into the compartment as can fit--whipping them on, shocking them on, beating them--whatever it takes to get them on that truck. And friends, pigs are smart and pigs are sensitive and pigs are strong...they don't go willingly. So I as I passed this truck, carrying animals I know to be uncannily "human," one pig caught my eye. He looked at me through the oval hole, and the look shared more than words ever could. A wail emerged from my body. Not just tears. An uncontrollable wail--I could not stop it--coming from a deeper part of me than tears ever have, and an apology to that pig, and to all animals on behalf of my species. I will return to CAS, where I will hug my pink pals Franklin and Police and Babe, and they will love me right back, with smiles and happy grunts and snounts rubbed into arms and cheeks, so that within a moment, I'll be happily as muddy as they. And I will wonder about my good fortune to be born a human, and not any other kind of animal. If you've not read my book, I urge you to do so. If you still eat animals and you've not been to CAS, please come. You need to see who they are. It just might change your life...and theirs.

One Tired Puppy

2008-05-17T12:37:04Z

Morning, All. Writing from my friends' house in Greensboro, SC. I'm in the middle of a mini-tour through the south that ends in Nashville, home of the greatest Grandmother in the world, 93-year-old alive and kickin' Grannylou Furman. My days are bookended by visits with old friends and relatives and readings at little shops, big stores, libraries. In the middle? Miles and miles of driving. Right now, I'm saying goobye to the Chumbleys, the wonderful family who spent Christmas volunteering at CAS, and their four-legged clan: Marley, Ringo, Leonardo, Spook, Chai and all the rest....eight love muffins in all. Will check in on Sunday from Nashville. Don't know whether I'm more excited to see my grandmother and my sweet aunt Beverly Ann or my ancient old lab/pit mix pal Levi..... Be kind to each other. xo

Sheep Herding Dog

2008-05-09T13:46:42Z

No, I didn't forget the hyphen between "sheep" and "herding".... Can't put this in as a link...but you'll be glad you spent a minute typing out the address. P.S. If you have a herding dog, DO NOT LET HIM SEE THIS!! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6tCbMFp7eUo

Zen Needs a Home....Again

2008-05-03T11:17:36Z

How can you resist me? Zen Sunshine is his name. If ever there was an animal who's name did not fit, it's this boy, the brilliantly white devil with topaz eyes. There's nothing "zen" about him. He arrived a year ago from a Manhattan rescue, starving, frail, and very sick. We weren't sure he'd survive. But survive he did. Zen is now one year old, and he's a handful. Scratch that. He's a tsunami. To track Zen's story (he's SO NOT "Zen"), read the following: A Sickly, Tiny Goat Not So Sickly Anymore Zen Goes to Manhattan A Friend for Zen A Friend for Zen Part Two Zen healed and found a friend and became one of the scores of "larger than most people would believe" personalities at Catskill Animal Sanctuary. He was adopted by a wonderful family--along with his pal Pumpkin, and later, two sheep brothers with the unfortunate names of Studley and Dudley (we did not name them). Well, Zen came back. He was too much for the family who adopted him along with three other animals with mild personalities. Too much for Studley and Dudley, too much for the young daughters who were intimidated by his horns. Zen needs another home. He needs a free-range but well-monitored home, ideally, for Zen wants nothing more than to be by a human's side and to play....constantly. The next best option would be a home with a HUGE pasture---he's an active boy---with a flock of young, healthy goats willing to keep him in his place. Even with this however, what Zen wants is love and attention from humans. Just one more kiss, PLEASE...just ONE MORE! If you've got space, love, patience, and a sense of humor--and no young children--call me to learn more about this irresistible tornado.