Wonderful places to donate on behalf of animals

Throughout the year, we strive to share generously with organizations that work to combat poverty, homelessness, anti-women sentiments, and psychotic conservatism and Christian nationalism. But, in my opinion, how we treat non-humans is as important; animals are, against humans, defenseless creatures. By and large they are enormously sentient, gentle, stoic beings from whom we can and should learn much. They weather hardship and pain with fortitude, they are full of grace and grit, and when treated with love they respond in kind with distinct personalities. I hope one day to have an animal sanctuary of my own, to welcome one and all creature great and small.

Just today, while attempting to rid a pasture of shiso (invasive horror; never plant or allow it near you), I snuggled every goat and cat who wanted said snuggle, and when Rambo lay in a sunny pile of leaves for an afternoon respite, I joined him, resting my head on his belly, my arm around his neck, scratching at his lead. It was a wonderful moment.

As I do most Decembers, I have given almost all of my paychecks to animal welfare organizations, and I share them with you here in case you are inclined towards a last-minute gift that will be wholly and thankfully utilized.

1. Farm Sanctuary: incredible group that rescues, advocates, and educates farm animals like cows, goats, pigs, and sheep. You can donate generally or “adopt” one of their animals. You cannot go wrong in supporting FS, and right now, there is a 100% match going on.

2. Cats on Mars: Eugene Kibets is single-handedly saving thousands of cats in Ukraine. He climbs ladders into bombed-out buildings, rescues orphaned pets and ferals, gets every being the medical treatment it needs, and is cool as get out. He’ll drive clear across Ukraine to save any cat and does on the regular. Support via Patreon (I do) and/or via his PayPal (I also do this): catsonmars.ukraine@gmail.com. It’s legit.

3. Niall Harbison is an Irish emigre in Thailand dedicated to loving and supporting in all ways the country’s many street dogs. Today, for example, he cooked a full Christmas dinner for more than 100 dogs, and he spends thousands a month on medical care for sick babes. His donorbox is legit.

4. Berkeley Humane: one of many humane societies doing work that I would consider godly were I believer. One of my best college friends is a board member, and they (in CA) put all donations to their cats’ and dogs’ needs.

5. Closer to home, in my WV county, Berkeley County Humane. This is not a wealthy area, and they are doing crucial work on a shoestring. Please consider supporting the poorest of animals, too.

Thank you so very much.

Almost 46

When you read this tomorrow, I’ll be celebrating #46. My wish was to spend my birthday in West Virginia gardening for no less than 72 hours. Having started yesterday afternoon, I am well on pace. My feet are sore, my cuticles mustn’t be seen by anyone, I have various blisters and bruises and chapped lips, but I couldn’t be happier. Life feels simple. The work feels meaningful, an investment in future seasons and faith in nature and soil and the always march towards life.

I can hear the goat babies calling from some pasture. They got their two-month vaccines today and were absolute weenies about those, but I held each one close and kissed their barny-smelling necks and tried not to get a horn to the cheek. The vet and I scheduled Clyde’s castration for late May. No need for him to hump his sisters or cousin, y’all. I suspect that Rambo, our other castrated male, will be glad for a compatriot.

Oliver and his friends have taken great interest in this castration, perhaps for obvious reasons. Ol, Zaid, and Harold began discussing said surgery in February, and just a week ago, I again overhead them arguing the merits of banding versus surgical testicular removal. The surgery is quicker but risks infection during recovery; the banding is an uncomfortable 4+ weeks after which Clyde’s then-leathery-prunes just fall off in the field. Zaid is particularly horrified by the balls-in-the-field option. Oliver vacillates. I’m not sure about Harold. I have scheduled surgery.

Beverly is the friendliest of the kids. She would be held and petted all day if you wanted to offer her such. Clyde wants to be brave, but so far he can only comfortably let me scratch his head, which he kindly bows towards me when he’s feeling courageous. Skipper and Millie must be tackled stealthily from behind if you want any 1-1 with them. They are all precious, soft bits of magic jumping sideways down hills, atop any available stump or bench, and even, today, into the boys’ saucer swing.

Apple and her daughter, Beverly

Clyde is so handsome

Right now, I have a chicken pot pie from the farmers market in the oven, and two stunning woodpeckers are pecking at a suet slab. It is windy, windy, and the wind chimes are caroling. I am feeling my hours in the garden, and I am thinking of my mom and sister, aunt Renee, Nanny, and her mother and sister, all of whom love the land like I do, all of whom were and are strong women and gifted gardeners, all of whom inspire me as I turn and till and plow and plant.

You simply cannot beat the colors of spring, particularly the greens. One may think the largest Crayola box overwrought, but when you pay attention to spring, you appreciate the effort of providing as many accurate crayons as possible to try and do the spectrum justice. Ages ago, in anticipation of this birthday-in-the-garden plan, I’d placed orders from Rare Roots, Prairie Nursery, and Eden Brothers (my favorite online nurseries). All arrived on schedule this week and I came to WV awash in native perennials: lupine, penstemon, false indigo, liatris, various monardas (aka bee balm), anemones, and on and on. I did also order some annuals; despite my preference for things that simply return reliably, I could not find a summer complete without zinnias, cosmos, dahlias, and cornflowers. They are all such happy flowers, and even though dahlias are annoyingly high maintenance, they’re worth it in spades.

Today, I also thought of my dad, also an avid gardener. He and I are alike in many ways, and our willingness to pay attention and time to the minuscule in a yard is, perhaps, one of our greatest commonalities. He will hand-weed a one square foot spot for hours. HOURS. So will I. I was hellbent on making a pea-gravel walking circle today, and while I could have bought bags of gravel, West Virginia is completely made of rock. So, if I’m patient enough to sift through the “dirt” for bits of stone, I have all the pea gravel I need. This is, perhaps, one reason I am so damn tired today. Picking through “dirt” for tiny crumbs sounds downright North Korean, for pete’s sakes. I confess to enjoying it for at least five hours today, and no, I don’t know what that says about me. I don’t really care.

The thing about life is that if you pay attention, you come to deeply know yourself and what you want and absolutely don’t want or care about. I may absolutely get my nose pierced in the next two weeks because I have always wanted a little nostril stud, and although I know my parents will be horrified (and probably my kids, too), I feel like I’m probably halfway through my life, so really, who cares? I can always take it out. Also, I’m studying Ukrainian. Who cares if relatively few speak it and the alphabet looks utterly unknowable? The Ukrainian people are incredible fighters, they love their animals, and they are just so boss. I mean, did you read about this woman? I could not in any way find success with Swedish or Irish, but Ukrainian is beautiful and largely pronounceable, and the letters are like delightful brain-teaser doodles, and I’m not going to let Д or Ж or ф or even Ю do anything but make me happy. Slava Ukraini!

Another thing about life is that if you pay attention, you realize it’s really short for too many people. People who could be you on any given day. So, live it. Live your life. America is well on its way to becoming a psychotic, anti-woman Christian theocracy, so I’m gonna pierce my nose now, exhaust myself via perennials, keep sending money to Ukraine, and also give a ride to safe healthcare to any woman who wants it. #reprorightsundergroundrailroad

I am now full from chicken pot pie, and my god am I sore. Tom and the boys regularly note that I overdo it in the yard, but there is infinity more space out here than at home, and not one thing served as obstacle today, so really, I did overdo it. But that’s ok. The mark of a great day outside is when you blow your nose and dirt comes out, or when you take off your boots and socks and your feet are brown with earth. Both happened tonight.

I’m soon to be 46 and my double daffodils are spectacular, the baby goats are precious beyond compare and I hid a box of Samoas in a cabinet several months ago and they are calling to me. Life can be so hard. It can really break your heart sometimes. So, live it. Channel the elders and fly your flag and be kind.

PS at a much later time: Based on a review of my calls, I seem, this morning, to have confidently ordered a shit ton of mulch for delivery tomorrow. Hahahahahahaha!