あくま … Touching Evil – My Day of Horror

Demons Exist.
And you will NEVER convince me otherwise.

As a result of my wife’s professional expertise,
we have found ourselves living
in various parts of the world.

1990 found us in northern Canada,
in British Columbia,
in a town named Fort St John.

The best that could be said of the place
was that it was a bleak outpost … for me,
real “Hudson’s Bay Company” territory
where the sight of snowmobiles in the street
as an essential form of local transport,
was actually common.

Here – it seemed – in order to meet people,
one either went to a ‘bar’ … or a church.
We chose the latter, and it was here
that my wife met and befriended a local woman.

The problem for me was that, I never cared at all
for her black-eyed, black-bearded,
buckskin-covered-Bible-carrying husband.

Yes, he was friendly enough, but … but
– I could not say why, but there was something

… Wrong.

I remember one day, when Ivan asked if I wanted
to drive out with him on the snowmobile to ‘check’
a cabin that they had in the woods.

My wife and his wife planned to work on some
craft projects so, in order to give the two women
that time together, I said yes.

We got into Ivan’s pickup truck and drove along
one of the narrow forest roads, stopping –
after twenty minutes or so, beside
a lump of blue tarpaulin just at the side of the road.

Walking over to it, Ivan pulled off the cover
to reveal a snowmobile and a red plastic
petrol container.

Within five minutes, I was being bounced along
a snow-packed trail that twisted through the thick
forest trees.

After what seemed far too long, we emerged
into a clearing with ‘the cabin’ …

… a dilapidated, glorified garden shed
with a lean-to, and what appeared to be
an outhouse to one side.

Ivan had just pulled to a stop when I was shocked
to see a brown German Shepherd-type dog walking
– head down, towards us.

I greeted the dog,
and was immediately moved to tears
to see green pus running
( and immediately crusting as it froze in the cold air )
from at least a half-dozen ‘sores’.

“He’s why we’re here,” proclaimed Ivan.

I wanted him to stop telling me the story
– not merely because I was being increasingly
disgusted, and angered, by hearing it –

( this, he related, is “our dog”, who stayed here
for 2 weeks at a time – alone … with one bowl of food,
and a bucket of water to last until Ivan decided
to make another ‘visit’ to “the cabin” )

– but because I wanted us
to get the poor creature to the veterinarian.
NOW !!!.

Then, Ivan explained the reason for what
I ASSUMED had been ‘infected tick bites’ …

“The ‘kids’ in the area come here
and shoot him with air rifles.”

Acid vomit rose in my throat.

I looked at the cowering dog …

… looked back to this obnoxious stereotype
of a ‘woodsman’ … and struggled with my revulsion
– And anger.

He was telling me that he knew
that his dog was being tortured
by sadistic youths –

KNEW All About It …

and was telling me all this
as ‘matter-of-factly’ as if he were telling me
that plants are green
because they contain chlorophyll.

I bent down to gently lift the poor animal,
and told Ivan to get the snowmobile going
so that we could get him to ‘The Vet’s’.

“No, no” said Ivan dismissively.
“That’s not why we’re here.”

Calling the dog over, Ivan walked to the ‘cabin’.

I heard the door being opened;
heard shuffling sounds from inside the hut,
and saw Ivan returning … with a shotgun.

My mind stopped.

My.
Mind.
Stopped.

My mind … Stopped Working.

I can explain it no other way.

Ivan said … something … like,

“I’ll look after him with this”.

I could not speak.
My mouth – honestly – would not move.

He threw something – a dog biscuit? – out …
towards the nearby treeline.

The dog hobbled towards whatever was thrown.

I felt my self swaying – my mind, my body,

EVERYTHING … was … Stuck.

There was a steady tone in my ears … a level tone
– like one hears from a vibrating tuning fork.

Everything stopped … ‘flowing’.

I was seeing in ‘snapshots’ – still photographs,
rather than the motion of real life.

The dog sniffing at something on the ground.

An explosion from ten feet to my left.

The dog pushed backward … wrenched into a ball.
Quivering. Legs twitching violently.

Then

my mind

made my body

work …

I SCREAMED.

And screamed.

And screamed.

My mind had snapped. It must have.
This was a nightmare.
And I was not waking up.

I saw the dog, still moving …
suffering, I thought.

“Shoot him again! Shoot him again!”
I was screaming bloody murder.

“He’s dead” came the calm, level words of Ivan.

My voice raised an octave –

“Shoot him F*cking AGAIN !!! ” I screamed hoarsely
in the only language that I thought this type
of brutal creature would understand.

It was the first and last time I had used that word.
But it instantly penetrated his smug indifference.

The ‘boom’ came again. And the dog lay still.
I stood … stood … stock still – for how long, I cannot say.

I remember swaying – as though I was going to fall over.

Ivan walked over to a large pile of branches,
scrub brush, and old bits of lumber.

He had a can, this time, and poured petrol
onto a section of the pile; hefted the dog’s body,
and flung it onto the wood.

The whole thing erupted into a blaze.

I wanted to speak – to say something:
to tell this piece of sewage what I thought of him.
But nothing would work.

I just kept standing there, unable to move.

The fire must have burned out –
( or did he leave it to burn ? )
I have no memory of anything else except
my mouth being suddenly dry with pure fear.

Terror.

I was petrified at being in the presence
of this creature.

I was aware of his voice telling me that he
‘had to lock up the place’ … and then ( I do remember )
me getting on the snowmobile, behind him.

I sat, of necessity, pushed up against the back
of this maniac as he drove the snowmobile
through the forest.

Then, the pickup truck … and the drive
back to his house, that took forever.

I grunted acknowledgement to whatever he said
during that drive back.
No idea what he said – I just grunted.

And as always … in the middle of the truck’s
bench seat, that ever-present …
Buckskin-covered Bible.

“A righteous man” – ( I thought ) –
“regardeth the life of his beast.” Proverbs 12:10.

I had memorised it as a child in Sunday School.

Whatever the reasons that this vile creature had a Bible,
a foundation for moral living was not one of them.

Arriving back at their house, I went straight inside,
walked over to my wife and said, “We’re going.”
“Now.”

No greeting. I said nothing else.

I repeated the words in a trembling voice:

“We’re going. Now.”

And we never went back – although the wife,
after this, did meet and speak with my wife
about the ordeal that had been her ‘marriage’.

Not long after, we left that place.

We found out a year later, that Ivan had left his wife:
he had ( somehow ) seduced some poor young woman
from Germany (I believe), and was intending to marry her.

(I always wondered if the ever-present
Buckskin-covered Bible had played a part in
‘selling himself’ to that poor young woman.)

I shall Never, ever, get over the memory of that day
in the Canadian wilderness, when an abused
and abandoned dog came running over
to greet his ‘owner’ …

… and was killed by a conscienceless psychopath
– who felt absolutely nothing.

That was 1990.

And I am writing this article now
because last night – (yet again), I was lying in bed,
at 3:00 o’clock in the morning, tormented
and unable to get rid of the sights and sounds
that I heard that day, over 25 years ago.

You may believe that human beings are inherently ‘good’
– but continual life experience has shown me otherwise.

From the Vicious to the Vacuous;
the Atheist to the Evangelical,
massed multitudes think that there is
nothing wrong with the cruelty
that they dispense …

as long as they can “justify” their malice
to make them ‘feel’ that they are “right”.

“Me” is the only standard they have.
‘Right’ and ‘Wrong’ is determined
according to pleasure, ambition, opinion or ease.

Living corpses animated
by Veneration of Self.

No conscience. No consideration.
No independent thought.

Witness the modern mantra of multitudes –

“I’m just doing my job” … Which is to say,

“I do not possess the moral conscience
or have the principled integrity to determine
whether My Job is … Wrong;

whether what I am doing is callous,
unreasonable, or cruel.

Give people the authority to domineer others,
and they will believe themselves justified
in demanding that 4-year old girls at airports
lift up their shirts.

I have met “Ivan’s”
throughout the course of my entire life;

BUT – with ever-increasing frequency
over the past 20 years,
have been forced to realise that

to be Selfish,
Ruthless, and
Cruel

is NOW seen as being

“Independent”,
“Liberated”, and
“Successful”.

In 1990, I watched a pain-ridden, emaciated dog
struggle over to its owner for help …

… to receive the blast of a shotgun

from a ‘dead’ creature
that was utterly devoid of compassion.

Let people talk … Read their ‘blogs’,
Note their Internet comments … and you will,
very often, detect that same, unfeeling

Ruthlessness.

P Livingstone
philiplivingstone.org

“Hunters” … Sadists … Cowards

NOTE: NOT the VIDEO – Still Photo:
I had placed the video link …
http://www.facebook.com/WildlifeDefenceLeague
but could not stand to see it animate
whenever I came to my page – PL

“Hunting” … ???

HUNTING.

HUNTING is when a man lives north of the Arctic Circle,
in a cabin, and needs to provide food to stop his family
from starving to death.

THAT is hunting.

Vicious thugs dressing in camouflage costumes
who lie in wait for an unsuspecting animal
to wander into their trap
so that they can ‘get off’ on shooting holes in him
in order to pretend that they are ‘men’

– is called SADISM.

Sadism: finding pleasure in inflicting pain or death.

Which is very evident in the screeches
and ‘yee-ha’s” of the malevolent creatures
whose voices feature in the soundtrack
of this disgusting display.

1 minute 54 seconds … that graphically reveals
the perverted, self-obsessed, narcissistic,
and utterly conscienceless ‘world’

of vicious cowards who find their pleasure
in terrorising and torturing animals
for … amusement.

And NOTE: If you are one of the vicious savages
who thinks the content of this video
is perfectly acceptable,
do not even think of spewing obscene invective
at me …

… there is NO filthy degradation
that a malignant creature such as You
could heap upon me,
that I would not cheerfully accept
as an honour and a privilege,

because it means that you place me
at the opposite end of the human spectrum
from yourself.

And believe me, that is … Precisely

… where I am.

One needs look no further than a household television set
to see that needless brutality is equated with “manliness”.

The sadism of “hunters” who find their “sport”
in arming themselves in order to chase and kill
timid or defenceless creatures;

and then revel in some perverse notion of the “manliness”
of putting a bullet into an unsuspecting or frightened animal
for … “fun”

… simply disgusts me.

I understand that there are times when wildlife populations
may need to be “controlled” by self-disciplined men
appointed to the task.

Then select and appoint disciplined riflemen
for that unpleasant work.
I am not referring to such unfortunate necessities
of human infringement upon wilderness and animal life.

My revulsion comes with the macho mentality
of thug sadists who find their ‘sport’ and amusement
in the exploitation, intimidation, suffering, and death
… of animals.

“Sportsmen”, such beings call themselves.

Sportsmen?

A “Sportsman’ is someone who competes

with an opponent of equal ability …

with equal advantage …

using equal and fair means …

in a contest where each is aware of the other’s presence.

Whatever else they are, such “hunters”
are no sportsmen.

They do not engage in fair competition.
They do not give the animal a chance –
much less, an even chance.

Bear from a great distance;
docile deer, pheasants, ducks
… and bunny rabbits:

these are the victims of the “mighty hunters”.

Vicious cowards who would NEVER
engage a bear or other carnivore UNLESS
the advantage was well-stacked in their favour
– creep up, or lay in ambush,
to entrap an animal that has no chance.

And in this, so-called “hunters” find cause to boast ?

Forgive me for believing that hunting for “sport”
is nothing but the ego gratification
for pathetic creatures who find pleasure
in the suffering and death of animals
that are ambushed
and given no chance to save themselves;

sadists who revel in the subsequent opportunities
to egotistically brag about their pitiful “prowess”
… in squeezing a trigger … with their finger.

Some things SHOULD be beyond debate:

Suffering as Entertainment … is one of them.

Writer Samuel Clemens observed:

“I am not interested to know whether vivisection
produces results that are profitable
to the human race or doesn’t …

The pain which it inflicts upon
unconsenting animals
is the basis of my enmity toward it,
and it is to me sufficient justification of the enmity
without looking further.”

To have watched this video of a Grizzly Bear “hunt”
simply reinforced every thought I have ever had
about the type of Vicious, Sadistic Cowards

who stand well back in safety,
and kill animals for their pleasure and amusement.
And then, more likely than not, pose for a photograph
with the dead animal.

Receiving Gratification and pleasure
from inflicting torment, pain … death ?

The word is … “Sadist”.

P Livingstone

Roger Moore, Actor, on “Hunters”

I had no idea, when composing my thoughts
in “Hunters: Sadists, Cowards” –
that there was any other person who cared enough
to place his or her outrage
in a thoughtfully worded statement
that would be placed before the public gaze.

I may have little time or regard for “actors”,
but I certainly developed a great deal
of admiration for this one …

Roger Moore, Actor … on “Hunters” …

Fact: hunting is a coward’s pastime,

and no one has demonstrated that more clearly
than the American dentist Walter Palmer,
who apparently paid over £30,000
to gun down a lion to add his head to a trophy wall.

That wall includes the heads of animals
he has shot at close range –
with the help of paid facilitators, of course,
from all over the world …

… What happened bears repeating:

the man, aided by several guides,
did not stalk a wild beast who was a danger to anyone.

The animal was lured out of his safety zone
in a park and was blinded by a spotlight.

Palmer then fired a high-powered weapon
to injure the lion, who,
with a steel arrow stuck through him,
crept away and suffered for 40 long hours
before the “hunter” arrived
and the animal was skinned and decapitated.

It has been alleged that the guides
also tried to hide the radio collar on Cecil’s neck
because it contained a tracking device.

You’d be forgiven for thinking that
behind the dentist’s unnaturally white teeth
is a person devoid of moral fibre, conscience or decency.

In a world with boundless opportunities for amusement,
it’s detestable that anyone would choose
to get thrills from killing others
who ask for nothing from life but the chance to remain alive.

The animals whose lives he has
so cold-heartedly snuffed out
have precisely the same capacity to feel pain
and suffer as we do.

All leave family members or mates behind when they’re killed,
and none is exempt from grief.

“Sport” hunting is a sickness, a perversion
and a danger and should be recognised as such.

People who get their “amusement” from hunting
and killing defenceless animals
can only be suffering from a mental disorder.

We know that we should protect the most vulnerable
and helpless in society, not destroy them
– much less derive pleasure from doing so.

Thankfully, those of us with a conscience
are appalled by the idea of gunning down animals
for the sake of a thrill or a photo.

Sir Roger Moore, The Telegraph,
29th July 2015

Well done, Sir.

Well Done.

Bags at the Front … ???

You want people in your shop
so that you can take their money,
and make a profit …

but you are not willing to treat them
with the common decency of NOT presuming
that they are thieves.

At the time of this writing,
I have managed to approach 60 years in this world
without stealing a single thing in my life.

which means that it is impossible for me
– as an honest and honourable man –
to even imagine the type of self-centred presumption
and contempt for human beings

as so evidently exists in shop-owners
and store managers who display,
at the entrance to their establishments,
signs demanding that potential customers

“leave all bags at the front”.

I understand that the generality
of the human race has deteriorated
in morals and basic manners to such a degree
over the past thirty years,
that multitudes

cannot communicate without filthy profanity
or to ‘go out of their way’ to exercise
basic, common courtesy –

for pity’s sake, modern men
do not even have the decency
to remove their hats when seated at a table
for a meal.

Human beings may have collectively descended
to below the level of animals, BUT that – ( surely ? )
does not give you license
to abandon discernment
and the application of discretion,

and presume that a particular Customer
who enters your shop
is a thief …

deserving of having their character
degraded by you ?

Of course, you do not remove the (often large)
‘handbags’ of women.

Or bar THEM from entering your premises —

You wouldn’t dare.

A woman carrying a bag … is a Customer.
A man carrying a bag … is a Thief.

In a ‘New World’ of Mindless Compliance,
I realise that multitudes will see nothing wrong at all
in being presumed a thief,

and therefore, are quite happy to leave
their personal possessions
at the front of your shop …

But there are a few of us – “old folks” –
still walking this earth,
who have lived lives of courtesy
and consideration towards other people;

who were raised with moral integrity
and “old fashioned”, (dare-I-say?) ‘biblical’ values
of conduct and self control.

Honourable people have not YET been bred out
of the human race: a few still exist.

They might even walk through the door
of an establishment such as yours.

I have observed – since the mid-1980’s in particular,
the eradication of manners and moral decency;
while selfishness, vanity, crude speech and behaviour
rose to levels that are now nothing less than obscene.

It may well be that I am the only person
walking this earth who will NOT sell his character
for the sake of buying and acquiring some … thing.

There is nothing in your shop
that is important enough
for me to submit to you
degrading my moral character.

I would not give my bag to a thug
with a gun.

Nor am I going to hand it to a thug
with a cash register.

The atrocity, I suppose, is not so much
having the callous contempt of a bully:
but in being so bereft of a conscience
as to feel no shame because of it.

This is an age when corporate supermarkets
hire less staff and demand that customers
scan and pack their own groceries
… in bags that they have to provide themselves.

All to … ‘Save the Earth’ … of course.

But such brazen disregard for customer service
need not be a hallmark of your shop, surely ?

By all means, “reserve the right” to inspect
the bags of someone whom you have
just cause to believe has stolen merchandise,

without a sign declaring the wholesale degradation
of every adult that walks into your shop.

When they still existed, mature adults
would Think … with Discernment
and a Moral Conscience.

How would it be then, shop-keeper,
if you began to display appreciation
for those who seek to spend their money
in your shop …

Rather than arrogantly, arbitrarily presume
that someone who walks through your door

is a thief ?

P Livingstone
philiplivingstone.org

Torture of Dogs in China … Shopping to Pay Sadists

Tormented By an Image:

I had imagined that the video
I had selected to watch would feature
the charitable work of some caring group of people
who were concerned about providing for the needs
of stray dogs in China …

What I saw was a mere 10-seconds
of Unspeakable, Perverted Cruelty

being inflicted upon one of many dogs

in a village in China –

as villagers stood around laughing
at the screams – Screams – of agony
shrieking from the mouth of the writhing puppy
who was being roasted alive.

That obscenity will NEVER leave my mind;
and has, ever since, tormented me
– at some point in the day or night –
every single day of my life since.

Nowhere, arguably, is the sadistic depravity
of human beings more manifest
than in South-east Asia:

as a teen throughout the 1970’s, even my
‘sheltered’ mind knew of the reputation
of Bangkok, and the degraded businessmen
who flocked there to abuse children and animals.

How Anyone could Ever pay to go there for ‘holiday’
– willingly give their tourist dollars to a place
that tolerates such open abuse …
was utterly beyond my capacity to take in.

Believing that I was about to see a video report
of some wonderful rescue operation
in a rural part of China,

I ‘clicked’ on a video concerning a place called “Yulin” –
and the disgusting ‘dog meat festival’
that is an annual event in that country.

As the poor, mobile-phone-quality video began,
it was obvious that the filming was being done
from behind a group of people assembled –
seemingly, in a village.

They were gathered around a large cooking wok
which had been positioned over a fire.

A man held a V-forked stick … at the end of which,
a young dog was being forcibly held in place …

while being roasted alive in the oil-covered pan.

Its shrieking screams — for,
they were nothing that ever came
from any animal naturally ––

were Atrocious.

Upon my own mind realising
just what I was seeing and hearing,

I leapt to my feet sending the computer
tumbling to the floor.

The sound that came from my mouth
could only be described as a roar of panic:

I was hyper-ventilating
in a rush of air from my lungs;

forcing a deep scream that was perhaps,
meant to be the word “No”
yelled over and over.

Mercifully, by the time I looked down
at the fallen computer,
the video had stopped after 10 seconds.

But it was ten seconds
that has burned itself into my brain

… and often wakens me in panic,
in the middle of the night.

It is half-past three in the morning
as I type these words: all I could ‘hear’
in my obvious nightmare,
were the shrieks of pain …

… and the laughter of the Chinese villagers
at the dreadful agony of that little dog.

A selection of pictures that I have unwillingly seen
could readily be placed here
to accompany these words.

But the fact is, I could not endure
to have them on this site.

The memory is enough for my mind,
without seeing the actual images over again.

Do You Have a Conscience ?

Shopping.

I discern the Right or Wrong
of any Thought, Word, or Deed,

by considering the amount of suffering
that will invariably come because of it.

Do I trivialise Evil, cruelty, suffering ?
Do I ignore it ? Or even support it ?

I can ‘save’ two euros, one pound-fifty,
or two dollars by buying ‘battery’ eggs,
rather than free range –

So, why will I never do that?

Because of the disgusting torture and lingering deaths
that are inflicted upon millions of ‘battery’ hens
by conscience-less sadists who make their wealth;
and live in relative luxury,

as a result of the absolutely UNNECESSARY
and on-going cruelty that they inflict
upon chickens, pigs, cows, and other animals.

My money will Never knowingly
go into the bank accounts of evil,
conscienceless creatures such as that.

Do I need to have bacon or sausage for breakfast?

I could – quite easily – ‘post’ photographs right here,
of a pig bruised around the eyes;
terror-stricken in its features;
semi-skewered between two clamps,
waiting to be “freshly” killed.

Or hens cut and bleeding from being scooped up
and dumped by bulldozers;

Or the 10 seconds that I saw of that video
of a dog being held down with a stick,
in a Wok above a fire … while Chinese villagers
looked on and laughed
at its shrieking screams of agony –

that so physically sickened me enough
for the better part of a week,

that I am now resolved to never knowingly
buy anything made in a country
that celebrates a … ‘dog meat festival’.

Buy something made in China …
if there is any alternative ?

Am I going to support the demonic creatures
who roast or boil dogs alive –
in a nation that actually regards torture
as an annual festival ???

Bacon or sausage for breakfast?

Quite apart from the pure fat that such ‘meats’
will add to my body, I will NOT pay the wages
of the loathsome creatures

that herd pigs into cement warehouses,
and then proceed to systematically
bring sledge-hammers down
upon the heads of those terrified animals –

whose frequent last efforts to find mercy,
are to lick the boots of the vicious savages
that are about to bludgeon them to death.

SHOPPING

I will never understand how people can shop
without a conscience –

and give their money to companies
that either exploit people;
or torture animals.

They see it advertised – and they buy it.
Conscience – never enters into it.

The purpose of advertising is to make
anyone seeing it, feel dissatisfied:

dissatisfied with the way they look,
dissatisfied with what they own,
dissatisfied with where they live.

An advertiser has One Purpose: to make you
a Slave to Discontentment and Greed –
always wanting more than what you have.

And the Average Shopper is more than happy
to co-operate with the advertiser.

I will never knowingly purchase anything
that was produced from the suffering of animals.

If cruelty was inflicted upon any animal
in order to ‘test’ a product –

I do not need that product.

Yes … some medical crisis may oblige me
to buy a prescription medicine that has ( no doubt )
been ‘cleared for sale’
because animals have suffered beforehand

– but it is a matter that weighs heavily
upon my conscience.

And does not come without serious thought.

But that does not mean that I, therefore,
lay down a ‘red carpet’ of Compromise
and ignore animal testing for everything else.

I will NEVER willingly, or knowingly,
support any company
that uses – or excuses –
the torment of animals
in order to make a profit.

A life-long desire to own little,
has been the greatest practical blessing
in my life.

The desire to own little, brings
Freedom from Greed:

Which makes it an incredibly easy thing
to never want, and never own, anything
that caused an animal to suffer pain.

Samuel Clemens observed:

“I believe I am not interested to know
whether Vivisection produces results
that are profitable to the human race or doesn’t.

To know that the results are profitable to the race
would not remove my hostility to it.

The pains which it inflicts
upon unconsenting animals
is the basis of my enmity towards it,

and it is to me sufficient justification of the enmity
without looking further.

It is so distinctly a matter of feeling with me,
and is so strong and so deeply-rooted in my make
and constitution, that I am sure
I could not even see a vivisector vivisected
with anything more
than a sort of qualified satisfaction.

I do not say I should not go and look on;
I only mean that I should almost surely fail to get out of it
the degree of contentment which it ought, of course,
to be expected to furnish.”

[ Samuel Clemens / Mark Twain, London, 1899 ]

A disgusting “argument” from the putrid shallows
of minds that are self-obsessed and too apathetic
to be ‘bothered’, presents itself as …

“My refusing to buy something
will not stop sadistic companies
from ‘testing’ their products using the torture,
screams, and writhing of cruelly-restrained animals
suffering in agony

… so why ‘fight it’ ?”

I answer …

IF you are Not a Conscienceless Psychopath,
Do Not support Conscienceless Psychopaths.

The point is NOT whether you can control
the Companies:

The point is to not let the companies
Control You.

At the age of six, our schoolteacher had organised a field trip
to let us see where eggs came from.

While standing in a central room of the hatchery,
a side door opened, and an employee walked out.

What I saw – for that brief few seconds – made me cry,
obliged my teacher to take me back to sit in the school bus,
and has remained with me 50 years later.

Hens stuffed – jammed – into little square cages ;
hydraulic hoses used to force gruel down their throats ;
before ( as I would later learn ) they were packed
even tighter into plastic-grilled boxes;
and thrown on to the back of trailers,
to be driven away to be brutally slaughtered.

I have NEVER – since that day, eaten an egg
that was not from a free-range farm.

And I cannot understand those who do.

Save a pound, a euro, a dollar
in order to support wholesale suffering –
for the sake of conscienceless greed?

I would gladly pay twice the cost
to a free-range farm,
and enjoy a soft-boiled egg
with a clear conscience.

Spend the extra two … £ … € … $ ‘s

and for pity’s sake, Refuse to line the pockets
of conscienceless brutes who get rich
from the misery and suffering of animals.

P Livingstone
philiplivingstone.org

こうかい … The Farce of Animal “RESCUE” … Part 1: Confinement

Part 1: The Mormon Dog

Whilst working for an animal “rescue” organisation,
I responded to a telephone complaint of cruelty
in which (the caller stated) a dog had been injured,
but the owners refused to take it to a veterinarian.

Calling at the luxurious – excessively opulent – house,
an older, overweight dog could be seen limping inside.

The woman told me that her husband …

“would not spend money on an animal”.

And then she told me why.

THE MORMON DOG

Over the course of a few days, the woman
(under threat of charges of cruelty by neglect)
was obliged to surrender the dog to the SPCA.

X-rays revealed that the limp was from a fractured leg
that had never been treated.

With the animal in considerable pain,
it had ‘healed’ over time: and now,
there was nothing more that could be done.

“Well, I will just take the dog back home now” I said
to my boss.

With an indignant tone, she bellowed: “You will not!”
That dog is not going back to those people.”

That statement haunts me to this day.

That “Rescue Society” refused to return the dog
to its plush-carpeted home (albeit with callous people)
and instead,

placed it in a concrete box
without toys or any type of mental stimulation.

The shock, the incredulity, the inability to comprehend –
what must have been going through that poor animal’s mind
torments me to this very day.

I sicken inwardly, to recall the one time when the family
and their lawyer, arrived at the SPCA to argue (fruitlessly)
for their dog to be returned.

The dog was in what passes for a “kennel” – two walls
of cinder block, fronted by a chain-link section
that looked out on the parking lot.

Seeing his the family emerge from their car, the dog
limped quickly to the end of the stark concrete ‘run’ – and,
at the chain-link, gave a little hop with clearly visible glee
at the very sight of them.

I will Never forget its utter dejection as they finally
had to walk away again, and leave him in cold isolation.

The Guilt will live with me for the rest of my life.

Within two weeks, I was no longer
in the employ of the SPCA.

The realisation that … I … had put him there
has haunted me for more than ten years now;
and I wake at times, overcome with despair
that I had been the one to have taken the dog
from that opulent home.

I NEVER would have guessed that – once the injury
was revealed to be years old – that dog would not
be allowed to return to its comfort;
but had to exist indefinitely in the solitary confinement
of that horrible concrete box.

That poor dog (I would later find from their Internet Site)
spent ten months in that disgusting box that the SPCA
dares to call a ‘kennel’, before he was ‘fostered’.

He had been the last travesty
that I could take from the ‘SPCA’ –

Cruelty from owners;
cruelty from “rescuers” …
and the animal left to exist in misery either way.

He had been confined for ten months after I quit.

It would have been far better for both dog and me,
to have left him in the opulence of that luxury house,
rather than have him tormented
by the misery of an SPCA … “kennel”.

I despise myself today, at my own wilful ‘blindness’
in being ‘caught up’ in “the ego” of animal rescue.

I could never have imagined
that they would refuse to return the dog,
once it was revealed that the injury was so old.

The inevitable confusion of that affectionate dog
– to wonder what it had done wrong
to deserve to be put in concrete isolation –
never stops preying upon my conscience.

That had been the first and only time
that I have encountered cruelty from neglect,
amongst people who lived in wealth and luxury.

As to the “Reason” that the woman had given me
for her husband refusing to spend money
to have the dog’s injury treated … ?

Well, that was the first time
I had encountered … the Mormons.

Mormons ( it seems ) maintain that an animal
is to serve man; which means – to minds that are
brutal and callous enough – that, Mormons …

… have no moral responsibility to provide
medical treatment to any poor animal that is cursed
enough to find itself in their … “care”.

As the old biblical proverb states:

“A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast;
but the tender mercies of the wicked, are cruel.”

But such are the perversions of religious cults
in which the dictates of a “prophet” take precedence
over anything declared by the God
whom they claim to acknowledge.

TYRANNY

Arriving on this side of the Atlantic a few years ago,
I took work with the SPCA, driving and investigating
various complaints made by the public.

But it was when in the office, that I became
filled with trepidation that all was not “as it seemed”
at this SPCA.

I frequently overheard conversations
between staff and people who came in to adopt animals
– only to be told that there were none
matching the description that they were seeking.

This – I knew – was a lie.

The staff – two women (my own age) were
(it seemed evident), far too filled with a sense
of their own self-importance
and decision-making ‘power’ over others;

and so, quite enjoyed making instant judgments
about whomever entered their fiefdom.

The most mind-wracking, instance of prolonged Abuse
that I have ever seen with my eyes,
was to witness the reality of dogs who had been
“rescued” from abusive homes …

… to be then put into confinement without bed or toys,
in those concrete boxes
that were outrageously termed “kennels”.

Here, the animal existed with absolutely
NO mental stimulation, for 23 hours a day
– their only relief being IF a dog-walker
happened to choose them for a walk that day.

Concrete walls, concrete floor, and (if the sliding
door had not been raised) no view

save that of the mentally-tortured animal
in the “kennel” opposite.

It drove me to despair: seeing the lacklustre eyes,
the constant look of defeat:
the sense of being past all hope.

And HERE were the two ‘mature’ women on staff
telling people that there were no animals for adoption.

THE ELDERLY COUPLE

The contempt held by those ‘in office’ was unbelievable:

One Friday afternoon, an older couple
had managed to adopt a dog … only to return
on Monday morning – their faces stained with tears,
and red from crying:

they were here to bring the dog back.

For two days, the dog – now freed from its
mind-altering confinement, and overwhelmed with sights
and sounds – had run rampant in their house,
finally jumping through the glass window
of their living room.

Heartbroken, they had to admit
that they could not keep the dog.

With barely concealed derision,
the woman behind the counter – my … “colleague”
… officiously got the adoption papers
and impatiently scribbled on them.

As the distraught couple tearfully left the office,
the woman huffed loudly, turned to her co-worker and said:
“WHAT were we thinking, ever imaging that people like THAT
could handle a dog?!!”

I was disgusted: fuming – and let them know it.
“At least, they TRIED to do something kind”, I said.

The pair of them looked at me and sighed audibly
with evident disgust.

Running down to the parking lot,
I thanked the couple for doing their very best;
hugged them both; and wished them well.

Bringing the matter up to the manager
only made it plain that nothing would be done:

It was me – and not the staff – who was seen as
the one “with a problem”.

My letter, sent to Head Office, resulted in a reply
being sent to my boss, directing her to inform me that
… ‘his last day will be May 4th.’

When it is a crime to speak the truth;
when any

business,
organisation, or
nation

regards moral decency … as treason;

then it is – (whatever else it may pretend)
a totalitarian regime where folk such as me,
will never find a home.

[ Continued in Part 2: Margaret and “Ginger” ]

P Livingstone