Animals Taiwan: That Is What You Call It
Today, I volunteered five hours for Animals Taiwan. The loosely-knit, yet effective, organization's aim is to promote the better treatment of animals here in Taiwan. I saw about seven or eight people, all more dedicated to the cause than I am, work their asses off for the benefit of stray dogs and cats.
AT set up shop in the mall of the Taipei Main Station. They brought ten animals, all in need of a loving home, to show off to passersby in the hope of arousing the interest of a potentially responsible animal lovers.
There were eight dogs and two cats, there. . . the cats being out of sight, most of the time. They weren't too hip to being caged up, and the well-intentioned fingers poking in through the bars were more like an added insult to injury. . . so they wound up beneath the tables, in the dark, masked by the bedsheets the Main Station's management insisted we use.
woquinoncoin invited me to come along with her and so I did. I was so proud of her, opting to spend her spare time helping out a charitable cause and felt a little ashamed of my track record concerning volunteer work over the past couple of years. She'd told me that the word she'd gotten was that most of the animals were in dire need of attention and could do for a bit of exercise. Additionally, extra hands were needed passing out fliers.
Passing out the sheets with the organization's name, statement of purpose, and contact information was pretty easy around the little puppy corral, set up near the exit of the mall. Lots of people dropped by to watch the dogs. It was as if they were in a kind of low-rent zoo. Most folks lingering in that area felt obliged to take a sheet, if only as a form of payment for the privilege of watching lapdogs sleep, I guess.
Away from the display, however, it was quite a different story. Cindy and I were taking the dogs out for walks and it was difficult getting many people to take one of these little handbills. Many people did an outstanding job of looking like soulless automatons oblivious to the human being attempting to communicate with them.
It's probably a common facet of city life that I've still yet to grow accustomed to. . . and God help should I ever grow accustomed to people ignoring other human beings and may God damn me should I ever take to doing so myself.
Men and women alike. . . setting their jaws, raising their noses and turning their eyes away. My only hope is that some of these well-dressed, anthropomorphic heaps of shit had some inkling as to how ridiculous they looked in our eyes and had to deal with some amount of embarrassment or suffer some pang of conscience.
Fortunately, I didn't have to deal with this scum. The job I undertook (hijacked, maybe), was walking the dogs. Ivory and Trooper. Mister and Missus. Roxy. Leo. Ariel didn't need walking. . . or, she couldn't walk. She'd been hit by a car and was moving about the aid of some wheeled brace that kept her hind legs suspended off the the floor.
And then there was this other dog.
Some worthless son/s of (a) bitch/es bashed his little head in, took a few chunks out of his back, twisted one of his hind legs to useless, and cut his throat.
Stupid fuckers couldn't even kill the damned thing.
Anyway, this one was named Happy.
Happy could've used a washing, and there's something about exposed dog skin. . . you just don't want to touch it. I remember meeting, during my last encounter with Animals Taiwan, a rescued stray that someone had given an acid bath. . . he didn't get much love from me.
Happy, though. . . Happy was part hound. . . a loose fleshy muzzle, tired-looking eyes, ears that you could've hid Snickers bars behind. I touched the side of his face and his head fell into my hand. It eventually got to the point where I was running my hands over the six square inches of scar tissue behind his shoulder blades without even thinking about it.
He was the most affectionate, well behaved animal there.
I am convinced that animals have no real awareness of the past or the future. Their little peep holes into this world is one, uninterrupted NOW.
Upon first meeting Happy, I was told about what had happened to him and the cut off the person trying to tell me. . . not wanting to hear anymore about this poor animal's suffering. It was very hard for me to look at him, afterward, without thinking of the cruelty he endured.
On our first walk together, he jumped up into a small flower garden. And I watched him bound through those flowers, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, dragging his dead leg behind him.
And I forgot all about how he'd wound up in the care of AT.
Walking back to the group, two little girls, out strolling with their mother and grandmother, caught sight of him. The thought the crippled, mutilated little beast was adorable. They wanted to touch him, and talk to him. They got his tail wagging.
I am convinced that his little NOW went by unclouded by a WHAT MAY BE concerning those little girls, and a little bed that smelled like him, and toys to regard as his own, and food dishes for him only, but I know mine was.
AT set up shop in the mall of the Taipei Main Station. They brought ten animals, all in need of a loving home, to show off to passersby in the hope of arousing the interest of a potentially responsible animal lovers.
There were eight dogs and two cats, there. . . the cats being out of sight, most of the time. They weren't too hip to being caged up, and the well-intentioned fingers poking in through the bars were more like an added insult to injury. . . so they wound up beneath the tables, in the dark, masked by the bedsheets the Main Station's management insisted we use.
woquinoncoin invited me to come along with her and so I did. I was so proud of her, opting to spend her spare time helping out a charitable cause and felt a little ashamed of my track record concerning volunteer work over the past couple of years. She'd told me that the word she'd gotten was that most of the animals were in dire need of attention and could do for a bit of exercise. Additionally, extra hands were needed passing out fliers.
Passing out the sheets with the organization's name, statement of purpose, and contact information was pretty easy around the little puppy corral, set up near the exit of the mall. Lots of people dropped by to watch the dogs. It was as if they were in a kind of low-rent zoo. Most folks lingering in that area felt obliged to take a sheet, if only as a form of payment for the privilege of watching lapdogs sleep, I guess.
Away from the display, however, it was quite a different story. Cindy and I were taking the dogs out for walks and it was difficult getting many people to take one of these little handbills. Many people did an outstanding job of looking like soulless automatons oblivious to the human being attempting to communicate with them.
It's probably a common facet of city life that I've still yet to grow accustomed to. . . and God help should I ever grow accustomed to people ignoring other human beings and may God damn me should I ever take to doing so myself.
Men and women alike. . . setting their jaws, raising their noses and turning their eyes away. My only hope is that some of these well-dressed, anthropomorphic heaps of shit had some inkling as to how ridiculous they looked in our eyes and had to deal with some amount of embarrassment or suffer some pang of conscience.
Fortunately, I didn't have to deal with this scum. The job I undertook (hijacked, maybe), was walking the dogs. Ivory and Trooper. Mister and Missus. Roxy. Leo. Ariel didn't need walking. . . or, she couldn't walk. She'd been hit by a car and was moving about the aid of some wheeled brace that kept her hind legs suspended off the the floor.
And then there was this other dog.
Some worthless son/s of (a) bitch/es bashed his little head in, took a few chunks out of his back, twisted one of his hind legs to useless, and cut his throat.
Stupid fuckers couldn't even kill the damned thing.
Anyway, this one was named Happy.
Happy could've used a washing, and there's something about exposed dog skin. . . you just don't want to touch it. I remember meeting, during my last encounter with Animals Taiwan, a rescued stray that someone had given an acid bath. . . he didn't get much love from me.
Happy, though. . . Happy was part hound. . . a loose fleshy muzzle, tired-looking eyes, ears that you could've hid Snickers bars behind. I touched the side of his face and his head fell into my hand. It eventually got to the point where I was running my hands over the six square inches of scar tissue behind his shoulder blades without even thinking about it.
He was the most affectionate, well behaved animal there.
I am convinced that animals have no real awareness of the past or the future. Their little peep holes into this world is one, uninterrupted NOW.
Upon first meeting Happy, I was told about what had happened to him and the cut off the person trying to tell me. . . not wanting to hear anymore about this poor animal's suffering. It was very hard for me to look at him, afterward, without thinking of the cruelty he endured.
On our first walk together, he jumped up into a small flower garden. And I watched him bound through those flowers, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, dragging his dead leg behind him.
And I forgot all about how he'd wound up in the care of AT.
Walking back to the group, two little girls, out strolling with their mother and grandmother, caught sight of him. The thought the crippled, mutilated little beast was adorable. They wanted to touch him, and talk to him. They got his tail wagging.
I am convinced that his little NOW went by unclouded by a WHAT MAY BE concerning those little girls, and a little bed that smelled like him, and toys to regard as his own, and food dishes for him only, but I know mine was.