On chickens...

Fluffy two-week old Buff Orpington.

I don't eat chicken. Yes, I have been introducing meat back into my diet from a mostly-vegan standpoint. I am very excited to say that, after much hassling, the local health food/organic store is now carrying grass finished ground beef. While I still have to do some research into how the cattle that that beef comes from are treated and eventually slaughtered (my guess is that this will still not be beef that I feel comfortable eating), I believe the expansion of more humane niche markets is a good sign. I'm also happy to see that it sells fast. There are also tentative plans to support some local farmers and get larger portions of humane pasture-raised meats for freezing, but I doubt my diet will contain that much meat. Eating meat is always less sustainable than eating a diet wholly of plant matter. Of course, the best thing you can do for the environment is to not have children… But I'm not going to beat that particular bush today. Besides, I already have that covered!

So, I don’t I won't eat chicken. There is simply NO way to get humanely raised (in my mind, this means they are pastured) poultry from a store. There are essentially no legal protections for chickens. They aren't even covered under federal welfare or anti-cruelty laws. When you see "free-range" as a label, all that means is they are not in cages. Don’t be fooled by any labels when it comes to marketing animal products – when in doubt, look up the labeling standard. Chickens, by and large, still live in overcrowded filthy spaces, and most of them will never feel the fresh air. Eggs are the same – cage-free or free range gives you the impression these are healthier and happier chickens, but the difference is tiny.

These are some of the reasons my partner and I are diving into chicken ownership. Not for meat, but for eggs. And also to better understand chickens themselves. I spent several weeks at UC Davis working with cattle, for example. And several weeks tending to goats and sheep and other animals. I've spent several years with rodents and other lab animals. With respect to animals that are used (and abused) by humanity, I have little experience with poultry.

The Girls at four weeks: their first time outside!

Portland allows three backyard “hens”, so that’s what we got after some lucky guesswork into their sexes (hey, my animal science education is good for something). Our backyard is big enough, and wild enough, to give three hens foraging space. Given my summer job situation, our hens will have most of the day free to roam and eat grass and insects. My partner has built a large coop which allows them access to the ground without putting them in danger of predators (hopefully). Our neighborhood has raccoons, cats, hawks, and a substantial coyote population, so having a safe indoor space for them to roost in at night is essential. Chickens don’t do well in darkness.

Even though I have a farmer in me, fighting to get out, I am surprised by chickens. I'm used to horses, of course, so when I see herd behaviors in the chickens I get interested. For example, there is a definite alpha female in our flock-of-three.

Ena, sleepy pullet in the garden

In fact, at three weeks old they all had distinct personalities. This is another reason I refuse to eat store-bought poultry. I'm fine with eating animal-people if they live their lives naturally, in a way that lets them be themselves (i.e. exhibit a full range of natural behaviors), but this does not happen with mass-produced livestock. It just doesn’t. Now they are six weeks old and spending their first semi-supervised time out grazing in our lush (or overgrown) back yard.

Our little dark girl (Silver Laced Wyandotte), Ena, is curious and quite intelligent. She masters physical obstacles without trial and error (which the others use) by examining something in depth before tackling it. I look forward to seeing how she tackles free-range life in our back yard. She is always the hardest to catch, but she is calm when we hold her. Ena observes the world through her bright dark eyes with fascination rather than fear. She is also the most fastidious and cleans herself more than the others. Our pretty, smart, girl, I’m really looking forward to Ena’s eventual adult plumage. She already has a silver cape of feathers falling from her head.  She is also the best at flying and seems to enjoy bouncing from place to place without noticeable effort.

Orla, at six weeks.

Britta at seven weeks old - she flew up there herself!

Orla, who comes from a more dual-purpose breed (Buff Orpingtons are intended to be used as egg- and meat-birds), is significantly larger than the other two. She has loads of fabulous amber feathers, and more grow every day. These feathers are noticeably softer than our other two chickens, so, given her temperament, she’s the one you will find us petting the most. She is literally a friendly yellow-orange poof ball. She is our happy-go-lucky chick – she chills out when you're holding her and doesn’t get as excited when something new goes down. When she sleeps, even now, she sprawls. It took her longer to learn to perch than the other two, but when she learns something it sticks.  While she is a follower and not usually the first to investigate something new, when she does investigate, her bulk allows her to push her two fellows around. In these early days of free-range foraging, we have also found that she is quick to catch on that the world is edible. And an edible world is a good world! If you want a chicken to pet, she’s your girl. But if you have food, watch out! She is a food-pecking machine.

 Britta, our Mottled Java, is the bossy one. When Ena goes to investigate something new, Britta is keenly aware. Is it something she wants? If so, she pushes Ena aside. Her feathering is speckled such that she currently has one white wing and one black wing. Her feet and legs are also bright yellow with black freckles – which is very striking! She is more easily excited, but is more independent than the other two, such that she doesn’t scream as readily when separated. Of our girls, she is also the one who had the most issues with pasty bum when she was younger, which we chalk up to the fact that she had much longer downy chick-feathers around her vent than the other two. Possibly because of the extra handling she got then, I’d say she is the most human-aware of our flock. She will come up and sit on you, or hang out on your shoulder. When I tap a perch she hops up for a mealworm treat. She’s not as laid-back as Orla, or as generally observant as Ena; as she gets older, we have found that she is also the slowest to mature physically, with the adult plumage around her head only now beginning replacing her down.

When they are not busy scrounging for food or sleeping, the Girls play. They run around and “bounce” and even do “chicken jousting” where they run head-on at each other either to crash or dodge at the last moment. It’s also hilarious to see one of them (usually Ena) pick up a leaf or stick, triggering the others to chase her and play keep-away. They love exploring, too. It’s enormously relaxing watching our chickens – only seven weeks old now – forage in the yard.

We have yet to see our first egg, but our chickens are already part of the family. Here’s hoping they have long peaceful lives doing what comes naturally to them!

Justice—what does it mean to you?

I feel somewhat at odds with the other people in my first year law class. My slight discomfort is because many of them are studying law solely in the pursuit of justice—or, as they define it to me, making things “ethically right” in the world. While a lofty goal (and I first considered law because of an injustice I was faced with in the workplace), I feel that pursuing justice for its own sake is a hopeless exercise. “Justice” is one of those words, like “love”, whose meaning is defined differently by everyone who uses it. It’s a feeling-word for many people, supported by the fact that they think it relates to some absolute ethical truth. Now, whether there is an absolute ethical truth is up for debate, but when it comes to the law, I think we can only strive towards what’s right and wrong in our own heads. A personal justice. To me, the law has very little to do with justice, though through the law we can manipulate what is viewed as “right” and “wrong” in our society. It’s an important distinction.

I see the law as being something that prevents our own basic humanity from destroying us—a buffer of sorts. Taking that a step further, law is also a medium for lasting (and immediate) change to a whole population. Laws change the course of history within one person’s lifetime—that power can either improve on basic humanity, or reward it. And while I would be willing to concede that my cynicism is due largely to my life experiences, I cannot shake the feeling that we are untrustworthy, selfish, shortsighted and narcissistic. Coming from a natural-science background, I recognize all of these traits as evolutionarily advantageous. However, I don’t think this is a common perception because it puts us on equal footing with other animals and plant life that are also governed by the natural order. The fact that we deny the equal value of all life leads to injustice. We need the law because we are brutes.

We make ourselves out to be superior, granting ourselves the right to destroy and deplete as we see fit. This is one reason I feel that law isn’t about doing what’s right—it’s about control and mediation, and shifting the human psyche towards self-awareness.

To me, studying law is a means to an end. It’s about communication. If one person is to change the world, perhaps even spark that shift in human psyche, they have to be able to connect and communicate. I think an enforceable medium, like the law, is ideal for this shift. And law school will also have the added advantage of opening up new lines of communication; a new language, a new view of how the world works. And on top of that I will gain the skills to become a kind of translator between two worlds: the world I am invested in both intellectually and emotionally, and human society as a whole. But no—I’m not idealistic. All I look forward to is the chance to be an effective translator. Maybe I can make individual lives better in the pursuit of justice, but justice in and of itself is not compatible with humanity as we are now (and have been).

I first became aware of these things when I was a child, helping my mother in the garden. I was lucky in so many ways, because my parents were always there to teach and explain how the world worked. In my childlike wonder, such information was better than anything else they could have offered me. I loved the outdoors and exploring the creatures and plants that inhabited it. At that young age my self-recognition was all wrapped up in the dirt and weather and my animal neighbors. And then I reached school age and discovered how cruel the human-animal was. Not only that, but I discovered that my own species did not live in the same earthy sphere that I did. Their world was one of plastic and packaged food that I did not understand. While I tried, as I think every child tries to fit in with their peers, the disconnect the other children had with the Earth was baffling to me. Even today I cannot comprehend a world where I didn’t know where things come from.

It’s in this way that I truly feel human—that what I don’t know is an invasion to me; base and undesirable.

If I were without monetary or time limitations, I’d protect the things that are good to me. In all likelihood this would mean buying up wilderness land for preservation around the world. The Nature Conservancy has the right idea in this one—political reform is great, but if you own the land your say over it is more persuasive. And it gives you time to make that necessary reform, another buffer within which the wilderness can be preserved. If I could funnel money into the educational system I think the positive impact worldwide would be great. With knowledge comes power—and its power with a focused purpose that would make the most difference.

Then there all the small things that feel huge to me—the ability I’d suddenly have to buy up land for the more selfish purpose of finally having a home I can breathe in. More than that—I want to start an equine rescue for older cast-offs. While depressing, because you always lose some, the day-to-day routine of care of disabled horses would keep me focused and inspired. There is nothing more rewarding than taking an emaciated old soul who has given their whole life and being to a person, only be tossed out like garbage, and bringing them back from that death. I love feeling the difference as flesh grows over knotted ribs. I love watching them eat comfortably again after years of having a mouth full of sores. The slow process of re-shaping abused feet and making it comfortable to stand again is rewarding. And there is joy in watching them as they play in the field with their friends—cantering through the arthritis and grooming each other with yellowed teeth—and knowing that you played some part. And finally, the light that comes back into their eyes when they forget what despair feels like. It’s a small happiness compared to saving the world, but there are few things sweeter in life.

And eventually—for again, the law is a means to an end—getting “justice” for the abuse these horses suffered. The same abuse that so many living things are dealt without due process. Making “justice” more than just an unfathomable ideal in the court of law. Giving it precedent that will change the course of the human view of the world. Speaking up for the creatures that have no voice in society, by manipulating what holds society together piece by piece. At some point it may not matter that humanity is brutish—an enforceable set of rules might be able to contain the worst of it. I’m not even sure I would need all the money and time in the world to achieve that. With help, and probably my entire lifetime, a difference can be made. Even if the things I love only last a minute more in time because of my efforts, it would be a life well spent. It will be an upstream swim, but the things I want to fight for more than deserve. And at the very least, I won’t have a moment of boredom!

I can tell law school is going to be a blast.

What makes humans better?

I’m sick of hearing that animals can’t have rights because you like to eat them.

I have nothing against animals being eaten—humans are omnivores and are built to consume animal protein as well as a variety of other foods. What bothers me is the lack of respect for the non-human animals we keep. If anyone has seen cattle feedlots or the animals that are abused and neglected as property you know what I mean.

What is this “right” that humans intrinsically have over non-humans? I used the dictionary to clarify my terms:

Right
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English riht, from riht, adjective
Date: before 12th century
1: qualities (as adherence to duty or obedience to lawful authority) that together constitute the ideal of moral propriety or merit moral approval

2: something to which one has a just claim: as a: the power or privilege to which one is justly entitled b (1): the interest that one has in a piece of property —often used in plural (2)plural : the property interest possessed under law or custom and agreement in an intangible thing especially of a literary and artistic nature

3: something that one may properly claim as due

4: the cause of truth or justice

Let’s put each of these definitions into context. The first definition relates to phrases like “you’re right”, as in I’m correct. With no situational context given to us it’s hard to determine moral rightness. In fact, even if we did have a situation, could we really label actions that a human does as “right” outside of the laws our species imposes on us? To do the opposite and impose ideas of moral rightness on a non-human who does not share our society or concerns is anthropomorphism—the giving of human qualities to a non-human animal or vice versa (a Disney animal is anthropomorphized because it can talk, for example).

The second definition is similar, but relates to entitlement. For instance: “in the United States I have the right of freedom of speech”. Good for me! But the definition goes deeper than that by indicating that the claim must be just. Once again there is a moral stint to this word. Now what just claims does an animal have? In human society, as a human, they would have certain rights. Even the mentally retarded have some rights in some societies, so a non-human's supposed lesser intelligence cannot be what sets them apart. What sets them apart is simply that they are not human. I have no problem with this perception because I think that anthropomorphizing non-human animals does them a great disservice. What I have a problem with is the idea that not human somehow means that they have no inherent rights.

The last two definitions are variations on the theme. But I would like to point out something interesting about the wording in the third definition: “Something that one may properly claim as due”. I think this is where you could argue that non-human animals don’t have rights—it’s because they can’t properly claim their dues, because, of course, they can’t speak human. I would argue against that by saying that non-human animals have a lot to tell us in their own ways, but most humans do not bother to notice. And how can they? The animals they see are wrapped in cellophane long before they are grilled and washed down with cold beer. Or they live in our houses, with us, as pets. And pets have been domesticated—they have adapted to living with humans—so the gap in communication should be even less. But is it? There is strong evidence that our domesticated animals have evolved means to communicate better with their humans— for instance both dogs and cats have become more vocal then their wild counterparts. I think we have the means inside us to communicate more intimately with animals, especially with our domesticated partners, but social standards prevent most of us from doing so. It’s the idea that they are somehow less important, with no natural rights, that seems to lead people to this conclusion. Non-human equals no rights. Its how Western culture has raised us (I can’t speak for cultures I don’t belong to, but from what I’ve seen and hear this is a culturally universal trait).

So why don’t animals get respect? Why does abuse and neglect happen and go unpunished? Why do we use non-human animals like they are things? Go ahead and argue that humans have to look out for their own—I will counter right back and say that, if that’s true, then why are we better than non-humans? If that was the case then we are selfish, shortsighted, and blind to the world around us. I have heard these traits attached to non-humans as a reason that they are not better than us. And honestly, can we even attach these traits to anyone without knowing them and their motives?

The argument that they are less intelligent is also faulty. The mentally retarded are less intelligent and human-centric folks will still argue that they have as much value as an intelligent individual. Also—we are anthropomorphizing again when we say they are less intelligent. Yes, you can argue that they have less of the human-type of intelligence. Good for them! But I bet I don’t have any wolf-intelligence or centipede-intelligence. There are quite a few things that these species excel at that I haven’t a hope of puzzling through even with my huge brain. I could even bring in example of non-humans that DO seem to have a type of intelligence comparable to a human. I knew someone with a scarlet macaw who could not only speak English, but knew a supposition from a noun from a verb. He would correct or puzzle over the way this woman’s six year old stepdaughter spoke because she wasn’t very proper. How did he learn this? His owner was an English teacher and writer, who would read her work out to him and self-correct things out loud. He was a fast learner. He also could differentiate himself from the crowd (I think all mammals and birds, at the very least, can do this). Once, while his owner was cooking he asked “Sammy help stir?” and when his owner approved he flew down to help stir the pasta with his beak. So Sammy could bridge the gap, and that’s amazing. But non-human animals are bridging that gap all the time and most people aren’t aware of it.

I personally know that non-human bird and mammals at least (I don’t have in depth experience with other groups) are more complex emotionally than any human.

But it shouldn’t be an issue of who is better in any respect. Every species, every individual, has their strengths and their weaknesses. Who should have intrinsic rights? Every individual—no matter what race, religion, gender or species should have the ability to live well. And by living well I don’t mean not being eaten—that’s a natural life process. What I do mean is that you should have the ability to fight or flee when the threat of being eaten is upon you. Or have land to roam and unpolluted greens to eat. Basically to live within you realm of choices, and have your realm of choices include what’s natural for you. A house cat will probably want to live in a house and be fed two meals a day. Sammy, the scarlet macaw, was born and raised in captivity. But because macaws are not domesticated, if he had been born in the wild his forest home may have been natural for him. He might have flourished there but been devastated if captured to be a pet. There are so many situations that we impose on non-humans that they can’t adapt too. A wolf cannot live in a cage and eat cellophane-meat. His choices in that situation do not include what is natural. And natural is good.

I understand non-humans in a way: I don’t live within a sphere that’s natural for me. But I DO have the choice to pursue what is good for me. It’s a struggle, and who knows if I will get their in the end, but at least I have the right.

Why I ride—the selfish version of events.

There’s something really fantastic about the way horses smell. I love pressing my face into my horse’s side and drawing in a deep breath. The smell of her calls up visions of sweeping grass, wet dirt and the sheen of clean sweat on her body as she runs. This memory-connection I have in my brain sends a shiver of delight down my spine every time. Those smells, sights, sounds and the feeling of a powerful steed moving underneath you are all behind my associations of "freedom".

I first felt "free" on the back of a horse. It was a moment when we were running and something clicked inside me: I could feel that equine power coursing through ever sinew and muscle of my body, energizing me. That feeling of physical ease and confidence is something I can never get in my own awkward human body. I get the feeling that horses live closer to the earth (and further from it) than any human ever could. And it’s an addiction. Those of us who ride for this reason—the search for being complete and connected —don’t get this feeling every time we ride. But that does not mean we stop searching for it. It's one of the reasons I ride Dressage, which at the sport's best, focuses on rider-horse connection. And when we do have those moments it makes our lives better from that moment forward.

For me there are some individuals in which this feeling is easy to find. There was one horse whom I knew in two different situations—one in the Trinity Alps, and one in this sordid dust-choked town in central California. She was nothing special to look at and had no competitive talents, but she knew me intimately from the moment I climbed on her big broad back. As romanticized as that sounds, a horse that knows you isn’t going to do everything you ask with the lightest touch. This horse was lazy and as stubborn as she was smart—not difficult to ride, just difficult to understand and get fine-tuned control out of her.

Now, there were days when I was deep in the hole, feeling like the world was pressing me down so that I squished into the cracks in the concrete, in which I could hop on this particular horse and fly away. It wasn’t allowed, but I would close my eyes, give her a loose rein, and she would canter on and on. The steady drum of her hooves and the movement of my own body in concert with her would free me from all my hurt.

Horses ground me and lift me up simultaneously. The smell of their sweaty bodies and the sound of the muffled shrunch of them eating their hay, reminds me of better days when I could see the world with the same clarity that a horse does. My horse reminds me that when things are bad and I can't take one breath without anxiety filling my lungs I need to just stop and be a horse.

Someday I will have land, and on that land I will make a place for the horses. Not just for my horse, who is going to be with me for the remainder of her natural life, but for other horses that need help being horses again because of the abuse and neglect they have suffered under human hands. We humans are not humane, but I think I can help heal some of the damage my fellows have done on the non-human people we consider property. Horses are complex creatures—socially, physically and mentally. But what they want is the same as any person — to be healthy, to have friends, to have food, water and space to run. In other words: freedom.