Animal Stories

Meet a 2-Year-Old Pig the Size of a Milk Jug. Where He Came from Will Shock You.

by Laura Lee Cascada, posted in Companions, Farmed Animals, Rescue

Meet Beacon. Hunched over, timid, and hardly bigger than a gallon of milk — you’d think he was just a piglet. But Beacon was two years old when he was rescued and given a chance to truly live.

He was born February 6, 2016. “That date is also the date I got married in 1996,” says his new mom, Anna Hoffman of Ohio, “which couldn’t be more of a sign that lady fate knew what she was doing bringing Beacon into my life on a date that represents dedicated, loyal, everlasting love.”

Prior to his adoption, Beacon lived in an aquarium.

Yes, a glass tank.

At just days old, he was sold to a man with good intentions but basically no knowledge on what raising a piglet would require. So when a vet told him to feed the piglet just 1/8 of a cup of food in the morning and 1/4 of a cup in the evening, that’s exactly what he did.

For two years, Beacon ate 3/8 cup of food daily and drank from a guinea pig water bottle hanging from the side of his tank.

For two years, he only knew those glass walls.

For two years, he was known as Bacon.

Anna knew that changing his name would only cause more unnecessary stress and confusion. So, she settled on a name that was quite similar phonetically, yet so deeply different at its core: Beacon, which “seemed fitting because [she] truly believe[s] he is and will continue to be a Beacon of hope and light for all unwanted, neglected fur babies out there.”

Of course, as he settled into his new home, there were many uncertainties: his fragile health, his timid personality, his future. But his new family was determined, patient, and kind. They slowly increased his feed; offered him a comfortable place to sleep; introduced him to grass and sunshine; and even provided him with a friend, their potbellied pig, Charlotte.

At two years old, Beacon should have weighed 50 pounds or more (because “teacup” pigs are not a real thing), but he was only 11 pounds — hardly 3 pounds more than a gallon of milk. His hooves were overgrown, his back was curved, and his sides were sunken in.

And such is the plight of thousands more like him, sold by breeders who say they will stay petite if you don’t “overfeed” them. But while these pigs might not weigh in at 50 or 100 pounds, it’s not because they’ve been bred to be the Chihuahuas of the porcine world.

They, quite simply, are starved. Their bellies shrivel in, and their bodies consume every ounce of body fat, desperate to stay alive. They are the faces of the “teacup” pig industry.

But, for the lucky Beacon, at 11 pounds and suddenly living a life of luxury, the only thing to do now was grow, and grow he did.

And while he grew, Beacon learned that he could snuggle. Graze. Gorge himself on apples.

He learned that he could be loved. And trust. And roll over for belly rubs.

He even learned that pools aren’t so scary.

And Beacon learned that bliss is just one butt scratch away.

Most importantly, he learned that no matter how bleak life gets, there is always hope. And now, via his Facebook page, he’s inspiring others every day with his determination, zest for life, and quirky personality to find some light in even the darkest of places — and to never let it go.

Follow Beacon on Facebook to keep up with his amazing journey as he grows, romps, oinks, and squeals with his forever family by his side. 

(Photo credits: Beacon the Piggy of Light and Hope, Anna Hoffman)

This Slaughterhouse Kills a Pig Every 5 Seconds. Soon, Many More Could Follow Suit.

by Laura Lee Cascada, posted in Farmed Animals, Investigations, Petitions

Photos courtesy of Compassion Over Killing

His name is Scott David. But in 2015, when millions laid eyes on the footage he collected inside Quality Pork Processors (QPP), one of the fastest pig-killing facilities in the country, he was known to the public only as “Jay,” an anonymous undercover investigator for Compassion Over Killing (COK).

QPP is a pilot plant for the United States Department of Agriculture’s (USDA) proposed New Swine Slaughter Inspection System, which essentially allows plants to kill pigs as fast as they want and replaces government inspectors on the kill line with employees of plants themselves–who have a vested interest in keeping the line running as fast as possible in the name of profit.

If the USDA has its way, this program will be rolled out nationwide–and we only have until May 2 to stop that from happening.

Inside QPP, Scott had a name. But they–the pigs–didn’t. And the suffering he saw is haunting: Workers, rushing to keep up with the fast pace, often dragged, prodded, and hit the terrified animals. Many weren’t stunned properly–and Scott even saw pigs regain consciousness after having their throats cut open. Yet they still moved down the slaughter line–without it ever stopping.

QPP’s Animal Welfare Supervisor even acknowledged that these pigs sometimes regained consciousness after stunning: “You want to stick them as soon as possible, otherwise they have the risk of returning …. Sometimes they come back, like zombies.”

Not much seems to have changed at QPP since Scott’s investigation. According to 2017 USDA records, this same high-speed slaughter plant was found to repeatedly be forcing pigs to move faster than normal walking speeds. The records note that the plant had even received multiple warnings about this issue during weekly management meetings.

And late last year, a Clemens Food Group slaughterhouse in Coldwater, Michigan, was quietly granted a waiver by the USDA to become the newest plant operating under this program–without the opportunity for public comment. Industry publications projected that the plant could kill 1,500 pigs every hour, but government records reveal that not even two weeks after the plant increased its line speeds, it lost “process control” and had to slow down.

Opposition to the program has even come from within the USDA itself. According to a USDA inspector who worked inside one of these plants: “On numerous occasions, I witnessed [plant employees] fail to spot abscesses, lesions, fecal matter, and other defects that would render an animal unsafe or unwholesome.” The inspector further explained that without incentive, these plant workers “don’t actually want to shut off the line to deal with problems they spot on the job. … Obviously their employer will terminate them if they do it too many times.”

And a 2013 report by the USDA’s own Office of the Inspector General stated that these “plants may have a higher potential for food safety risks,” and concluded that the “program has shown no measurable improvement to the inspection process.

After watching Scott’s footage, the USDA’s Office of Investigation, Enforcement, and Audit concluded that “evidence collected illustrated that the establishment was not in compliance with the regulations,” and stated that if the agency’s inspectors had witnessed these actions, “they would have resulted in immediate regulatory action against the plant.”

The government’s own words reinforce the need for increased government oversight of slaughter plants instead of important duties being shifted to these plants’ employees.

In 2016, 60 members of Congress wrote to the USDA, stating that the agency “has not demonstrated that its hog slaughter pilot program actually reduces contamination, and therefore illness, rates. To the contrary, the available evidence suggests the [pilot program] will undermine food safety.” 

Unfortunately, even workers are not immune to suffering in this high-speed hell. The congressional letter also highlighted a Human Rights Watch report that cited high line speeds as the greatest contributor to worker injuries in slaughter plants, already widely recognized as one of the most dangerous workplaces in America.

In a recent piece in The Guardian, Scott David appealed to the USDA: “Halting the expansion of the dangerous pilot program and bringing it to an immediate end is the only conscientious and compassionate choice for the USDA, a federal agency that has the opportunity, and the responsibility, to put animals, consumers, and workers above powerful pork industry interests.”

And this week, Scott visited the USDA in person to deliver the more than a quarter million signatures that his petition has collected against this program.

We only have one week left to stop this nationwide threat to millions of American consumers, pigs, and workers. But you can help drive home the message to the USDA that a slaughter rate of more than one pig every 5 seconds is simply dangerous and inhumane: Submit your comment by May 2!

 

These Cockatiels Found Their Paradise

by Laura Lee Cascada, posted in Companions, Rescue

It took a lot of courage to let them go. But it was easy to set them free. And if I ever doubt that it was the right thing to do, I just whisper to myself these words of the late, great Maya Angelou: “The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still, and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom.”

Her words, a metaphoric reflection on oppression, remind me that we all seek it–that elusive freedom–and few truly attain it. Yet, as Ms. Angelou once said, “The truth is, no one of us can be free until everybody is free.”

*

I was about 12 years old when a pair of cockatiels fell into my home. They’d been used as some sort of children’s educational act, but once their mysticism had faded, they had been relegated to a cage and left to their own devices.

So he, a gregarious grey and white bird with a permanent smirk deceptively etched into his feathered face, had taken to grooming her… And grooming her… And grooming her. Endlessly–until she, once a sleek white-feathered maiden, had morphed into more of a turkey, bald-headed but still irresistibly adorable.

They were soul mates, serenading one another under the sunrise every morning and huddling together for bed under the moonlight.

Then, suddenly, she was gone. Teflon, we concluded–the coating on the pan that cooked our pancakes every morning. A stray whiff of the fumes must have killed her. We hadn’t known it was poison. We were devastated.

He was devastated. He sang for her, day in and day out. A sad, shrill, eternal song–an empty song.

We had to do something, so we did what seemed logical: We drove to the pet store, and we bought another: a lone female, who had already been discarded once and returned to the store. Grey, fiery, full of sass–she was mean and miserable.

Had we known then that almost a third of wild parrot species are classified as threatened because of habitat destruction and capture for the pet trade, according to the Animal Welfare Institute, perhaps we would have done it differently. Had we known that breeders often mass-produce birds in filthy, crowded conditions much like puppy mills, perhaps we would have done it differently. Had we realized that these birds are never truly domesticated and will always be wild animals–born to fly free–yes, we just might have done it differently.

From day one, she hissed. She wanted very little to do with us. But he was a different story.

His eyes shone once more, and his song became bright again. Slowly but surely, her walls crumbled. She began to nestle up to him. And over the years, they became completely inseparable, each shining a light into the darkness that had overtaken both of their souls in the aftermath of abandonment.

But he proved that some habits die hard, as he didn’t delay in grooming her in the same way as her predecessor, replacing her shiny grey plumage with a bare pink skull.

I went to college, and I came home. And then I left again, flying off into the adult world. But they stayed. And upon my return, I always was greeted by his sweet song and that silly smile and reminded of her elegant aloofness.

The day came when it was time for my parents to make their ultimate move: to the Big Island of Hawaii. En route, tragedy struck when their beloved cockatoo, Lilah, passed away after a series of unforgivable oversights by the airline, airports, and transport company that resulted in him being denied water and food for hours on end. The guilt and loss for my family were crushing and raw. And in those moments, it was quite clear that Willie and Lucy, the bonded cockatiel pair, were not destined to follow my parents to paradise.

Back in Virginia, my wife and I had temporarily taken in the duo, alongside our menagerie of dogs, rabbits, fish, and a potbellied pig. But flight was limited in their small room, and for them, life had to be about much more than fleeting moments of flapping back and forth between the ceiling fan and their cage.

“A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky,” wrote Maya Angelou.

We had known about the nearby Project Perry, also referred to as the Central Virginia Parrot Sanctuary and supported by game show host Bob Barker, for a while. With a mission to “provide exceptional natural environments for [its] residents where they can enjoy the enrichment of flight and the togetherness of flock with excellent care provided by a dedicated team of staff and volunteers,” the sanctuary is working to tackle the massive, growing problem of unwanted captive wild birds–often rejected for being too loud, too unruly, too disruptive–essentially, too wild.

Fortunately, Willie and Lucy were accepted into the sanctuary’s selective “Lifetime of Care” program, in which they could live out the rest of their days in a beautiful aviary with dozens of companion cockatiels and parakeets and surrounded by lush greenery. And while they would not be leaving my family in spirit–we’d continue to provide financial support for their care and be able to visit whenever we liked–their physical absence still pained me.

I wept in the silence after their songs had stopped.

Yes, it took strength to leave them there, but from the moment they climbed out of the carrier and took off in flight, I knew it was where they belonged–the closest habitat to their native Australia they’d ever reach.

I continued to visit when I could, and in the months of intermission, regular text updates and photos from sanctuary founder Matt Smith never failed to light up long, dreary days and weeks. Despite all the new fish in the sea, Willie and Lucy remained a bonded pair, never venturing far from one another.

On my visits, I noticed that they stopped flying down to greet me. They often sat together, perched near the roof of the aviary, surveying their surroundings. But still, he sang that familiar song, and through it I heard peace.

It stung, but I realized they didn’t need me–and that recognition was the biggest gift I could have given them. They were free, and they thrived.

Very recently, Matt solemnly notified me that Lucy had passed away peacefully in his hands, warm and comfortable–loved. By my estimates, she would have been more than 20 years old. I sighed, and then I wept–but inside I knew: this was the perfect ending to her story.

Then I began to worry for Willie. Would that desperate song emerge once more, with sorrowful cries into the night?

But my fears were quelled when my phone buzzed and a 10-second video appeared. In it, Willie and another bird, like two schoolkids on the playground, pecked happily together at the seeds around their feet.

“Maybe he’s on a millet-eating date,” read Matt’s accompanying text.

I just laughed, and I knew then that in that aviary, Willie’s soul had finally been set free. In there, he could heal, and he could truly live.

You can help: Exotic birds need you. Head on over to Project Perry’s page to learn how you can support the sanctuary’s life-saving work!

The Red-Eyed Rat Who Stole My Heart

by Laura Lee Cascada, posted in Companions

In 2003, when I was 15, I screen-printed a t-shirt with a photo of my albino rat, Hammy, and paraded it around school. The other kids laughed, but I wasn’t fazed. I’d made a best friend–one who was a whole lot more loyal, and maybe even a little smarter, than my classmates.

It was February 8, 2003, when my mom and I entered a small family-run pet shop and began perusing the aisles. A shy little being with a wide-eyed red gaze soon caught my eye. I glanced down into the tank–a “feeder rat” tank–and that was it. This albino rat absolutely wouldn’t be left for snake food. We left with this rat, trembling in a little brown box, with its naked pink tail wrapped around its small white body. The young rat was endowed with the name Hamilton–soon shortened to Hammy when I discovered she was not a little boy, but a little girl.

My mom and I noticed pretty quickly that Hammy wasn’t healthy. She had sniffles and diarrhea and struggled to breathe. But we worked hard to nurse her to health, and in a few days’ time, she traded her fearful warning nips for loving nibbles. And by March, she’d transformed into a bouncing mischief-maker who had a knack for investigating, well, everything. There was the time I found her hunched over a box of clay red-handed, literally: She’d been snacking on the crimson earth, leaving her tiny nose and fingers stained. And then there was the day she finally surmounted my wall of shelves, like Everest, triumphing over board games and puzzles as she summited Monopoly, way up near the ceiling.

Hammy became my best friend, in those few months. And I may have been hers, too, were it not for her partner in crime, Hallie, who joined our rat pack that spring and followed Hammy wherever she went. Hallie was her sidekick, always up for adventures–and trouble.

When I came in my office–“the rat room”–each evening to study, all I had to do was call. If I called for Hallie, Hallie came running–but Hammy couldn’t be distracted from the task at hand. Only once I said her name would she come racing down from between the slinkies and Rubix cubes. Then she’d leap across the floor and scale my leg to my lap in record time. There, she’d push her nose into my hand, demanding some serious petting time. She knew when the time was right.

The world, that room, was Hammy’s to conquer. And at the end of the day, the world would know it belonged to her, as she left her mark where it mattered, as a tiny trail of pee droplets.

But the days of Hammy streaking across the floor with 8″ by 10″ sheets of paper (usually old homework assignments and quizzes) in tow came to a harrowing end in mid-June that year. One night, she was suddenly lethargic and had lost her appetite for food and water, an appetite that had once driven her to stand on her hind legs or spin in circles for tasty morsels.

At the vet’s office, we learned that Hammy was most likely suffering from Mycoplasma pulmonis, a common ratty respiratory disease. Then I remembered that illness back in February, when we’d first brought her home. She’d had it all along, lying dormant, waiting for the perfect moment to erupt back into her life–our lives.

So, Hammy had Myco, a disease for which there is no cure, a disease that stays in a rat’s body forever. A disease that I never would have predicted would come back to haunt her… to haunt me. Maybe she’d gotten it from dirty bedding in the pet store. Maybe it was even earlier, at the breeder, where rats are churned out like an assembly line of plastic dolls. Apparently, most rats carry it in the pet trade. But not all succumb to it. It seemed a cruel twist of fate.

The vet injected fluid under Hammy’s skin, much to her displeasure, and we took her home with Baytril, a pink medicine we were to give her orally twice a day.

But the following day, she had not improved in condition. As I was picking her up, petting her, trying to force a little food into her mouth and into that withering body, I noticed a little red bug on her fur: a louse. Hammy had lice. That was easy to understand: With a suppressed immune system, she was an easy target.

And I, just a teenager who’d spent countless hours with this tiny soul by my side, agonizing over history essays as she scampered over my back and burrowed up my sleeves–I was in a panic. The Myco was consuming her. I felt powerless.

Back to the vet, where Hammy weighed in at 270 grams. The same as the previous day. But she still seemed so thin, so weak. They told us they’d work their hardest to make her better, but she’d have to stay with them overnight in an oxygen tank. That way, she could breathe more easily, and they could try to get her to eat.

It was a big decision to make. I knew that if she died, she’d be alone, without me. I wanted her to be with me if–when she died. But I knew that they could do a much better job than I was equipped to do. I walked out of the vet’s office that day with tears running down my face, hoping to the powers-that-be that she would live to see more days, to explore more fields of paper and plastic wrappers.

On the drive home, I thought to myself, Never again will I buy a rat from a pet store. I had bought Hammy to save her from becoming snake bait, to prevent her suffering, to give her a new life. And she had become a happy rat, in those few cherished months we’d spent together.

But what of her replacement in that pet store tank?

I slept lightly, uneasily. On the morning of June 19, I woke up to my dad knocking on my bedroom door.

“The vet called this morning,” he said softly. “It looks like the rat… the little Hammy rat… she didn’t make it through the night.”

Today, half my life later, that little pet shop is long gone. I don’t know what became of it, or where all the animals went. It’s been many years since I’ve felt the pitter-patter of Hammy’s little hands and feet on my skin, and many animal companions have come and gone. But I still feel her little footprints on my heart, and every so often, I hear her dragging an old math assignment across the floor.

When the Wedding Favors Have Fins

by Laura Lee Cascada, posted in Companions, Rescue

White linens lined the tables, and Barbra Streisand’s voice filled the air. The banquet hall oozed with love. We paid our respects to the bright-eyed newlyweds and took our seats. And that’s when I first saw him.

The glass vase, the centerpiece of it all, confined not flowers, but fins. There he swam, in endless circles, bordered by a ring of porcelain plates and framed by shining silverware like armor.

He watched us exchange pleasantries with our tablemates, the angst-filled silence filling gaps in conversation, and the moment we awkwardly stood for the first dance. He, of course, said nothing.

As I took her hand in mind and swayed my hips to the melody, I saw them all–a dozen more like him–in their own glass jails.

Food was consumed in excess, laughs echoed from the walls, and a young child’s rendition of the Macarena was the talk of the night. Meanwhile, his eyes were opals, relics of an underwater world, captivating my own.

Guests filed out at midnight, clutching the glass vases to their chests. A dozen wedding favors, heading home. Home: a sphere of invisible walls atop a glass counter top, forever.

But he remained. His options quickly became clear: Live at the bar, a fly on the wall behind a parade of drunken sobs and sloppy kisses.

Or… Go home. With us.

The decision was made. He sloshed up and down in his bowl, gaping up at us, as we tiptoed into the night. The drive home was slow–after all, he was delicate cargo.

It wasn’t ideal, his captive life. We set him up in a respectable tank with colors, rocks, obstacles. A taste of a challenge beyond swimming the same curved path day in and day out.

He was mellow, mostly. Curious but not carefree. Bold but modest. And, as expected of a male Betta fish, he was not so fond of his own brilliant reflection.

Then, when fed, he’d get this streak, this fierceness, and he became a vibrant blue sea dragon, mightily conquering his freeze-dried food. He was braver than any human I’ve ever met.

I learned where he came from, probably: Imprisoned in a minuscule plastic bag or container with just enough water to survive. Blue-tinted water, captivating and surreal to a child’s wandering eyes–tranquilizing to him. An additive used to calm Bettas as they endure the trauma of transport over hundreds of miles to their destination: the store shelf.

Roux, as we called him, had some semblance of enrichment, our best attempt to disguise the artificiality of his habitat. But most don’t. They spend their days and months in small vases that limit their access to oxygen, which they breathe in at the water’s surface.

In stagnant water, often deprived of their natural diet of insects, they often perish.

Roux lived with us for more than a year before succumbing to illness. Burying him under our apple tree, we wiped away tears. We planted one of his neon plastic trees as a grave marker. We thought we’d done it right. He could’ve lived to be 5.

But a tank can never be a pond.

And that radiant blue hue–imprinted onto him through years of selective breeding–was never meant to be.

But on that one romantic night, at least he matched the bridesmaids’ dresses.

One Green Planet: This Dog May Have Lost His Eyes, but His Heart Just Keeps on Growing

by Laura Lee Cascada, posted in Companions, Rescue

This blog was originally posted on One Green Planet.

One thing’s quite obvious when you look at a picture of Bear the Pit Bull: He can’t see — at least, not through his eyes. At just one year of age, Bear was hit by a car and wound up at an emergency vet with severe injuries to his face. His guardian at the time was unable to afford treatment, leaving Bear’s fate hanging in the balance. Fortunately, New Jersey-based Rawhide Rescue stepped up to the plate, offering to fund Bear’s medical care if a loving family could take him in. And, luckily for Bear, one worker at that animal hospital saw beyond his disfigured eyes and into his heart.

Taking a Chance on Love

When teen Katie Frame, the daughter of that compassionate hospital staffer, first met her new dog pal, she admits that she was a bit nervous about caring for a special-needs animal. And it soon became clear that the damage was so extensive that Bear would need multiple surgeries, which would ultimately leave him eyeless.

This Dog May Have Lost His Eyes, but His Heart Just Keeps on Growing
Katie Frame
 

But Katie and her family never turned a blind eye to Bear, who, in those early days, struggled to get around and often bumped into obstacles he couldn’t see. While walking, he pressed his body up against his new family members, afraid to venture too far. Soon, however, Bear learned to “see” his environment in a new light. Katie explains, “He eventually mapped out the house in his head and he gets around easier than I thought he would.”

Shedding Light on Special Needs

Katie took to Instagram to share Bear’s journey with the world. There, Bear’s tens of thousands of followers are gifted with photos of him snoozing on the couch and sniffing out the cool autumn breeze. These images are often accompanied by insights into Bear’s daily life and how he has adapted to the world around him without eyesight.

This Dog May Have Lost His Eyes, but His Heart Just Keeps on Growing
Katie Frame
 

On Instagram, Katie explains that on walks, Bear moves from one side of a path to the other: “He’ll walk to one side and when he feels grass he starts going to the other side. People don’t really realize that a blind dog’s (or any dog’s) sense of touch is important to getting around and understanding the world.”

She’s also shared her plans to try out “nosework” — a mentally and physically stimulating activity in which Bear can use his heightened sense of smell to track down the source of a scent — with her best friend.

Katie hopes that through these snippets and photos, she will show the world that although there may be challenges to life with a special-needs animal, the rewards are boundless. She writes, “Most people see their dogs love through their eyes. I see his love through the beating of his heart … Don’t overlook the disabled pups. They can see and hear better than anyone.”

Bear Gives Back

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Bear has been his ability to inspire from the moment he walked through the door. Reflecting on her life, Katie admitted that before Bear, she wondered about her direction in life. Once Bear came into the picture, however, she felt filled with purpose. After all, what could be more motivating than a dog who, despite having no eyes, bounds into life each day, ready to navigate the world around him?

This Dog May Have Lost His Eyes, but His Heart Just Keeps on Growing
Katie Frame
 

One way Katie has channeled this inspiration is through her “Shelter Dog Sundays” on Instagram, where she shares photos and stories of other dogs in need of loving homes. Even if they can’t adopt a dog or donate to a rescue directly, Katie urges Bear’s followers to spread awareness of dogs in need of adoption. “Just don’t do nothing,” she urges, in reference to the millions of animals seeking homes every year.

About Bear, Katie concludes, “He has taught me that love is not what you see, but what you feel.” And with his enormous heart, maybe he can teach all of us to see beyond the cover and love what’s inside.

Lead image source: Katie Frame/Instagram

Esther the Wonder Pig

One Green Planet: How Esther the Wonder Pig Helped Save the Lives of 10 Pigs from North Carolina

by Laura Lee Cascada, posted in Farmed Animals, Rescue

This article was originally published by One Green Planet. (By Laura Lee Cascada)

We all know and love Esther the Wonder Pig, the “micro pig” who fell into the arms of Canadian couple Derek Walter and Steve Jenkins and then kept growing, and growing, and growing. At 650 pounds, today she fills Facebook, Instagram, and our hearts with photos of her wearing cupcake pajamas or barely fitting on the couch.

But perhaps Esther’s magic is most evidenced by her ability to spread compassion with every oink, a phenomenon her dads have termed the “Esther Effect.” And the Esther Effect is in full force over at the Facebook hub of her thousands of loyal soldiers: Esther’s Army. Kicked off in 2014 as a fundraiser for Happily Ever Esther, Steve and Derek’s haven for rescued farmed animals, Esther’s Army has evolved into an advocacy and rescue powerhouse, having helped stop pig wrestling events and find homes for hundreds of animals in need.

A Compassionate Army

This fall, Esther’s Army was faced with its biggest challenge yet, according to Monica Lynn, who spearheads the group. A couple in North Carolina had purchased 10 young pigs to raise them for food but quickly had a change of heart and could no longer envision their new porcine friends as bacon on a plate. That’s when they contacted Esther’s Army for help.

The troops answered the call, searching from coast to coast for the perfect home to keep these 10 bonded pigs together. But finding that home seemed impossible — especially because most of the pigs were Yorkshires, just like Esther herself (imagine: a combined 6,000 pounds of full-grown pigs). To top it off, the farmer and his wife were running out of funds, the pigs did not have proper shelter, and cold weather was on the horizon. If a home wasn’t found soon, according to Lynn, the pigs could have ended up on the chopping block.

Esther the Wonder Pig
Photo by Courtney Zawisa

Just in time, Esther’s Army’s pleas were finally heard by Lorelei and Ron Pulliam of Ranger’s Refuge, a sanctuary in Virginia for over 150 pigs. But Ranger’s Refuge — in the midst of its own fundraising efforts to move to a larger property — had reached capacity, filled with discarded former “teacup” pigs. Fortunately, the Pulliams had recently helped Debbi Torres of Moyock, North Carolina, establish her own budding sanctuary, Over the Rainbow. Torres had five empty, grassy acres and a barn, but to foster these 10 pigs until Ranger’s Refuge was ready, she would need the help of an army.

On October 5, a shockwave rippled through the ranks, as news broke internationally of an overturned pig truck at a slaughterhouse outside Toronto. Locals from the advocacy group Toronto Pig Save gathered in vigil, awaiting the fate of the survivors. On the scene were Esther’s dads Steve and Derek, who offered up their sanctuary to no avail. None of the pigs were spared.

In the midst of tragedy, Esther’s Army couldn’t give up hope for the pigs in North Carolina. So the army sprang into action once more, raising over $2,500 for the pigs’ care within 24 hours. Then, the next hurdle presented itself: transporting 10 pigs across the state to their new home. That task piqued the interest of one particular soldier, Wikolia “Vikki” Sgro-Konopka of Virginia Beach, who had been left feeling hopeless in the aftermath of the October 5th crash. Piecing together a transport team helped restore Vikki’s faith in Happily Ever Afters — erm, Esthers.

A New Home for the Pigs 

On a cool fall evening, a small crowd gathered to welcome the pigs to their new home. As the gates to the trailer opened, we all finally set eyes on 10 wide-eyed pigs huddled together. This time, it took just a small army to encourage them to set foot on solid ground. “If they don’t want to do something, they’re not gonna do it, no matter what. It has to be their idea,” said Torres, chuckling, of the infamously stubborn beings.

Esther the Wonder Pig

 But they made it off that trailer, and today, Bonnie, Clyde, Anita, Andrea, Krista Lynn, Rob, Derek, Jenny Bee, Tom, and Steve can be found chasing each other through the fields and exchanging curious glances with Spot, their 1,000-pound friendly neighbor.

Esther the Wonder Pig

The pigs’ journey isn’t quite over, as the Pulliams push forward with their urgent fundraiser to bring these — and the rest of their pigs — home forever. But for now, says Debbi Torres, “I just wanna love my pigs and see ’em all happy and munching on grass and rolling in the mud.”

And, thanks to Esther’s Army, the next Happily Ever Esther may be just around the corner.

Mr. Bagel - The Every Animal Project

This Little Furball Is on a Big Mission

by Laura Lee Cascada, posted in Companions, Rescue

(Story by Laura Lee Cascada / Photographs by Steve Byun, @chinnybuddy)

Mr. Bagel - The Every Animal ProjectThis ball of fluff is Mr. Bagel. Despite how it looks, he’s not a gargantuan field mouse from some alternate universe of adorable creatures with big eyes and even bigger ears. He’s a chinchilla from regular old planet Earth.

But before you run out to your local pet shop and scoop up a chinchilla of your own, Mr. Bagel has a word of advice for you: Stop!

Over the last decade, unwanted chinchillas have filled shelters from coast to coast, an unfortunate consequence of those cartoonish ears and bushy tails, which lure children in until boredom sets in and their pet is cast aside in favor of a new sparkly rainbow unicorn.

Horror stories abound on the Internet, such as the tale of a chinchilla who was accidentally sat on by his child guardian and that of his replacement, who was fed such a poor diet that she took to biting out her own fur.

Mr. Bagel is one of the fortunate chins–rescued about 8 years ago in San Francisco and currently living out his days in style with his guardian, Steve Byun, in Southern California. Steve reports that Mr. Bagel enjoys the run of the house, but of course, never fails to make his way back to the cage to do his business.

Truth is, like any companion animal, chinchillas require specialized care and years of devotion. Their diet must be filled with chewable delicacies to wear down their ever-growing teeth–which can actually grow at a rate of up to a foot per year!  And don’t dare throw them in the tub for a rinse-off, which can leave them sick with matted fur.  Rather, chinchillas prefer to bathe desert-style–in lots and lots of dust.

Over the last several years, Mr. Bagel has become not just the star of his own household, but also of the Internet. Through his Instagram page and other social media channels, Mr. Bagel (via Steve’s photography skills) shares his life. There, you’ll find dozens upon dozens of photos of his feathery tail and heart-melting eyes–along with a few of him clutching a tiny chinchilla-sized shopping cart or donning a wizard hat.

Boo! #MrBagel #chinchilla

A photo posted by Mr. Bagel the Chinchilla (@chinnybuddy) on

He even has his own online shop. Because who wouldn’t want a bagel with their coffee?  And Mr. Bagel will never forget his roots, as a portion of proceeds goes back to helping homeless chinchillas.

Mr. Bagel Says No to Fur - Every Animal ProjectBefore you go, Mr. Bagel has one last message for you. Winter’s just around the corner, which means it’s nearly time to break out the winter coats. Chinchillas are known to have the softest fur you’ll ever touch, which means, you guessed it, chinchilla fur coats. But it can take up to 150 of these little puff balls to churn out one fur coat, and that process is reminiscent of a horror film whose protagonists are hundreds of thousands of gentle beings who look like they should be starring in a warm and fuzzy Pixar children’s movie instead. But on factory fur farms, these guys are confined to tiny wire cages and driven mad before being violently killed for their fur.  It’s a far cry from Mr. Bagel’s luxurious estate.

So let’s all say “no” to fur this year and instead indulge ourselves with this photo of Mr. Bagel napping atop a stuffed animal–along with over 1,000 other gems right here.

How #MrBagel deals with Monday’s 🐭💤 #chinchilla

A photo posted by Mr. Bagel the Chinchilla (@chinnybuddy) on

 

Monarch Caterpillars - The Every Animal Project

Why Are Millions of These Caterpillars So Hungry?

by Laura Lee Cascada, posted in Wildlife

(By Laura Lee Cascada / Photos by Alysoun Mahoney)

These caterpillars sure are hungry. And they’ve struck gold, munching their way through an all-you-can-eat milkweed buffet. But many others aren’t so lucky.

On a beautiful plot of land in Virginia, these two were seen plumping themselves up, preparing to blossom into the striking orange-and-black butterflies we know as monarchs. And after emerging in adult form, they, along with tens of millions of others, are likely embarking on a long flight down to Mexico this month. Monarchs, the only species of butterfly that completes a round-trip migration like birds do, use air currents and thermals to navigate the arduous journey. In Mexico, among forests of oyamel fir trees, they will spend winter, conserving their energy for the long migration–often thousands of miles–back home to the eastern United States in early spring so that they can lay their eggs.

If they can lay their eggs.

This summer, the Chicago Tribune reported that monarch butterfly populations were continuing to spiral downward, as they have for the last 20 years. And Karen Oberhauser, co-chair of Monarch Joint Venture and a University of Minnesota professor, noted that this year’s monarch numbers seemed to be only half those of last year. But why?

Monarch Caterpillars - The Every Animal ProjectThere simply isn’t enough milkweed to go around. Milkweed provides crucial nutrition for growing larvae–caterpillars–and it’s the only plant on which female monarchs can lay their eggs. Without it, monarchs are doomed.

Since the mid-1990s, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture, the use of herbicide-tolerant soy and corn crops has grown so much that they now comprise nearly 90 percent of all agricultural area. With the increase in such crops comes greater herbicide use by farmers, in turn decimating milkweed plants that had taken root between endless rows of cornstalks.

So it’s no surprise that area of the winter safe haven occupied by monarchs has been shrinking since the mid-1990s, as well–once at 45 acres, and in 2014, not even 3 acres, according to the World Wildlife Fund.

But a growing movement of monarch enthusiasts is working hard to buck this trend, creating vital milkweed habitat for the vibrant butterflies. In 2013, as part of this national effort, Virginia resident Alysoun Mahoney–whose home has provided refuge over the years for dogs, cats, and even her three rescued horses–started planting milkweed around her property. The monarchs immediately took advantage of the open-house invitation and moved right in.

This year, Alysoun reported seeing a female monarch each day for 10 consecutive days in August on a single cluster of milkweed plants right outside her kitchen window. Later in the month, there were dozens of eggs and even some caterpillars. By September, there were dozens of caterpillars, who then demolished the leaves on those plants. Alas, a food shortage seemed inevitable.

Monarch Butterfly - The Every Animal ProjectAlysoun notes that generally, she prefers to “provide appropriate habitat and then let Mother Nature take over from there.” But this time, she “couldn’t help but tinker with Mother Nature just a tiny bit.” She quickly cut some milkweed stalks from a nearby field and watched as the caterpillars took over their new food supply within a matter of hours.

So Alysoun continued looking after them for several days, replenishing their milkweed meals as needed until they entered the pupal stage, just days or weeks away from metamorphosing into full-fledged monarch butterflies.

Now, with Mexico on the horizon, we bid these–and millions of other–young monarchs bon voyage and farewell, and hope that when they return, they’ll be met with fields abounding with milkweed. You can help these majestic butterflies complete their journey and bring the next generation of monarchs into the world by planting milkweed in your own community.*

*If you have companion animals, please use caution in selecting locations to plant your milkweed, as it can be quite toxic if ingested.

Teddy - Wags 4 Hope - The Every Animal Project

This Shaggy Dog Beat Heartworms–Now the Art He Inspired Is Saving Others Like Him

by Laura Lee Cascada, posted in Companions, Rescue

(By Laura Lee Cascada / Photographs by Annie Blumenfeld)

Annie Blumenfeld - Wags 4 Hope - The Every Animal Project
Annie Blumenfeld with dog, Teddy

Meet Teddy. Four years ago, he bounded into Connecticut teen Annie Blumenfeld’s life and changed it forever. Now, in 2016, Teddy spends his days watching chickens and roosters peck around the neighborhood, eagerly awaiting his next adventure with each walk and car ride. He lives a life of luxury, preferring to take his water from a glass–with plenty of ice cubes, thank-you-very-much.

But before his happily-ever-after, Teddy’s story was bleak. In a shelter in Texas, this shaggy, tail-wagging dog was slated to be euthanized because he had tested heartworm-positive, plagued with a serious parasitic infection of the heart, lungs, and surrounding vessels–all because somewhere along the way, he hadn’t received a simple monthly preventative. As the cost of treating heartworm disease can range from $600 to $2,000 (compare that with the cost of prevention, often equalling out to just a few cups of coffee each month), the only option for many overwhelmed, underfunded shelters like Teddy’s is a final, irreversible one: death.

Fortunately, just days before that fateful walk, Teddy was scooped up by Houston Shaggy Dog Rescue (warning: click the link, and be prepared to be overwhelmed with adorable pictures of furry mops with bright pink tongues and barely-visible eyes). His treatment began right away: over a month of cage confinement as an arsenic-based poison flowed through his system. As dying heartworms are dislodged from the heart area, excessive movement can cause fatal blockages of arteries. So dogs must remain still, giving their bodies time to break down the parasites. This treatment period can be grueling, leaving dogs feeling lethargic, feverish, and coughing. But Teddy survived it.

Now, meet Annie. When she learned of the painful process Teddy had to go through before he could join his loving family, her heart broke. Annie did some research and found out that animals with heartworm disease rarely stand a chance in shelters because of the high cost and length of treatment. Around that time, a piece of her art, a painting of a sheepdog, was featured in a local art show. There, a woman approached her and asked to buy the piece–and if she could paint other dogs. The wheels of 14-year-old Annie’s clock started turning. She became a teen on a mission.

Wags 4 Hope - The Every Animal ProjectAnnie thus founded Wags 4 Hope, a 501(c)(3) organization dedicated to spreading awareness of heartworm disease and relieving the burden of shelters’ veterinary bills. To fulfill her mission, Annie sells custom-painted portraits of dogs, cats, and even the occasional pig and then donates the proceeds to shelters and rescue groups all over the world. And to help spare other dogs from the horrors that her dog, Teddy–and others who are not so lucky–endured, she speaks out about the importance of heartworm prevention in big and small ways.

Her efforts recently paid off in one gigantic way at the Connecticut State Capitol, where Annie worked with lawmakers and rallied citizens for over a year to pass H.B. 5422, a bill that would add a checkbox onto Connecticut’s dog-licensing application for guardians to indicate whether their dog is on heartworm prevention. While not mandating the use of a heartworm preventative, the bill aimed to raise awareness of the disease and prompt guardians to look into this easy step to protect their dogs.

On the first go-round, the bill failed to pass. But Annie persisted with Teddy and hundreds of citizens by her side, and Connecticut became the first state with a heartworm awareness message on its dog license form. The Department of Agriculture ordered 100,000 copies of the form, which is available statewide and online.Wags 4 Hope - The Every Animal Project Annie has now set her sights even higher, hoping that other states will follow suit.

Today, after four years, Wags 4 Hope’s art continues to make waves and raise money for shelter animals online, where its Facebook page has garnered over 6,000 likes (help it get to 7,000!). Annie’s even recently launched a line of chic clothing featuring her artwork in partnership with Vida. You can become a part of Annie’s vision by visiting the Wags 4 Hope website and supporting her work.

In the meantime, Teddy’s story marches on, proving day after day that one dog–and his inspirational human–can change the world.