Need a Breath of Fresh Air? Two Words: Sea Puppies.

It’s been a rough week–hell, it’s been a rough year. Fellow humans are fighting for their lives, both in hospitals and on the streets in the wake of the brutal murder of George Floyd. And we’ve gotten our first glimpse inside a factory farm that was forced to mass-exterminate pigs because of slaughterhouse shutdowns due to workers contracting COVID-19.

I’ve spent the week trudging through the desolate headlines, taking action for our Black family and friends where I can, and soaking up tips to become a better ally. As an animal advocate, I must also be a human advocate. Animal oppression is rooted in the same oppressive system that kills Black and Brown people, and our work won’t be done until we’ve addressed all of it.

Over the last few months as the world seems to be topping down around me–and especially now–it’s been hard to find a time to write an inspiring story about animals that feels meaningful. So I’ve stagnated in my writing while waging on with other forms of social justice activism.

The truth is that there’s not going to be that perfect moment, as the flaws in our society keep bubbling up to the surface: cruel factory farms and slaughterhouses that serve as breeding grounds for disease and keep farmers and workers trapped in an exploitative cycle, systemic racism etched into the fabric of the very force that’s supposed to protect citizens of all skin colors, and constant reminders that the powers-that-be care more about profits and economic activity than immigrant, elderly, non-white, poor, and animal lives.

At some point, though, I have to take a breather and find comfort in the world–if only to help refuel me to get back into battle. So, during those brief minutes, I figured we could all use a dose of snuggly puppies.

And these very special puppies happen to live in the sea.

Photo credit: Jonathan Rosenberry

Back when cruises were a thing, my friends Jonathan Rosenberry and Maureen Cohen Harrington had the opportunity to hop aboard the Holistic Holiday at Sea, an all-vegan Caribbean cruise centered on plant-based eating and wellness.

There, in the glittering teal waters, they encountered soft, cuddly beings eager to embrace them with their massive flapping wings. These beings can only be described accurately as floppy, curious, silly puppies–of the sea.

Photo credit: Maureen Cohen Harrington

Their actual name is, of course, rays, a group of cartilaginous fish comprising more than 600 species. Unfortunately, more than 500 of these species are on the IUCN Red List, threatened by human fishing.

Like all fishes, rays are remarkably intelligent, adaptable, and innovative. The behemoth manta ray, whose wingspan can reach nearly 30 feet, was documented in a 2016 study to use a mirror to check out body parts that this animal normally can’t see. Individuals were also fixated by their reflection as they furled and unfurled their horn-shaped mouth fins repeatedly. While we should take care not to use such anthropocentric measures like the use of mirrors as definitive metrics of animal intelligence, we can at least appreciate these results as fascinating yet limited glimpses into complex minds we are barely beginning to understand.

Despite their clear sentience and complexity, though, these fish are violently killed by the thousands for human food and medicine–often even being cut apart into pieces while still conscious because their enormous bodies don’t fit onto boats.

But perhaps such research can lead us to reassess our propensity for ripping these rays–and other fish–en masse from their oceanic homes. In response to the 2016 study, a student blogger at the University of Washington wrote, “If manta rays are self-aware, what about other fish and shark species? Have we been underestimating them all along? For years humans vainly believed we were the only ones with higher-order intelligence. Maybe it is time to take a step back and give our wild counterparts more credit.”

Photo credit: Jonathan Rosenberry

Close to my home, another fight has been unfolding for the past several years over the much smaller cownose ray. Every May, these gentle rays migrate to the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland, where females give birth to a single live pup after an 11-month-long gestation period.

As the rays arrive to labor over their long-awaited newborns, fishermen armed with arrows lurk, preparing for an annual killing contest. They don’t discriminate, often shooting pregnant rays and babies alike. Until three years ago.

In 2017, Maryland Governor Larry Hogan signed a bill into law placing a moratorium on the savage killing contests through July 2019, during which time the Maryland Department of Natural Resources (DNR) was to develop a ray management plan.

Yet the DNR failed to do so in time, necessitating further protection for cownose rays upon the expiration of the moratorium. Thus, activists from the Save the Rays Coalition banded together and successfully achieved an extension on the moratorium until a management plan is created.

But it’s been a full year, and there’s still no sign of a more permanent ban on cruel ray killing contests. It’s time to demand that cownose rays are shielded once and for all from being mercilessly hunted as part of a twisted competition.

Even amidst multiple national crises, sea puppies have managed to warm my heart ever so slightly. Join me in making sure they’ll have a safe harbor in the waters of our Bay for years to come.

Petition closed with 226 signatures.

Puppy from Na'alehu - The Every Animal Project

The Pup from Na’alehu

It was late one evening in the spring of 2015 as a carload of us–my wife, Rachel, and I, along with two friends–were making the long trip back from Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park to my parents’ home in the Ka’u District halfway around the Big Island. We’d just hit a straight stretch of road outside of the quaint town of Na’alehu when my eye caught a glimpse of a small white blob slinking along the right-of-way. I slammed on the brakes, feeling fortunate in the aftermath that we were the single car on the road.

The white blob was barely bigger than a coconut with two pointed ears, one hopelessly failing to stay upright. We quickly scooped this young pup up, inhaling a scent reminiscent of death and risking a major onslaught of fleas. We couldn’t leave him, so young and vulnerable. There was one option. We’d come to visit my parents in their newfound retirement for just two weeks, and apparently, we had forgotten to bring a gift. This wormy and homeless pup would have to do. We drove onward as I played out the scenario that was to unfold in my mind.

You can’t seem to go anywhere without picking up a dog, they sighed, just as I’d imagined.

Pup from Na'alehu - The Every Animal Project

The next few days were filled with howling. And poop. And more howling. And even more poop. And as I walked from my room to the shower each morning, a shark-let gnawed at my ankles until they felt raw.

It became clear that this pup had no home. But, not quite thrilled about the prospect of spending endless bright, sunny days mopping up diarrhea, my parents pledged to get him in with the local rescue and out the door as soon as possible.

Each morning, as our troupe prepared for the day’s outing, we’d turn our backs just long enough to find this pup, now named Niu (and eventually renamed Pip), sprawled out atop our backpacks and lunch coolers. At night, as Rachel rocked in an old wooden chair, he gradually ascended her torso and wrapped his tiny body around her neck. On a hike, his lanky legs failed him over the rocky terrain, so he was quickly swaddled in a makeshift sling, a.k.a Rachel’s hoodie. There wasn’t an object that couldn’t be made a bed. He just seemed to fit, always.

When Rachel and I returned to Hawai’i this month, Pip was still there. I suppose that, somehow, he had just seemed to fit his way right into our family. Not much had changed, really, except that this tiny coconut had matured into a 70-pound barrel. His howls had been upgraded to barks, and, fortunately, his bowels seemed to have been tamed. That ear, the one that always seemed to droop, had finally learned to stand tall.

For the first few days, surprisingly, Pip seemed to have no recollection of us. He hovered in corners and darted out of rooms when we came near–perhaps confirmation that his mother had been a stray. Rachel learned that she could approach him with her back turned toward him and then slowly slip a hand out for him to sniff. I tried my luck, somewhat unsuccessfully, at bribing Pip with treats; I’m sure he saw right through these thinly-veiled attempts at bonding. Sometimes I even managed a few pats on the head before he turned around and recognized me as the patter. It was hard, but inevitably, we knew our only hope was to respect his space–essentially, to leave him be.

So, ignore him, we did. Soon he began to test the waters, slowly climbing the stairs to our room and poking his head in just long enough to catch some sniffs before our eyes locked on him, and then–danger, retreat!

Near the end of our visit, all hope seemed lost. We simply weren’t going to be friends. It wasn’t meant to be. We’d admire Pip from afar; he’d stare back at us with mounting suspicions. But one day, as we sat around the table for lunch, Pip scampered between pairs of legs. A wet tongue began to brush against my knee. And it licked and licked and licked.

I wish I could say that it was all peachy keen from that point forward. It wasn’t. Pip still kept his distance; we continued to make peace offerings. Little by little, we seemed to get closer and closer. By the end of the trip, I managed to plant a kiss on his forehead. We hadn’t become best friends, but we’d started to test the friendship waters. Next time, I know he’ll be ready for us, and we for him.

P.S. If you have a dog with social or separation anxiety like Pip, check out this great guide to eliminating fear in your dog from Natural Wonder Pets. In addition to their K9 Calm formula containing organic calming herbs like chamomile and passion flower, they offer a step-by-step guide to changing your interactions with your pup to promote confidence in him. One piece of their advice that’s really worked at home (and with Pip) is to act like your departure and arrival are simply no big deal and to wait to greet your pup for several minutes after getting home. Dogs are so in-tune with their guardians that when we act like coming and going isn’t a huge ordeal, they start to take notice. For that gem and more, click here.

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