PETA Hypocrisy

     I read the article PETA's Dirty Secret and I have to say " WOW." I admit i've never been a big PETA fan, but it seems like things have gotten pretty ridiculous. For those of you who might not know what PETA is, it's an organization that protests against pretty much anything related to restricting animals in any way. It stands for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. From just the name, it doesn't sound like anything bad but what I read in this article definitely proves otherwise.
     The passage said that PETA, while also protesting against the 'inhumane' treatment of animals by farmers, anglers, restaurant owners, ect., was recieving and putting to death thousands of animals. The article even provided a nifty little chart showing the amount of animals recieved, euthanized, or adopted out for each year. In 2009 alone, the organization took in 2,366 companion animals. Of those, only 8 were adopted out. Approximately 2,301 of them were put to sleep.
     I'm not going to pretend that I understand what these people are thinking because, truthfully, I have no earthly idea. Being an animal lover, I am extremely saddened by the enormity of those numbers. I don't understand how members can sit there and say that anybody that chains up their animal or eats meat is unmoral and unfit to be an owner, when they are slaughtering countless animals without any reasonable justification. Their reasoning, as said by PETA president Ingrid Newkirk, is that taking care of the animals costs a lot more than killing them. She was also quoted saying," We could become a no-kill shelter immediately." My thinking is that if they can afford to be a no-kill organization, why haven't they?
     Now don't get me wrong. I am not saying that euthanization is completely wrong, because I believe that sometimes it is the best option if an animal is suffering. On the other hand, I don't think that the killing of perfectly healthy animals has any justification worth listening to. In my mind, euthanization should be an absolute last resort; something to relieve the pointless suffering of a terminally ill companion.
     PETA is supposedly for animal rights, yet it doesn't seem that 'animal rights' has anything to do with the animals' welfare. I would like to know how some of these people can live with themselves knowing that they are commiting this horrible form of hypocrisy. So maybe we should all think twice about believing what we hear, because what we hear may not be anything like what is actually happening.

My Short Life

The year was 1943. Times were hard and life was tough. Surviving was hard enough for one, let alone someone trying to provide and care for a whole family. Those were the times of World War II and no one was left unaffected by it. Times like this, it seemed cruel to introduce a new child into the world. Yet, on December 28, I was born. My family was very poor and realistically could not afford to care for a child, but they did the best with what they had. Medical care was virtually non-existent and even if there happened to be a doctor in the middle of rural Arkansas, my family wouldn’t have been able to pay for it. Even so, I came out kicking and screaming. I was a healthy baby boy of 8 pounds and 5 ounces, with beautiful blue eyes and sand-colored blond hair. The first moment that I opened my eyes, I knew that I was loved and that my mother and father would keep me safe. My mother cuddled me close to her, wrapped me in her warm blanket,

“Welcome to the world, John Michael. We love you so much, our precious miracle.” she whispered softly.

Her voice instantly stopped my fussing, and I let my gaze slowly wander across the room. My eyes found my father, the strong, poised man who appeared unmoved if not for the small smile on his face and the tears of joy and pride in is eyes. My eyes met his and then I knew that I loved him and would always love him no matter what lied ahead. He crossed the room slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. My mother gently placed me into my father’s arms. The last thing I heard before I drifted off to sleep was my father quietly humming a soothing song. The next few weeks were pretty uneventful. When I was about two months old, the trouble began. My mother walked into my room and as she held me, I heard her softly cough. I don’t think that she wanted my father to know she was coughing for fear that he would worry about her so much that he would end up sick himself. She couldn’t hide it for long though because as time progressed, her cough got worse and worse. I could see the worry and fear in my father’s eyes the day that he came to give me a bottle instead of Mom. Day after day, I could hear her coughs through the paper thin walls of our little home. The coughs sounded harsher and more painful. I didn’t envy my father the sight of my mother because I knew that it must be horrific. I heard her scratchy voice complaining about how she never got to see her own child and hold him in her arms. Eventually the coughing subsided and she thought she was well enough to be able to see me but my father insisted she not because he thought that she might still spread the virus even though she seemed better. After two weeks of not being able to see me at all, I guess it became too much for her. That night, after my father had already fallen asleep, she snuck into my room and took me into her arms. I reveled in the joy of getting to see her. She stayed with me until early morning but had to leave before my dad woke up. She visited every night and everything seemed fine...until I began coughing. I couldn’t control it and it caused a searing agony in my chest. My mother admitted to my father that she had been secretly visiting me and, though he was angry, he understood and didn’t blame her. My mother had gotten over the sickness and they hoped that I would recover too. But an infant’s immune system is not strong and the influenza raging through my body was. My cough got worse and soon the fever began. My parents tried all of the home remedies, the honey and herbs for the cough and sore throat, and cold compresses for the fever, but none of  them had anything but a temporary affect. The cough always came back and the fever was a constant thing. It hurt to move. It hurt to cry. Yet, it also hurt to do nothing but lay there. I felt trapped inside my own burning, aching body. Somewhere in the middle of the sickness, I had lost hope of getting better. Even though I was extremely young, only three months old, I understood that I wasn’t going to beat this. My parents must have realized this too, but they did what they could to make me comfortable. They gave me herbs to dull the pain and never left my side. I was not near old enough to talk or move very well, but I hope that they understood that I loved them and wouldn’t take back any of the time I had spent with them even if I could have. Most people don’t think that babies comprehend anything, but actually that is not true. I understood a lot of things. I couldn’t express or show that I knew anything, but I did know. I knew that my mother and father loved me and always would. I knew that they tried their best to protect me. But I also knew that my short life was already coming to an end. I fought past the intense pain and coughing fits and looked up at my parents. I looked each of them in the eyes and tried to make them see that this was the time for goodbye. I think that my message must have gotten across because both of them had tears running down their faces. My mother picked me up and said her final goodbye.

“ I love you my sweet, innocent child and I always will. You will forever have a place in my heart and I hope that one day I will see you again.” she told me as  she passed me to my father, loud, broken sobs unleashing themselves as she did. My father stared into my eyes and I grabbed his large finger with my tiny hand. He did not speak. He did not have to. We simply stared into each others’ eyes; the large man and his infant son that would not live to be a man. In those moments, I didn’t feel anything but love for my family. Right then, on March 6, 1944, I simply closed my eyes and sank into sweet, painless oblivion.

Compare/Contrast Essay

There are many similarities and differences between the folklore of different cultures. I read three different stories with each one being from a different culture. My stories were from American, Mexican, and Native American cultures. The American story appeared to be created mostly in order to entertain the reader, while the other two seemed to teach a life lesson to the reader.
    The first story was derived from American culture and was called You Can’t Get Out. It took place in a town or city somewhere in America. To be more specific, it mostly took place in an open grave in a cemetery. The protagonist was the town drunk who was stumbling home after the bar closed and somehow found himself wandering through the graveyard. All of a sudden, the ground “opens up” in front of him and he falls into an empty grave. There, he hears something calling his name and sees a mysterious figure through the darkness. The scary figure then says “you can’t get out” and move closers and the drunk gets terrified and jumps six feet straight up into the air, grabs the side of the hole, and scrambles out. He then runs home as fast as he can in his drunken state of mind, leaving the antagonist, the strange figure, in the hole. Little did he know, the scary mystery man was actually just his neighbor, Charlie, who had fallen into the hole earlier. The theme of the story seems to be that you shouldn’t let fear overwhelm and conquer you.
    The second story was of Mexican culture and was called The Legend of the Poinsettia. It took place on a dusty dirt road in Mexico. The protagonist, Pepita, and her cousin Pedro are on the way to a festival where they are supposed to present a gift at an alter. Pepita is distraught and worrying about what she will do because she is poor and doesn’t have anything to present. Pedro tells her that even the most humble gift, if given in love, is acceptable. Feeling a little better, Pepita decides to fashion a bouquet out of some weeds from the side of the road, since that is all that she can afford to do. They go to the festival and Pepita lays her gift on the alter. As soon as she lays it there, the ugly weeds, transform into a bunch of beautiful red blooms. This is supposedly how the Poinsettia got its name. The theme of this story is that it isn’t how big of a gift you give, but your intentions behind giving the gift that matters.
    The third and final story was Native American folklore and was named Coyote and Wishpoosh. This story takes place at a lake in an unspecified place. The antagonist, Wishpoosh, is a giant monster beaver that tries to scare all of the animal people away from the lake where it lives. The protagonist, Coyote, is one of the animal people. He gets fed up with how his people are being treated and decides to kill Wishpoosh. He goes down to the lake and does not leave and when Wishpoosh came to confront him, he threw his spear at the monster, hitting him in the side. Wishpoosh then dragged him into the lake, where they fought and thrashed around. Coyote was losing the battle so he transformed himself into a tree limb and got eaten by the beaver. Then, while in the belly of the beast, he transformed back into a human and used a knife to kill the beaver from the inside out. I believe that the theme to this grotesque story is that there is nothing too big to overcome if you believe that you can do it and never give up.
    There are many different cultures that all have varying types of folklore. All of the different cultures seem to try to achieve different goals in their folklore. The American story seemed to be mainly about entertaining the reader, while the stories from Mexican and Native American culture seemed to be aimed more at teaching the reader an important life lesson. Even though all of the different folklore stories were made to accomplish different things, they all are equally important to their individual cultures.

Behind Those Eyes

  I've listened to the band 3 Doors Down for a while now and there's one song that has kind of stuck with me. I looked up the lyrics to the song Behind Those Eyes and realized just how true the lyrics are. In my opinion, this song accurately describes what it feels like to be lied to by someone that you care about. It shows not only how it feels when you know you're being lied to, but also the aftermath left behind when it is over. 
  The song says in the beginning, "You said 'I've got somthing to say', then you got that look in your eye. 'There is something you've got to know'. You said it as you started to cry. 'I've been down the wrong road tonight and I swear i'll never go there again.' I've seen that face once before and I don't think I can do this again". I love this quote because it depicts some of what may be felt when you know that somebody is lying to you and yet, refuses to tell you the truth, even when they know that you know that they have been lying to you. It shows the exhaustion, both mental and emotional, that is caused by the constant battle going on between the liar and the person being lied to.
  Somewhere toward the end of the song, it states:"You say that you're sorry and you say now that it hurts you the same. Is there something here to believe or is it just another part of the game?" To me, this shows that not only is the lie itself hurtful, but the damage that it leaves in its wake is something that does not go away for a long time. From experience, being lied to destroys all of the trust that is had for the person that lies. Everything they say from then on is questioned as to whether or not they are telling the truth, or just telling yet another lie.
  All in all, this is a great song that really speaks a great truth. Many songs have great meaning, you just have to listen carefully and try to decipher it. Behind Those Eyes by 3 Doors Down is a song that I feel many people could improve upon themselves by listening to.

Here are the lyrics to the song: http://www.metrolyrics.com/behind-those-eyes-lyrics-3-doors-down.html

Could've Waited a Lifetime For a Moment Like This

I feel the soft breeze on my face and smell the woods that surround us. These are things that I would normally enjoy any day but this one. I've known this day was coming for a while now, but that definitely doesn't make it any easier to bear. I stare blankly at the trees while I sip my Mountain Dew and try to concentrate on the slight burning sensation of it sliding down my throat. I'm working to concentrate on anything except the hushed cries and agonized whispers coming from inside the house. My cousin and I were both silent as we sat side by side on the swings. I couldn't make myself break the somber silence between us. We both know what is happening in the house. To me, time seems to stand still, though I know that life is still going on by the chatter of the birds in the trees and the gentle swaying of the flowers in the garden. I try to imagine life without Grandma Frankie, though I come up blank because she has always played such a vital part in my life. The world is losing one of its few, truly great people today. The bright sun shining down through the treetops and the smooth, cool feeling of the plastic that covers the chains of the swings isn't enough of  a distraction to keep me from noticining when somebody walks out of the house. It is my grandpa coming toward us, unshed tears in his eyes, to tell us that my great-grandmother, my best friend, is no longer with us...

Possibilities

Hope. Possibilities. The chance of a new beginning. These are some of the things that I see when I look at the picture The Dead Forest After the Fire that was taken by Igor Podgorny. It shows a forest that was ravaged by a forest fire. Most people may see this picture and think, "Oh, how aweful!" But I don't. In my opinion, forest fires can be a good thing.
When I look at this picture, I don't see the the death and destruction that is left in the wake of the fire. I see the possibilities of  the things that are yet to come. The picture shows a single sprig of green foliage and I think that this shows that though terrible things have happened, it will get better in time. The plants will regrow and be healthier than ever, the animals will come back and replace those that were too weak or sick to outrun the fire, and things will go back to normal. I think that the fire is natural selection at its finest. Instead of seeing the dreary, ruined forest, I choose to picture a blank slate teeming with possibilities of being filled with life and peace.

Here is the picture : http://media.englishrussia.com/the_dead_forest_after_the_fire/2.jpg

Ramblings From a Dog Lover

When you think of a pitbull, what do you see? Terrible, horrible, filthy creatures that need to be destroyed? I dont. I see a beautiful, powerful, misunderstood dog that deserves some respect. I read an article called
Pit Bull Ban Punishes Dogs for Bad Owners by Radley Balko, and I have to say that I agree with his opinions on this subject.


Left: Tuxedo, Right: Dixie

   The dog on the right is my dog Dixie. Lots of people dont ever want to have anything to do with her because " she looks too much like a pit bull." Though she is a big teddy bear, she is continually judged based on how she looks. Is it her fault that her body is built for fighting? No. Thats like going up to a man that is very largely built and saying, " Im sorry but I think you should be banned from the city because you look like you have the potential to be dangerous." Every dog has the potential to be dangerous and most dogs that are mean are the products of abuse and neglect. It is the monsters that made these dogs mean that should be punished.

"Eighty-four percent of the pit bulls that have been given the test have passed, which ranks pit bulls ahead of beagles, Airedales, bearded collies, and all but one variety of dachshund."

This is a quote from the article I read. The test that is mentioned is a test that measures stability, shyness, aggressiveness, and friendliness in a dog's interaction with people.  The results alone prove that a pit bull doesn't have to be any more aggressive than any other dog. Its just the main type of dog that horrible people choose to train for fighting because they are ideally built to handle it. So next time you see what you think might be a pit bull, think before you give it an undeserved label  because that label could very well one day be the death of it.

Here is the article: http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,215637,00.html

I, Too, Sing America: Tone Analysis

   In the poem I, Too, Sing America by Langston Hughes, the tones rejected and expectant show that though he is being treated as a lesser person, he is hopeful and expects it to get better.  Despite the fact that he is being denied many things, including simply eating with the white people, he does not just lose hope and accept that that is how it will always be.  He refuses to let go of the belief that things will get better and that one day he will be treated as an equal and respected as such.