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Frank Escaped Slaughter, and Now He’s Finding His Way in the Herd

From the moment Frank arrived, we have been waiting, as has he, for the day he could join the herd. Cattle are herd animals and feel much safer and more secure in a larger group. Frank made it clear that this is all he wanted, as he bellowed when the herd left the barn where he lived in a pen, and bellowed to them again when they returned.

Frank probably lived in a herd before he was shipped off to a live slaughter facility in New York City, and likely was transported with other members of his herd on the day he escaped. Cattle raised in the beef industry live together in large herds — mothers and babies staying together. Of course, that only lasts until the day, 12-14 months later, when those babies (mostly males) are loaded up to be taken to slaughter. (The females that the farmers decide they want to keep in the breeding herd will continue to live with mom.) On the day they leave, most calves are still nursing from mom (and are on solid foods as well).

I have spoken to people with sheep and cattle farms who say the day before they are taking the animals to auction or slaughter, they separate them into two barns and keep the TV loud and the windows closed to drown out the sounds of the mothers and children crying for each other.  

While Frank’s story likely began this way, it took a much happier turn with his escape and rescue. But his happy ending was not quite complete!

Getting Frank into our main herd was what needed to happen, and quickly. Being recently neutered, he could not join the herd for at least three weeks, since during that post-neutering window there was still a possibility that he could impregnate our females, which we do not allow. He also had to heal from the neuter surgery, wounds from his darts, and pneumonia.

Drains in his back end from the surgical removal of the darts. Thankfully, all this is now cleared up!

Cattle introductions can get ugly, so we plan them out way in advance. We do not introduce the cattle to each other in the barn, since it doesn’t give them enough space to get away from each other. One of the ways cattle establish hierarchy is slamming into each other headfirst to show how powerful they are. It’s rare that anyone actually gets hurt — except, of course, for their ego. But inside the barn, they could potentially slam each other into a wall, so we like space during these initial meetings!

Queenie meeting young man Tristan is a good example of the normal reaction to a newcomer entering the established herd.  

Many of our introductions over the past few years have been pretty rough — especially the introduction of the Holstein 6 (Sonny, Orlando, Conrad, Arnold, Milbank, and Tweed), who challenged all the giant males and continued to do so for hours, making for some very frightening battles, with a few of the boys ending up on the opposite side of the fence. Again, no one was hurt, but seeing it can be quite shocking — and humans should not really be in the mix, since the cattle notice no one but the one they are sparring with. 

Although there were a total of three scuffles, Frank had the smoothest introduction I think I have witnessed, and he seemed to want nothing more than to be a part of the herd. He challenged no one and walked away whenever possible — but worked his way into the group. 

Frank leaves the barn to join the herd!

When we first left the barn with Frank, he ran out like he was going to take on the world, but that quickly changed as the introduction went on.

Frank’s first attempt at joining the herd. 

We had his rescuer Tracey and family on FaceTime to watch the introduction, warning her that it could be scary, but it first started out to be exhausting for the humans — since Frank’s cocky start to the run turned into a shy retreat at first. 

Round two, and we think we have it, and oops — he leaves again. Back to the drawing board. 

Finally he gets in and his best pal from the barn, new boy Dennis (who had previously spent hours licking him over the gate and lying beside him), started out the challenges. (You can see the action here.) Dennis is also new and the lowest in the pecking order, so I think he hoped that would change having this tiny guy around.  

Round three…success!

Finally, Frank successfully joined the herd — and as you can see, he didn’t go after anyone or feel the need to fight. This “dangerous,” “fierce” bovine (as he was described during his mad dash from slaughter) ended up being a lover, not a fighter.  

Nik (our “redhead” boy) ensuring that Chandini is cut off before meeting her new lookalike.

And what about Chandini??? Well, Nik, her current beau, was not having that relationship made, and instead he decided to keep his girl away from this handsome newcomer any way he could. 

Please share Frank’s story. Together, we can encourage awareness and understanding for farm animals like him. With your support we can continue to promote compassionate vegan living through rescue, education, and advocacy efforts. A compassionate world begins with you!

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cool as hell

 Dizzy Gillespie

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I hate Halloween. If you know me, you probably know this. And you’ve probably rolled your eyes at me. And now I get to defend myself! HALLOWEEN CAN ROT IN HELL. On second thought, it would probably love that.

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Big Fish Lake, aka where I grew up. My dad took this photo tonight. Pretty spectacular, no?

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#iconic

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MY HEART OH MY GOD

BAMBI AND THUMPER IRL.

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My dad took this gorgeous photo of the lake I grew up on, Big Fish Lake. Here you can see his trusty sailboat anchored in the smaller of the lake’s two bays ... and, of course, a stunning southern Michigan sunset.

Photo by Stephen Karlson, June 2015

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“This picture will go down in history as one of those iconic photos that defines a generation. What a week! #FreeBree” - @jasonaltmire

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Internet, Drop the Dadbod Crap.

I threatened (myself?) to take to Tumblr over this, and now I am. Probably my sister is the only one who will read this, which is fine. I just need to get it out.

I’m sick of this stupid dadbod bullshit. Yeah, it’s the kind of thing that’s sort of funny when you’re half-drunk and hanging out with your sorority sisters because you’re 20 and in college, which is where this thing originated and where it should stay. But of course every goddamn pop culture media outlet has to leap on the issue to take advantage of its piping-hot-with-a-short-shelf-life SEO possibilities. The pageviews! The shares! It’s enough to make an editor wee him/herself. And make no mistake: That’s why everyone feels the need to cover it. That, and because they think they’re hilarious.

And that’s fine. I get that at its core it’s lighthearted and not mean-spirited. But it’s driving me nuts because it’s ultimately just another way that we can categorize and pass judgment on people’s bodies. I’ve read more than one piece by some chick who equates the “dadbod” with a charming sloppiness and ripped physiques with taking care of oneself, being healthy, being vain. And this is all such tired bullshit. Because your body doesn’t indicate how healthy, or happy, or disciplined, or vain, or ANYTHING you are. It’s just your body.

We all have bodies. Some are naturally leaner than others. Some have more fat. Or more muscle. One isn’t better than the other. And by that I mean this: Thin (women) and chiseled (men) bodies are not better than average, or plump, or fat, or doughy, or chubby, or obese, or nonmuscular bodies. They don’t indicate that the owner of the body is healthier, more disciplined, smarter, will live longer, or anything else.

Guys have body-image hangups, too, by the way. They suffer from eating disorders. This dadbod bullshit helps none of it. So let’s please drop it and move on to the next stupid Internet thing.

And please, please, for the love of the Universe, read Body of Truth by Harriet Brown.

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We have waited for more than three hundred and forty years for our God-given and constitutional rights. The nations of Asia and Africa are moving with jetlike speed toward the goal of political independence, and we still creep at horse-and-buggy pace toward the gaining of a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. I guess it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say 'wait.' But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate-filled policemen curse, kick, brutalize, and even kill your black brothers and sisters with impunity; when you see the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six-year-old daughter why she cannot go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her little eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children, and see the depressing clouds of inferiority begin to form in her little mental sky, and see her begin to distort her little personality by unconsciously developing a bitterness toward white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a five-year-old son asking in agonizing pathos, 'Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?'; when you take a cross-country drive and find it necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading 'white"' and 'colored'; when your first name becomes 'nigger' and your middle name becomes 'boy' (however old you are) and your last name becomes 'John,' and when your wife and mother are never given the respected title 'Mrs.'; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of 'nobodyness'--then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over and men are no longer willing to be plunged into an abyss of injustice where they experience the bleakness of corroding despair. I hope, sirs, you can understand our legitimate and unavoidable impatience ...

Martin Luther King, Jr.

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The matter we're made out of was cooked in the center of stars. We're made of star stuff — the calcium in our teeth, the carbon in our genes, the nitrogen in our hair, the silicon in our eyeglasses. Those atoms were all made from simpler atoms in stars hundreds of light-years away and billions of years ago. It's an astonishing thing, we're so tied to the rest of the cosmos.

Carl Sagan in Rolling Stone, 1980

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One of the weird things about 'The Interview' situation is that in real life Kim Jong-un is this short, fat young guy who's running a failed, bankrupt irrelevant state. I haven’t seen The Interview, of course, but from the trailers they make Kim Jong-un look like this broad-shouldered, badass cigar-smoking leader of an awesomely dangerous state. It’s actually a flattering portrayal. But it's like with any kind of bully: They don’t get the joke. The fact that the joke exists is threatening.

http://www.vulture.com/2014/12/how-do-americans-look-in-north-korean-films.html

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Get off it, dudes.

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"The food is going to be austere."