The Dogs Were Rescued (And So Was I) (21 page)

There had to be a better approach. Something more peaceful.

I recalled another moment in India—my favorite moment in India. That one true moment of utter peace with my golden dog at the Taj Mahal. I, for once, was still—not controlling what would happen, not trying to “help” or change things, not worrying about what had happened to the dog before or what would happen after. I was merely present. I was “in the moment” (with my apologies to whoever on the trip had that “name”).
Huh
. That was never anything I was good at, but if I could have a moment of peace like that again, it would certainly be worth it to try. And it seemed like the place to start was with my own dogs. I could try all I wanted, and all I had the energy for, with every fiber of my being, to change what had happened to both of them and nothing would change the past. Nothing. Better to stay in the present.

They were healthy now, Daphne and Percival. They were on their way to happy. I’d been trying to force this bizarre Beaglerette love story when really, that doesn’t even work on the actual show. Chances are the dogs picked up on my anxiety and rage. No wonder Percival so clearly preferred Chris! These were dogs, with different personalities, different backgrounds, and different needs. Maybe if I relaxed, they’d relax. Maybe it was time to let them be. Let them drink from the fountain, so to speak.

I shared my thoughts with Chris.

“So I realize I’ve been kind of nuts. And I’m thinking that’s affecting not just me, but you, the dogs, everybody.”

Chris smiled knowingly. “Really?”

“And yes, maybe I was trying to do too much. But I love these dogs. I love you. I want to make it all work, but I’m not going to force it.”

“It’s getting a lot better—the dogs anyway. Your brain thing, not so much.”

“I will admit these might be connected. What I’m thinking is this—let’s just leave the dogs be. Let’s leave them home together instead of splitting them up and taking them to work with us. Percival hates the car and they both love the sunshine, so why not leave them at home?”

“What if they fight?”

“I don’t think they will. We won’t be home for them to fight over. Or, more to the point,
you
won’t be home to fight over. I don’t think Percival is prepared to fight for me. And I can come home at lunch and check on them. You leave at ten thirty. I’ll come home at one thirty for lunch. If everything is fine—you know, both dogs alive, no bloodstains or gaping wounds—I’ll go back to work.”

“Percival will definitely be happier at home.”

“We can still take them to work with us later, but let’s let them work things out for now.”

“Walking them together on the tandem leash you got is really helping, though Percival still wants to stop and smell every grass blade. Daphne just pulls him along.”

I laughed. Daphne had slimmed down quite a bit, but she definitely had a weight advantage over little Percival. “Well, that’s probably part of the dominance battle. Daphne appears to be winning.”

“I think letting the dogs work things out is a good idea. They did great together at Beaglefest. And it will help both of our schedules if we’re not chauffeuring the dogs around.”

“And I’m going to lay off reading my torture-and-slaughter-of-animals books.”

“This makes so much sense.”

“I’m going to try a calmer approach.”

“Okaaaaaaaay…”

“I’m going to see how others handle being vegan—being an advocate for the animals in a world that doesn’t really seem to care much about the animals.”

Chris was in the kitchen preparing his dinner—his chicken dinner. He looked down at his plate and back up at me. “How is this different from what you’ve been doing?”

“There are people who’ve advocated for animals their whole lives, or at least their adult lives. I have to assume they’ve been able to find some perspective, some way of living with the knowledge of all the horror without going insane. Or, you know, having brain spasms. So I think I need to go find my people. See how it’s done.”

“Fascinating.”

“To start, I’m going to a vegan cooking competition this weekend. It’s at the Animal Advocacy Museum in Pasadena.”

“I had no idea there was such a thing.”

“A vegan cook-off or an animal advocacy museum?”

“Both, actually.”

“Me either. I’m kind of excited about it.”

And I was.

I talked my friend Leela into meeting me at the event. Leela was another person I’d met through Beaglefest, and in fact she had organized and been primarily responsible for the one we’d just attended. She too helped rescue dogs, primarily beagles, and was a fanatic about the proper care and feeding of her beagle, Chloe. She was also a former vegan, which intrigued me. I knew a few folks who’d tried out veganism for a short period of time, but none was as much of an animal lover as I knew Leela to be.

The cook-off was scheduled to happen from two to four in the afternoon. I pulled into the parking lot at two thirty. Or at least, I thought I did. There was a banner that read “Animal Advocacy Museum” hanging from the second floor of a two-story building, so this had to be the place, but the first floor and the grounds were a Montessori preschool. Hmmm… I looked around for an entrance to the museum and a parking spot, though it wasn’t likely those things would be near each other. There were several cars double-parked, and it was hard to tell if the lot I was in belonged to the school, the museum, or the church on the adjoining lot. I noticed an empty parking spot right in front of the school and quickly took it.

I walked around the building looking for an elevator, stairs, a sign…anything that indicated there was a museum entrance to be found. There was nothing. Chatter was audible, coming from the second floor, so something was going on, but I could not find access to the upstairs, at least not without walking through the playground, and that couldn’t be right. I returned to the front of the building, then around to the side, but found no stairs. Finally I dared to venture through the playground and at last found the staircase. Two young men in skinny jeans and flannel shirts, with floppy hair and extensive tattoos, were seated at the top of the stairs. Can someone look vegan? Well, I thought they did, so I headed up the stairs. They moved aside to let me pass, and I noted they were eating macaroni and non-cheese. This must be the place.

A woman behind what I assumed was the check-in podium looked at me but didn’t speak.

“Is this the vegan cook-off? For the Animal Advocacy Museum?” I said.

She finally smiled. “Your name?”

So this really was the “museum.” A sort of traveling exhibit, I imagine.
Have
banner, will travel
. As an author who’d been at many a dog and cancer event with my signs and stacks of books over the prior eight months, I could certainly relate.

I was given five tickets and careful instructions that I could have either a sample size of five different mac ’n’ cheese dishes or three slightly larger portions. I was also given a drink ticket.

The museum was in fact one room—one classroom. There were about twenty-five people in attendance, all dressed in some version of L.A. vegan hipster: black and gray tones, faux leather, message T-shirts, hoodies, tattoos, and piercings. I was overdressed and under-pierced. I was also about eight tattoos short of fitting in, and that was if I counted my radiation tattoos. Leela was not among the guests.

I turned my attention to the food table. There were fifteen trays of vegan mac ’n’ cheese and not one of them was warm. Fifteen trays of room temperature food for twenty-five people and they were worried about the sample sizes? Nonetheless, I’m a rule follower. And a guest.

I selected five of the trays to sample from. There was no methodology involved—it all looked like mac ’n’ cheese and I had no “vegan mac ’n’ cheese” baseline from which to work. The only one I knew I wanted to try was the one that included “bacon”—fake bacon, of course. With my sample plate in one hand and a plastic cup of lavender lemonade in the other I searched the room for a seat. Or someone to talk to. Or a clue as to why I thought this would be a good idea. Finding none of the above, I roamed outside. I now understood why the flannel boys had been dining on the staircase.

Sitting on the stairs was neither comfortable nor comforting. I felt ridiculous. I’d dressed for a
museum
—a museum in Pasadena, home of the Norton Simon Museum, the Huntington Gardens and Library, fine dining, and urbane shopping. Pasadena also has quite the hipster scene (from my middle-aged vantage point anyway), and I’d forgotten that part. At least I wore pants, even if I had a flowing top and high heels on. And where the heck was Leela?

I tasted the macaroni. Not bad. Not terribly cheesy, but then, what did I expect for a dish that had no cheese? The samples likely would have been better—much better—warmed up. The lavender lemonade was, however, delicious.

“Hey there!” Leela came bouncing up the stairs. She could bounce up the stairs because she had, wisely, worn leggings, a long cotton top, and tennis shoes. As though she knew where we were going.

“Hey. How’d you know to dress like that? And arrive an hour after it started?”

She laughed. “I told you. I was vegan once. I went to a lot of events like this. It’s always casual, on the cheap, and longer than it needs to be.”

“Huh. Well, the macaroni and cheese isn’t bad, though it’s room temperature.”

“Gross.”

“Well, get your tickets and your samples. You are limited to five.”

Now it was Leela’s turn to roll her eyes. “Please.”

I followed her back in and watched, impressed, as she broke the rules by taking spoonfuls of more than five of the dishes.

“There’s room on the floor over there, and that’s about it. I’ll go stake out a spot for us. Drinks are over in that corner.” I pointed to the table across the room. Leela nodded and headed for the drinks.

While seated on the floor waiting for Leela, I had plenty of time to consider the artwork in the museum. Most of it was brightly colored, somewhat childish, and, from all I could tell, had absolutely nothing to do with animals or advocacy. Mostly the works had to do with humans, body parts, and sexuality. There was an entwined nude couple that I tried not to think of as a Klimt rip-off, a male torso in shades of pink (mostly hot), a Van Gogh-esque landscape or two, and several nudes—in groups, alone, or coupled up. All were in bright, unnatural colors. There wasn’t a nonhuman animal among them.

Leela returned with her drink and her plate. “So what’s happening?”

“Best I can tell, the cooks are heating their dishes one at a time and then bringing the samples to the judges. Those are the judges at the front table.”

“And this has been going on for how long?”

“Since I got here. So probably since it started.”

“And what’s up with the artwork? What is this?”

“I don’t… Oh god…”

“What?”

“I can no longer hear anything you say. I’m too distracted by what’s hanging above your head.”

Leela twisted around to look at the wall above her head, not perhaps the best angle to view the twenty-four-inch-tall blue vagina painting hung there. “Oh my god. Is that what I think it is?”

“It is. It’s like Georgia O’Keeffe meets the Picasso blue period. With drugs.”

Leela giggled. “What does this have to do with animal advocacy?”

“Um…maybe it’s a ‘we’re all animals’ sort of message?”

“Doubtful.”

“A stretch, I know.” I leaned over to the couple seated on the floor next to us. “Do you know anything about the exhibit? What the connection is to animal advocacy?”

The young woman looked at the walls. “I don’t know actually. But I heard the artist is vegan.” She smiled.

Okay then. Good to know I had met all the requirements for getting my own art show.

Leela shook her head while I concentrated on not laughing. Maybe this was not going to be as instructive to me as I’d hoped.

A young woman, dressed in all black and looking like a Betty Page pinup wearing bright red lipstick, walked to the front of the room to address the group.

She announced the winners of the mac ’n’ cheese contest first—the bacon version won (see, vegans
are
just like regular people!). Then one by one each person stood and reported on upcoming advocacy events. I listened, dumbstruck.

I was already overwhelmed with how my plant-based diet led me to an exploration of a vegan lifestyle, which had opened my eyes to the horrors endured by “farm” animals, and how my love of beagles led me to Beagle Freedom Project, which led me to adopt Percival, which shocked me into an awareness of the cruelties of animal testing. But now as I listened to each impassioned plea, I realized there was so much more. So much more was
wrong
.

The group’s main focus was to stop UCLA from testing on animals. UCLA.
My
UCLA
? My beloved medical center where I’d met my good and great surgeon, Dr. Karam, where I’d been successfully treated for an aggressive form of breast cancer? Where I went religiously for the annual Festival of Books?
That
UCLA?
They
experiment on animals?

They did. And this group regularly protested outside the campus, in the streets of Westwood.

Someone else stood and talked about the protest at the zoo. Another reported on the upcoming circus protest and the abuses of elephants that had been photographed. Yet another talked about SeaWorld and the upcoming premiere of the film
Blackfish
that would, she said, expose SeaWorld for the animal abusers they were. And still another advocate rose and told of a facility nearby that bred and sold animals to laboratories. They were trying to shut down the facility. I heard about International Elephant Awareness Day—every fifteen minutes an elephant is slaughtered for their tusks. I heard about mock funerals they staged for the animals.

This part of the event lasted perhaps twenty minutes, but it felt like longer. I had not before, in such a compressed period of time, thought about the innumerable ways humans use and abuse animals for our “entertainment.” I was moved by the passion of the speakers and yet ambivalent about their approach. I wondered how many commuters, neighbors, pedestrians, upon seeing this group with their signs, their messages, and their justifiable anger, would really see or hear them. Could they change anyone’s mind? Wake anyone up?
Could
I?

The young woman who appeared to be in charge took the floor again.

“I know some of you have a hard time with home advocacy, but we’re going to talk about it. If you’re not ready yet, I understand. But know that it works and it’s necessary.”

Home
advocacy?
Signing petitions online? Emailing people from the safety of your home computer? From all the protests and plans I’d heard them discuss, home advocacy seemed like the entry-level activity. Why would someone have a hard time with that?

“When we show up in their neighborhoods, on their streets, and show their neighbors what they do—who these monsters are, when we show them that their neighbor tortures animals and gets paid to do so, it has an effect. Nobody wants to live next door to an animal abuser.”

Ooh, that kind of home advocacy
. They were showing up outside the homes of the research scientists and protesting their research…or their existence. Like the abortion protestors who went after the doctors personally.

Oh.

I looked over at Leela. She glanced sideways at me.

When the event ended, Leela and I stood in the parking lot.

“So, is this why you’re no longer a vegan? Too over the top?” I said.

“No, not at all. I totally agree with all of this,” Leela said. “It was the diet part. After being a vegan for about four years, out of the blue I started intensely craving meat…and literally dreaming about it. It wasn’t an effort for me to be a vegan—even at Thanksgiving I was happy to just eat side dishes. It was an organic decision to go vegan, and when my whole body started wanting meat, it was also an organic decision to have it again. It was as if it was the best thing I had ever eaten when I ate meat again. A few weeks after having meat again I went to the doctor and my blood work showed that I was seriously anemic, so my craving meat made sense.”

“I can honestly say, I have never craved meat. Not before turning vegan and not since,” I said.

“Right, so your body is different. But I was also diagnosed with Hashimoto’s thyroiditis—an autoimmune thyroid issue—and I then had to avoid soy products. Without soy it limited my vegan options.”

“Oh yeah. That would do it. I try to limit soy, but mostly try to find non-GMO soy.” I was fascinated by Leela’s experience. Still so much to learn.

“I share the ethical concerns of vegans. But I feel I have to look for other alternatives. At first, I decided to become a vegetarian pescatarian. But then a year later I was suffering from heavy metal poisoning with super-dangerous levels of mercury and arsenic. So I then added in meat, along with fish at reduced amounts, and felt much better.”

“It’s all so complicated! I get overwhelmed. I think that’s part of what’s got my head spinning.”

“It’s about finding out what works for you—for your body, for your ethics. I follow the Human Genome Project and related research, and it’s clear to me that there is no ‘one size fits all’ in regard to medications, food, exercise, salt intake, and so many other things. Not all people feel better and physically benefit from a vegan diet, but all people, animals, and the planet benefit from a more natural, responsible, and humane food supply where plants and produce and animal products are concerned.”

“Definitely.” We moved toward my car.

“So what made you want to come to this?” Leela asked.

“I wanted to meet some vegans. Some advocates. I guess I just wanted to find somebody to talk to about how to handle it all. I’m so horrified with everything I’m learning about the animals in our food production, and it’s just so much to deal with that I’ve worked myself up into nightmares and headaches. I was looking to see how others approach the vegan lifestyle in, I don’t know, the real world.”

“And how’d that work out?”

“Well, on the one hand, I admire them. I mean, a lot. Their passion. Their willingness to do something. Anything. Everything. And like you said, I agree with pretty much everything they said and everything they stand for. But I’m not sure I agree with their methods. Or that I could participate. This doesn’t seem to be
my
real world. I live with a nonvegan. I work with nonvegans. Almost everyone I know, with the exception of the Beagle Freedom Project people, are leather-wearing, bacon-glorifying, cheese-mongering, unapologetic carnivores who buy products without looking for a little bunny symbol. And they go to zoos! If I was doing what these folks are doing, I’d have no friends and no family.”