Thursday, December 21, 2017

‘Good will’ to . . . ? Well, it depends

Inhumane – and un-Christian – behavior keeps recycling, no matter the season. Today's trumpeted “good will toward men[sic]” wording is apparently literal, applying only to humans, if they’re lucky. And, as usual, too bad about animals.

Consider “Stormy” the cow a week or so ago, when it was bitter cold outside.  Stormy was part of a live manger scene at a church in Philadelphia. (If you thought that idea had arisen and been shot down years ago, you’re right. But cruel ideas keep coming back – this time, for “Christians” to put into practice again.)

Because Stormy apparently didn't like being an involuntary part of a nativity tableau (or the cold), she “escaped.” Police rounded her up around 2 am on route I-95, and returned her to her command-performance site. (Did any officer mention the, well, inhumanity of a live manger scene?)

But Stormy’s story didn’t end there.  She escaped again, this time to be captured in a parking garage. (Hello, church people! Aren’t you beginning to wonder about the wisdom of your ways?)  Stormy’s acting career ended as she was returned to the farm she had come from. Way to go, girl! 

                                                       Turlakova 2--Shutterstock
Concluding this tale of human callousness, I’d bet the ranch there was no human baby, or human of any age, in that live manger scene at 4th & Race Streets, forced to weather the weather.  So, if a church calling itself  “Christian” is so inhumane (and un-Christian, I also believe) as to leave a live animal outside for display on a bitter cold night, then I (NOT calling myself “Christian”) have no qualms about thoroughly enjoying the image below.  

Holiday kitty care
The images may be cute, but the chances of CATatrosphe are high. Here’s some good advice for keeping cats calm during the holiday season. 

                                                                          Brooke Goldman image

A Prayer to Talk to Animals

by Nikole Brown

Lord, I ain’t asking to be the Beastmaster
gym-ripped in a jungle loincloth
or a Doctor Dolittle or even the expensive vet
down the street, that stethoscoped redhead,
her diamond ring big as a Cracker Jack toy.
All I want is for you to help me flip
off this lightbox and its scroll of dread, to rip
a tiny tear between this world and that, a slit
in the veil, Lord, one of those old-fashioned peeping
keyholes through which I can press my dumb
lips and speak. If you will, Lord, make me the teeth
hot in the mouth of a raccoon scraping
the junk I scraped from last night’s plates,
make me the blue eye of that young crow cocked to
me—too selfish to even look up from the black
of my damn phone. Oh, forgive me, Lord,
how human I’ve become, busy clicking
what I like, busy pushing
my cuticles back and back to expose
all ten pale, useless moons.  Would you let me
tell your creatures how sorry
I am, let them know exactly
what we’ve done? Am I not an animal
too? If so, Lord, make me one again.
Give me back my dirty claws and blood-warm
horns, braid back those long-
frayed endings of every nerve tingling
with all I thought I had to do today.
Fork my tongue, Lord. There is a sorrow on the air
I taste but cannot name. I want to open
my mouth and know the exact
flavor of what’s to come, I want to open
my mouth and sound a language
that calls all language home.


If you subscribe to this blog and want to comment, please click  

1 comment: