Prince and Lucy's Rescue

Some people just hit the nail on the head and say it so many times better than I can.

Found on:

http://jurgennation.com/2009/08/17/an-open-letter-to-michael-vick-2/

Reprinted with permission from author

An Open Letter to Michael Vick

Dear Michael Vick,
I hope you are enjoying your “comeback.”
I’m not a religious person, but I try to follow the Buddhist doctrine of feeling compassion for a depraved soul rather than burning myself up inside with hatred. I’m trying. At least I’m at the point right now where I close my eyes and will myself from hate and negativity when I read your name, so that’s positive. And you did your time; for that I am grateful. You have, in the eyes of justice, “served your time,” and “paid your debt to society.” That I cannot argue. A round of golf claps for you. And, you know, I deeply want to believe that you are contrite, that you want to help animals, that you have “realized what [you've] done.” I desperately want to believe that because if that weren’t the case, it means that you’re probably stewing over your conviction over “just a few worthless animals” and you’re probably more angry and full of more hate for animals than you were in the first place, and that is just too much to bear. It would mean that you’re getting a kick out of people genuflecting you and your newly gained compassion for all living things and that you can finally come back and make your money and do whatever it is that you do. And whatever it is that you do – football, whatever – does not make you a man. The uniform, the notoriety, the money…none of that makes you a man. Maybe you think that you are a real man because you can throw a ball around and be seen on the teevee, or because no one ever told you “no” in life and you think you can do what you want. But a real man does not torture, mutilate and kill for fun, and a real man would especially never do it to a being that can’t fight back fairly, who can’t even beg you to have some mercy.
Sure, a person can argue that pit bulls are inherently savage and evil and that, maybe, it wasn’t as bad as they say. Trouble is, they’re not evil and they’re not bad. When you train any animal to act a certain way and beat them into submission and fury, of course they’re going to be set off easily. You trained them to. Pit bulls, when they’re in a loving, compassionate home, are not feral animals that tear apart innocent things. You, however, are just that; you have torn apart so many living, feeling beings just for your enjoyment. You trained so many dogs by beating and torturing them so that they would wind up so tight they’d fight with each other and kill each other. And, to you, that was – hopefully that remains past tense – a “sport.” So not only did you torture, mutilate, kill and train them to fight for their death, you no doubt gathered with your bros in a circle and cheered. And I’m sure you felt completely justified in slaughtering those poor animals who didn’t “perform” as well as you wanted them to, didn’t make you enough money. Because that’s all they were to you. Not living beings capable of feeling as much, if not more, pain than you or I. To you, they were nothing.
You make me sick to my stomach. Seeing your name in my newsletters from the Humane Society of the United States makes me sick to my stomach. It makes me want to punch something, get violent, think of ways to torture or hurt you just like you tortured and hurt those innocent animals. But then, I’m not like you. I, like many, many others fortunately do, have an “off” button. A fence. That little chip you’re missing is called “conscience” and “compassion.” It’s that silly little thing inside that dings a little bell and says things like, “Hey, Vick, maybe you shouldn’t torture or kill living beings for fun,” and “Hey, Vick, hurting anything smaller than you, anything innocent and can’t fight back fairly, is a sign of cowardice.” Or, you know, “Other things not named Michael Vick can feel pain and deserve compassion, love and mutual trust.” That I have to open my email inbox and see anything about you other than news of you receiving any more justice is sick. There are some things you can never pay off. There is no amount of jail time that makes up for some things. You killed animals. You tortured innocent souls who love unconditionally and ask nothing more of us than the chance to sniff the world and receive endless belly rubs. You savagely killed and tortured living, feeling beings who trusted you. Animals cannot cry for help with words. They cannot plea for their lives. They are completely reliant on the person who raises them.
Who raised you? Who raised you to have such disregard for suffering?
If any of this mattered to you I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this. So, deaf ears and all that.
I’m not a sports fan, so I will never know where you go from here. So, you’re not really missing a fan in that sense. I hope, though, that you go through the rest of your worthless life feeling an endless crushing shame for what you’ve done. See, this is where I’m learning disabled in terms of that Buddhist doctrine of having compassion for people like you. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to a point where I learn it and truly feel it in my heart because you, Michael Vick, incite in me such anger and sadness that I want – nay, hope - you feel every single bit of pain you have ever inflicted on those or any other animal. And I hope you feel it for the rest of your sad and empty life. There’s a special, warm seat in Hell for you, but I think Cerberus would like to have a few words with you first.
Karma’s a bitch, asshole.

Here's a toast to you, Stacy and a tear shed for the dogs.

Shame on Vick, the NFL, the Eagles and any sponsor related to any NFL product merchandising or transmission of games. Just goes to show the almighty buck is stronger than the NFL morals clause in every players contract.

This is my very best, favorite time of year.

Spring is here, the weather is nice and the hay is ready for cutting, baling and storing.

If it were only that easy. All year, my friend and neighbor Dale manages my hay field. He fertilizes it and gets all the credit for such a nice crop. This year we were able to bale 172 bales, up from 110 last year. That's is what a good consistent rain fall will get you.

I think besides loving the smell of the fresh cut hay in the air, my favorite part of the process is how my friends show up to help gather and throw the hay up to the top of the barn for storage. Of course, we have some aches and groaning, most of those bales weighed well over 50 pounds but the fact that it is the unspoken, the fact they show up to help after their hard day's work and it is just a given that they will help me is what makes it wonderful. Keeping the bottled water flowing, the big spaghetti dinner and the numerous thanks yous just does not speak the message my heart wishes to send to these friends. I only hope I can repay them one day.

Along with hay, it is time to start a small (fingers crossed) garden, plant tomato's, install landscaping, general clean up from winter, make fresh strawberry shortcake and jam, start grilling out and **sigh** relax on a brand new swing on the front porch. Actually, it is time for anything, as long as it is outdoors.

Hooray for Hay!!!

Hooray for Spring!!!