Sarma Melngailis's Blog, page 2

AVOIDING LEATHER? MY FAVORITE VEGAN NOT LEATHER STUFF!

When I first went (mostly) raw-vegan it was about health. Then over time I woke up to the environmental reasons, and then to the cause of animal-rights. Even with this awareness it wasn’t until I watched Earthlings that I fully realized the cruelty involved (and massive environmental pollution) in the leather industry. I read somewhere that Alexis Stewart (daughter of Martha) is vegan but still wears leather for she maintains it’s a by-product of the meat industry, so as long as people are eating meat she’ll wear leather. Le sigh. First, that’s not the case and second, it really doesn’t help the cause to support worldwide demand for leather goods. Anyway.

I’m not much of a shopper, but I’ve had guidance from my friend Chloe Jo Berman (who knows everything there is to know about cruelty-free fashion and writes about it on her site) and if you’re a guy, Joshua Katcher’s The Discerning Brute is your best resource. Also, given what I do, sometimes I’m the beneficiary of awesome gifts. So, here are a few of my all time favorite things that are normally made with leather but are not:

Matt & Nat: make incredibly cool and useful bags and more. One of my favorites is the “Charlie” bag for $26 which I use to hold my makeup. My other favorite is the Vera wallet, and they make really classy bags for guys too (or females like me that usually end up preferring the guy stuff) like the Soren. They’re always introducing new lines and they have serious bargains in the “outlet” section, so good to keep checking there.

Olsenhaus: Is it just me or is a lot of “vegan” fashion just not cool at all. Olsenhaus is the screaming exception to that. I love her stuff, her shoes, and these very cool bags and wallets. Also, I want these shoes, and these flats, and I kind of really want the men’s blue suede shoes. (I think there’s a guy lurking inside of me). There’s even really cute shoes for kids.

All Cork: I was lucky enough to get this City Tote in black as a gift a while back and I use it all the time and worship it. It’s the perfect size for work stuff, with handy pockets. While I’m partial to my One Lucky Duck tote, sometimes you need a classier bag. All Cork also makes really classy belts. Simple design, for men, or females who like guy stuff like me.

Cornelia Guest: If you like fancy things, this fancy lovely lady recently introduced her own line of “cruelty free” bags, and here’s a summary on her site.

OKAY! So that’s what I got. As always, for great vegan shoes and more in NYC or online, go to MooShoes. They have really cool boots, particularly if you like clunky man-boots like I do. If I’ve missed anything particularly great feel free to post in comments.

Finally… I can’t post anything about shopping without mentioning the fact that Hurricane Sandy has left a lot of people in need, and the people of Occupy Sandy have made this wishlist on Amazon, a very efficient way to get them the supplies they actually need. In case you want to shop for them too, it’s here.

Olsenhaus!

Happy pre-holidays.

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MITT ROMNEY, THE 47 PERCENT, AND COWS

I first started writing this post just after the “47 Percent” video was released. That amazing footage of Mitt Romney speaking to what he thought was a closed group of (very wealthy) funders in Boca Raton, in which he said those things we all now know all about, since they have been widely discussed in (at least some of) the media. However, in case you just returned from living on an ashram in Pondicherry, here’s an excerpt from what he said:

“Forty-seven percent of Americans pay no income taxes.” — “There are forty-seven percent of the people who will vote for the president no matter what. All right, there are forty-seven percent who are with him, who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe that the government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing—you name it. That that’s an entitlement. And the government should give it to them.” — “ So my job is not to worry about those people, I’ll never convince them they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives.” –Mitt Romney

In watching the coverage of all of this, including the attempts at rationalizing this footage from Romney supporters, I was reminded about something that fascinates me, and not in a good way. It has to do with human behavior and how we view and treat others, and why. When people say Mitt Romney is “out of touch” it’s a grave and, I believe, accurate charge. And it’s not something he’s chosen to be, it’s simply a function of his living in a world surrounded by people very much like him, congratulating each other on their smartness and successes, and continuously competing with themselves and each other for more. This is what he knows. And I understand this world because for a while I was part of it myself.

I worked as an associate at Bain Capital from 1996 to 1998, while Mitt Romney was there. Before that I worked at Bear Stearns and before that I was a student at the University of Pennsylvania, and getting a degree from the Wharton School. After Bain I worked at a high-yield investment fund. So. The latter two years of my college education were Wharton focused (which means I was surrounded by a bunch of ambitious and competitive Ivy League business students), followed by about five years in this world people refer to as “Wall Street”. I could have easily been sucked into a permanent life of ‘elitist’ mentality. I understand how it happens. And that only makes it scare me more.

In campaign speeches, Mitt talks about Bain Capital as helping to build businesses and create jobs. So, is that what got all the partners at Bain Capital fired up on a daily basis? Building businesses and creating jobs? Helping people? Contributing to overall economic growth? No. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the case. I’m pretty sure it was about investment returns, and how much money would be made, however it would happen. So whether it was a deal where the company grew and added jobs, or jobs were slashed, benefits and pensions cut, or the company was put into bankruptcy, the means didn’t matter. It was only the end result that mattered, and that result was high returns. I’m generalizing, but that was my overall impression.

In the two years I was there, only once did I hear any expression of remorse over people losing their jobs. And it was from a fellow associate who had just returned from somewhere in “middle America” where he and others from Bain had gone to fire a large number of people at one of Bain’s newly acquired companies. I remember him saying to me privately, “I don’t ever want to do that again.” He’d been in the room at the company’s headquarters when employees were called in one by one to be fired, and unless I’m dramatizing my recollection of it all, I’m pretty sure he told me about grown men who broke down and cried. My fellow associate felt badly about this, and I felt badly hearing about it. Apparently we were still young and uncorrupted! We had feelings! So that’s it. The only time I remember anyone ever expressing anything related to the welfare of individuals at these companies, as opposed to their impact on the bottom line. And I have to admit, it was so normal that I too was accustomed to seeing everything through the eyes of my Excel spreadsheets.

My overall recollection about Bain was that it was a culture all about making money. Getting the highest return on a deal, however it could be done. And I wasn’t particularly outraged by any of it at the time. Certainly no one else there was. And the scariest part of all of it was what I retrospectively see as the “us vs. them” mentality. The mentality that would allow Mitt to make those 47 percent comments in pandering to a wealthy elitist crowd that probably ate it up. I would be surprised if anyone in that ballroom in Boca Raton (who had paid to be there as a guest) was offended. I would be surprised if anyone in the ballroom looked over at the guy bussing their table and felt uncomfortable that Mitt was effectively talking down to them.

If we think of corporations as people, then Bain’s ambition and drive was fueled by a sense of competition with all the other “private equity” firms. Every day was a race to see who would make the most money, invest in the biggest deals, and, most importantly, have the highest returns to show. And when you hold the record for having among the highest returns in the business, as Bain Capital did when I was there, then you think of yourself as better and smarter than your peers. So then what must you think of the poor slobs who work in the widget factory at the company that just got bought, stripped, and flipped to yield that return? You are so far removed from them, they’re just a category, a few line items on an income statement, they are costs to be cut, to yield a higher return on your deal, so you can brag to your peers and maybe buy an even bigger house or yet another fancy car.

I have no doubt Mitt is kind to his housekeepers and gardeners. That’s the kind of guy he is. I worked with a lot of genuinely fucked up possibly sociopath assholes at Bear Stearns, but at Bain Capital, people were nice and treated each other kindly and with respect. There was one late night meeting in a conference room including Mitt, a few partners, associates, a CEO and others from a company. The secretaries had set us up with take out dinner, but they had all gone home. Who cleared the dirty dishes and fetched everyone fresh drinks from the kitchen? Mitt. He was first to jump up and collect plates and ask who needed what.  He was particularly charming at that moment, and always, as I recall.

How does this reconcile? How do these people, considerate with one another, caring of the welfare of their friends and co-workers, participate in a system in which was too often unfairly devastating to a huge number of working families.  And how did I exist in it? I definitely didn’t fit in. My peers drove nice cars, I drove an old Subaru Legacy with over 200 thousand miles on it (I’m practical?). I hated golf, and still do. I didn’t really care to read the Wall Street Journal. I don’t really know how I ended up in that world, but I’m glad I got out of it, and into a world where compassion is more pronounced.

If Mitt Romney stopped by the side of a country road and encountered a grazing cow on the other side of a fence (let’s just imagine), he’d probably look at it kindly. If there were cameras and press following him, he might even reach out to pet it, and say what a pretty cow it is. Or something. Most decent people would look at a cow and behave similarly just as most decent people treat individual working people they encounter with respect. Mitt’s probably nice to waiters, to drivers, to the person who comes to collect the trash from his office. Does he understand or even stop to really think about what it’s like to be any of them, or what it’s like to be a cow on a dairy farm? Most likely not. There’s way too much separation.

So here I am drawing a parallel between the mindset behind anyone making or agreeing with those 47 percent comments and the mindset of everyone who eats factory farmed meat and drinks milk. They’re simply different levels of separation, of shutting yourself off to what you don’t want to see. If people looked inside factory farms, they might feel bad eating bacon. If Mitt spent quality time with those people after they lost their jobs, struggling to survive, he might feel bad about having them fired, or about the lack of resources to help lift them back up. Maybe. One would  hope.

For more on my experience with Bain Capital and Mitt Romney, here’s this piece I wrote in 2008 about Bain’s acquisition of Dunkin Donuts and the alarming rationale for it. “Everyone is already addicted.” Click here to read.

p.s. This post was originally going to be titled, “People Are Stupid!” because that’s what some white haired old corporate guy once said to me in pushing for a pricing/product/marketing decision that I wholeheartedly opposed. That baffling comment, the 47 Percent video, and my views on eating animals, are related in that it has to do with people’s ability to separate themselves from others. I also recently finished reading Twilight of the Elites,  by Chris Hayes which brilliantly and poignantly explores this issue. Highly recommended. Leon appreciated it too.

p.p.s. The 47 Percent video was brought to us courtesy of David Corn, who also wrote the page-turner Showdown: The Inside Story on How Obama Battled the GOP to Set Up the 2012 Election. I think anyone who says Obama disappointed them in the last four years should read this (quick) and get fired up to vote for him again tomorrow. Yes, Leon read this one too.

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EVOLUTION

I haven’t posted a blog in over a year and a half? We could blame the happy distraction of my dog (see my last post) or work, or both. I have drafts and notes scribbled everywhere. It takes a lot of time. Anyway.

THIS PHOTO below I took at the Madison Square Big Apple BBQ today. That truck. The event. All of it. Really? I can’t even comment. Is it some kind of joke? SMITHFIELD, of all companies? “Helping Hungry Homes”?? What distorted reality is this? (Dear guy in the photo eating what I’ll assume is pulled pork since that’s what everyone else was eating, sorry you were standing there and are now a feature of this pictorial.)

Anyway. Today I took my dog Leon to the dog park at Madison Square, as I do most weekends. Usually it’s meditative time for me that I wouldn’t otherwise take, to sit quietly outdoors, and breathe. I just hang out and watch my dog and the other dogs, and sometimes make friendly conversation with other dog people about our dogs. In other words, it’s a nice relaxing escape from my usual preoccupation with my occupation. However. This happened to be day two of New York’s annual Big Apple BBQ event held in Madison Square Park.

Sitting on the bench in the fenced off dog area, I had to listen to a guy on a bullhorn stationed nearby shouting about the glory of the brand of grill he was promoting, about how well it grills burgers and juicy steaks, and the greatness of summertime barbecue, and on and on. The smells were strong enough but now this celebration of meat was also being forced in my head audibly too, and hard to ignore. As I listened to him I got angrier and angrier. I know the statistics about this annual meat party, as I’ve looked it up before.

According to a post on Eater.com, in 2008 the following was consumed at the Big Apple BBQ: 5,800 lbs beef ribs, 2,520 lbs whole hog, 8,460 lbs baby back ribs, 4,746 lbs beef brisket, 10,920 lbs pork butt, 2,700 lbs fresh ham, 12,125 lbs pork ribs, 1,500 lbs sausage. That totals almost FIFTY THOUSAND pounds of meat, in one park, in two days.

Who knows what the stats were for this year, but Madison Square Park was mobbed. I couldn’t take it anymore and had to leave. On my way out, I realized they allowed dogs in the main area of the fenced off event. I’m not sure why, but instead of exiting the park, I took Leon right through the middle of it. We waded through the crowds of people standing around drinking beer, listening to music, and eating glazed ribs and pulled pork out of paper trays. Then it happened. “Nice dog!” Something I hear all the time. “What kind of dog is that?” etc. I get a lot of attention when I’m with my dog Leon. He’s pretty cute. People always want to know what kind of dog he is. I don’t know, he is what he is. A pit bull mix of some kind. Point is, people ask me a lot about him. So, then it happened. A small-talk conversation ensues about my dog. And then… it comes out. Me: “So… would you eat him?”

Backstory: When I first changed to a mostly vegan mostly raw diet nine years ago, it was about health. That’s just how it was presented to me and what I was first exposed to. I was reading books and research mostly about the health reasons for being vegan/raw. I also read the compelling arguments about how cats and dogs and other predators are built to eat meat and we’re not. They’re not arguments actually, they’re just facts, and totally logical.

It was only later on that I was gradually exposed to animal rights issues. Including the horrors of factory farming and what it does to destroy not only the environment and people’s health, but also to the souls of innocent beings unable to defend themselves.

Then I adopted a dog from a shelter. My baby dog, with pale thin fur and a pink belly, and unusually big ears – he looks a lot like a pig. People say this all the time. He’s my love piglet. I love him so much sometimes I worry my heart might literally explode. I would do anything to protect him.

Years ago I read some amazing books, like Diet For A New America, with its heartbreaking stories about animals and the relationships they form with us and with one another. And I’d watched films like Earthlings, which opened my mind to things I hadn’t thought about so much, like the horrors of the fur and leather industries, and circuses, and more. Our Daily Bread is another good film. With no music, no narration, no words or text of any kind, it’s a visually compelling and stark look at the every day reality of our food systems. After watching that one, my boyfriend at the time said, “If aliens came down and took over, put us in tiny cages, bred and slaughtered us, etc. etc… we’d just totally have to be okay with that.”

Those films were hard to watch, and I got tears in my eyes, and felt shitty about the world. But then, after I adopted a dog, my feelings shifted in a much bigger way. Mercy For Animals (one of the greatest organizations ever) put out this video, of abuse in pig factories, and as usual, it’s nothing UN-usual they’re capturing on undercover video, it’s the reality of these places, and the reality of the lives of these animals. I won’t go into what happens in the video (please watch it, it’s only 2 and half minutes), but all the piglets look like Leon to me. If someone tried to hurt Leon, I’d hurt them. It was like watching a Leon torture video and it didn’t just make me sad, it made me cry, like tears streaming down my face kind of cry. And it made me angry. And depressed. And then only more determined. I started reading more books like Why We Love Dogs, Wear Cows, and Eat Pigs, and The Dreaded Comparison.

Meat itself doesn’t gross me out, and I’m not squeamish or horrified by the blood and guts of it. When I was little, I chewed on chicken bones. Then later my favorite dinner was lamb chops off the bone. I liked my steak rare and bleeding. In high school I once ate a whole roast chicken, with my hands. My mom had left a Boston Chicken rotisserie chicken sitting on the kitchen table. I turned on the TV, started tearing pieces off of it with my hands, and before I knew it most of it was gone and I was flipping the carcass over to get at those little ‘oyster’ knobs of tender meat with my greasy fingers. (Sidenote: maybe I was high?) Later in culinary school I formally learned butchering, and was good at it. Moreover, I liked it. I’m not sure why, but I did.

Also. I still totally get the appeal of eating a giant sizzling Flinstonian steak on the bone. I get it. Even though I don’t believe anyone should eat it. And it was only a few years ago that I was photographed (by someone I was dining with) at Peter Luger’s with bone in my hands, gnawing at the meat on it (because of course the meat closest to the bone is tastiest?) The waiter told me I looked like a hungry lioness. It was the first time I’d eaten meat in a year or so. And if you asked me at the time, I’d still say I don’t think humans should or need to eat meat. But that was at a different time in my shift. Again back then my reasons for not eating meat were mostly health related. Even though I felt it was wrong, I’d still end up eating some kind of meat on occasion. But after Luger’s it was only at farm-to-table restaurants, or “grass fed” — that was part of the shift.  Now it’s totally different. Now I sort of want to run into Peter Luger’s and freak out on everyone, and throw the doors open to a herd of stampeding cows to trample everyone in there. Is that a little extreme?

Animals eat other animals. If you want to go out in the woods and shoot a wild elk, and drag it home, clean it, butcher it, eat it and use everything you can, well knock yourself out. The elk lived a free and hopefully happy life just as it would out in the wild before a lion might take it down, and you’re doing the deed. One of my favorite TV shows is/was Big Cat Diary. It’s horrifying when the baby tiger cub “Little Toto” is in danger of getting eaten by a wild hyena. But Little Toto (here) will grow up and take down beautiful gazelles, and watching that is stunning, and part of the life and death of nature. It’s a far cry from factory farming, or raising animals in captivity for consumption, no matter how “humane”.

The question I want to ask these people sweating in Madison Square Park gnawing on ribs is, “What gives us the right??” And I wish someone had asked me that as I sat in Peter Luger’s with the bone in my hands. I wonder how I would have reacted. A few years ago I probably would have walked through this barbecue meat party and thought more about the obesity epidemic and rates of colon cancer, and while I would have found the glorification of meat consumption vulgar, I wouldn’t have been freaking out inside like I was today. This is relatively new territory for me. I kept looking around wondering where the hell is PETA!? Why aren’t they here calling these people out? And then the dog conversation. A guy working the event noticed Leon as we walked by, and asked me questions about him. Yes he’s a boy. A pit-mix. Leon. About two years old. Yada yada. Then I get to it: Oh hey, doesn’t he kind of look like a pig? Do you know it’s been studied and turns out pigs are smarter than dogs? They can learn to play video games and know their names? Wait, you wouldn’t eat a dog? I don’t get it, what’s the difference between eating a dog and a pig?

At first he laughed. And said things like “well, pigs are tasty!” But then my heart pounded faster. Then he started to get mad, I started to get mad. He said “Wait a minute! Are you a vegetarian?” and I’m like “What difference does that make, I’m just asking a question! Why wouldn’t you eat my dog?” and he stormed off into the crowd, and there I was, heart pounding, yelling after him, “YOU DIDN’T ANSWER MY QUESTION!!!” I was yelling. As in, people all around saw and heard me.

Who was that? I never yell. I’m pretty shy, and quiet in public. And here I was, yelling at this guy in the middle of a crowd of people. And for what? I’m not going to change his mind, right there in the middle of this event. What was I doing? I don’t really know, and it was totally depressing. I just know I’m new to this. I never before understood what would possess someone to lie naked on a Styrofoam platform covered in fake blood and wrapped in saran wrap, to make a point. Wait, that’s not true. I understood it, and have for years appreciated that people do it, and have been supportive of groups like PETA even if I worry some of what they do publicly only perpetuates the image of vegans as “crazy” just as this guy dismissed me as “vegetarian” and therefore different from him, like an enemy. But now I feel different. And I’m not a different person, I’ve just been exposed to more information, more truth, and reality. And I kind of want to lie naked on Styrofoam covered in blood too.

Maybe that guy I yelled at will go vegan one day. But, it’s not likely to happen from my confronting him the way I did. In fact, I probably just reinforced his feeling that vegans/vegetarians are angry freaks to be avoided. And then I only felt much worse.

Leon and I made our way out of the sweaty pork-munching crowd. We got home and I flopped down on the couch and started to cry, for a good ten minutes, at least. Like contorted-face sobbing crying. I’m confused, sad, angry, discouraged, frustrated, and heartbroken. OK maybe I’m heartbroken in more ways too, but that’s another story. So. I sat down to write all this, even though now it’s getting late and I’m freaked out about all the work I’d planned to get done that I haven’t done.

What is my ‘work’ anyway? Whatever it is, I just know I want to have maximum impact on the shift. On everyone’s evolution to better health and eating more plants and less animals. I don’t want to judge, I never have. Again, it wasn’t so many years ago that even as a ‘mostly’ vegan, I was sitting in Peter Luger’s bone in hand. I think even proving a point in some way. Like hey I’m mostly vegan but I can still tear apart a steak. But yeah, no. Not anymore. With a fair amount of chef friends, and friends and acquaintances in the food/restaurant business, I always felt defensive about being ‘vegan’ and maybe I took pride in being more ‘open-minded’ that I would occasionally eat meat. Like I was being rebellious, because I have a tendency to do that. And I don’t like labels, which is why I still don’t refer to myself as vegan.

Anyway. What’s my point. Who knows. I may contradict myself all over the place, now and over time. I don’t know. I just know I’ve been called a “bee hater” and a hypocrite because sometimes there’s a dish on the menu of my restaurant with honey. Well, that’ll probably shift too. And, interestingly, not out of sympathy for bees, more to avoid the controversy and be consistent and courteous to any strictly vegan guests, since I do understand that honey is not technically vegan, and for lack of a better description, my restaurant is called vegan. I like “plant-based” better. But anyway. Maybe one day I’ll be full of fury and outrage on behalf of bees. But I’m not there yet.

I just know I love my dog. I want to protect him, and other animals. And I want people to be healthy. I don’t want our planet going to hell in a hand-basket from the pollution of the way we live, which includes the atrocities and environmental destruction of factory farming. My dog and cat are not vegan. (More on that another time.) I want kids to grow up knowing the truth, and making their own choices about what to eat and what not to eat, based on truth, not the allure of a Happy Meal toy, the addictive nature of MSG and sugar in fast food, or their favorite athlete in a Burger King commercial. One third of kids in this country are obese. Not just chubby, OBESE. One in three. That’s about 9 million children. What chance do they have starting out this way? McDonald’s spends $2 billion a year in advertising (I think). Is that truth? Is Ronald McDonald reality? Do people really understand the compelling truths when it comes to disease and diet? (No, they don’t and I went off on that and Bain Capital’s fast food investments a few years ago, here).

If someone locked the gates on the Big Apple BBQ, and forced everyone to sit down and watch that one particular Mercy For Animals video, would they all feel the same way about pulled pork and pork ribs and keep on chowing down? (Sidenote: I think most of the pigs in this weekend’s meat fest were not factory farmed, despite the Smithfield truck there, and I do appreciate and want to support ‘farm-to-table’ restaurants, and the shift to grass-fed more ‘sustainable’ meat, but… only because it’s a step in the right direction. Anyway.) Anyway. ANYWAY.

I’m still confused. Food is emotional. Our relationships to our pets and animals are emotional. I’m emotional. And I’m really tired too. Now and in general. I’ve seen people’s faces go blank and then turn into anger even when just gently questioned about meat eating. What I did today was so out of character. I’m not one to create conflict, or judge. I’m even worried about posting this, because I don’t want to offend anyone. A lot of the people who come to Pure Food and Wine aren’t vegan or vegetarian, which is how I like it.  In the winter, there are always fur coats belonging to guests in our coat closet. Much as I might now feel like strapping those people down and forcing them to watch a fur horror video, if one of our staff made even a gentle critical comment, they’d probably be fired (or, I’d just make sure it never ever happened again). We don’t make it our job to judge. But either way, fur-clad people coming to the restaurant, in itself, doesn’t upset me at all. It actually makes me happy, because I just want people eating more plants, and less animals, for a lot of reasons. And if they come in because they want to lose weight, or because they’ve read that going raw will make you look younger, or they’re curious, or because they think it’s fashionable or trendy, or they’re on a ‘cleanse’… whatever the reason, I just want them to please come in, and to have a good experience, and then to want to come back again. For it may just be the start of their own evolution.

Goodnight!

p.s. This quote is buried in the back of my first book and am repeating it here:

“Nothing will benefit human health and increase the chances for survival of life on Earth as much as the evolution to a vegetarian diet.” – Albert Einsten

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THE MOST INSANE GREATEST THING I’VE EVER DONE. (adopting a dog)

Yes, that would be adopting a dog. His name is LEON. I love him like crazy. (By the way, should you fail to make it to the end of this article, please note that One Lucky Duck is doing a Leon-inspired “Gifts that Give Back” program, donating 10% of our pet product sales through the holidays to animal rescue charities, so… shop here?) Anyway, on with the love story:

I have been falling in love with other people’s dogs for years. I’d do things like go to someone’s garden party and end up hanging out in the corner of the yard with their dog all day, ignoring all the people. Or, I’d lock eyes with a dog waiting in line with its human companion at the bank, and… fall in love. During this last year, I began occasionally looking after Bazooka, a very mellow, sweet, and beautiful rescue dog adopted by Abel, who works at Pure Food and Wine. Anyone who follows my randomness on Twitter probably knows all about Baz because I posted loads of photos of him on twitpic.

me n baz

He traveled with me and my boyfriend to my Mom’s in New Hampshire, where he got to roll around in the grass a lot.  After the first time Abel came to take him back, I cried for a really long time.

As much as I adored taking care of Baz, and loving dogs, there was no way in my mind that I could adopt a dog myself. I definitely wasn’t thinking about getting a dog. But then I met a friend who kept talking about wanting a wife. My response was, “Get a rescue dog!” It seemed perfect for him. I was thinking that loving a dog and being loved by a dog would do him good. And then with all that love floating around in his space, surely the right lady love would get pulled into the love vortex? So, anytime I came across sweet photos of rescue dogs up for adoption, I’d assault his email inbox with them.

Of course, I was insisting he consider only rescue dogs. The Humane Society estimates that 8-10 million cats and dogs are taken in by shelters each year. Of those, about 4-5 million don’t get adopted and are “euthanized” (killed). People should stop breeding dogs and cats and just let everyone adopt from shelters only. Do we really need fancy purebred dogs?

One day I was scanning a newsletter from my friend the lovely Kris Carr of CrazySexyLife (her newsletters and fun vlogs are great). Among all the other good info contained in these letters, she always includes a photo and link to a pet needing to be adopted. I scrolled down and saw… the sweetest looking puppy I’d ever seen. Ever. (photo below) Right away I clicked on the link and forwarded it to my wife-seeking friend. Of course, he kept ignoring these dog emails from me—I guess he really wants a human female, not a canine one? But there was something special about this dog and I kept pleading with him, YOU MUST GET THAT DOG! Meanwhile… I continued staring at the photo, and thus began my own obsession. I’d try to get back to my work, but kept going back again and again to look at the photo. Quinn was his name. Over the next few days, I would go back to Kris’ email, stare at the photo some more. Then I just downloaded his photo right onto my laptop desktop for easy viewing day and night.

Quinn up for adoption

At some point during all this drooling over the photo, the idea of actually adopting him myself started to ever so slowly seep into my consciousness. First as more of a dreamy fantasy: me and Quinn, frolicking carefree through flowery fields. But I’d quickly snap back into the reality that my getting a dog would be insane. There were (are) tons of reasons for me NOT to get a dog. I mean, a LOT. I won’t go into them all here. But if I did, you’d tell me getting a dog at this point in my life would be an insane thing to do. And this is what those close to me indeed said when I started hesitantly tossing the idea out there. I couldn’t help showing people the photo of Quinn. Most asked how could I take care of a dog when they’re always telling me I need to take better care of myself? And, in particular, a young rescue dog, a pit bull, five months old, no doubt needy and full of energy. If I had to get a dog, they said, why not get an older mellow dog, like Baz? But I didn’t have to get a dog, and this wasn’t about any dog, it was about Quinn. The image of his puppy face continued to haunt me with its cuteness, and something more I couldn’t explain.

The shelter where Quinn was being kept was in Brooklyn, so I googlemapped it to see where exactly it was. Why? I didn’t know. But then knowing exactly where he was (and how to get there via hopstop) of course only made me feel more connected. His adoption description said he’d been found with “severe demodectic mange” so of course I began googling that condition to find out what it was. So sad! The photos online of dogs with mange are terrible. Poor things. Appently, it’s a treatable condition and Quinn’s description explained that he’d healed quite well on medication. Then I emailed the shelter just to check if they still had him. I still thought maybe I’d be able to convince my friend to get him. They emailed me back letting me know he was still there, and they attached an application for me. Really? For moi? Ruh-roh. I printed it. But left it sitting in the printer.

Then… one night I woke up crying at like 4am. My boyfriend woke up too and asked me what was wrong. I told him, “It’s Quinn.” For whatever reason my heart was hurting badly over it. As if he was there in the crate at that shelter just waiting for me and I had to go get him. Why was I so upset over it not having even met him? It was just a photo. There are tons of rescue dogs out there. I was lying in bed awake and upset thinking about it, when it occurred to me that his profile said he was about 5 months old. Counting back 5 months meant he was born some time in March. March!?

sick sleepy Dallas

That was when I lost my 11 year old cat soul mate Dallas to cardiomyopathy. (Again, anyone whose followed my stuff may remember because as he got sick I kept Tweeting for advice on what to do… I wanted to write a whole kitty eulogy after he died, to memorialize him and also in particular to say thank you for the vast amounts of helpful advice and support I got while he was sick through both twitter and facebook. So yes, people can rip on “social media” all they want but it can provide a really supportive connection in times of need.) Anyway, maybe the timing of this puppy’s birth was a coincidence, but it was like that little extra special sign.

And so, despite all the apparently obvious reasons I should not adopt a dog (or a child, or anything else), I sorted out that I’d just go see him. This particular dog was just jammed up in my head and heart and there was nothing else I could do.

I didn’t really tell anyone I was planning to go see him until right before I went. My boyfriend had just left for a trip to Colorado. I was sort of afraid he didn’t want me to get a dog. I was also afraid that it was horrifically stupid given my home is also the One Lucky Duck office and Tiffani, Karen, Adina, and Chelsey who all work here would also have to deal with this giant puppy dog I’d be imposing on them. Not to mention, he’d probably eat all our inventory? Or chew up all our computer cords? And how in the world would I manage walking him every day all the time? A puppy! A pit-bull puppy! What if he barked all day and night!

I got to the Sean Casey Animal Rescue shelter late in the afternoon on a Thursday. I’d called the day before and again that morning to make sure they still had him. (At this point, if they’d told me someone else adopted him I would have been devastated!). Finally I got there and met him. In my head I’d sort of imagined one of those TV Lassie moments, but there wasn’t any slo-mo running towards each other. He was just a very hyper cute puppy. And he didn’t stare up into my eyes pleading to be taken home. But he was damn cute. His fur was still a little mange-y, and he looked a little beaten up, but cute. And did I mention he was hyper? We walked around a bit. I talked to Sean (who founded the shelter). He was (is) very cool.

Sean told me about Quinn’s history. He had severe mange when they found him. He showed me the photos they’d taken of him. I couldn’t believe it was the same dog. Poor baby! He was all scab, no fur. Sean said it was so bad that if you tried to handle him he’d bleed. But mange is easily treatable, it just gets out of hand if you don’t treat it. He said that whoever had him before probably just dumped him after it got really bad. They were going to email me the photos but can’t find them now. I probably would post them even though they’re heartbreaking just so people know puppies with mange can and do get so much better, as long as they get treated. Anyway. He spent his first month at the shelter in a cage healing up, and then they took the super cute photo they posted on their site, that Kris Carr reposted, that I fell in love with.

I told Sean I needed to think about it. But then I left him the application I’d printed at home and filled out, very thoroughly, just in case. I even already had a leash, collar, and dog treats in my bag… just in case.

They put Quinn back in his cage and I went in to say goodbye. All the other dogs were freaking out barking, but Quinn had flopped down in his cage, and finally looked up right at me with his puppy eyes. I mentally told him not to worry, I’d come back to get him. So, of course, that was it. Really? There was no decision, I couldn’t not come back and get him.

I got home later and started running around freaking out… shoving all my sneakers into closets, combing the floors for paper clips, binder clips, hair clips, anything a puppy could swallow. And generally just running in circles thinking OMG OMG OMG I’m getting a dog! Not knowing what I’m supposed to do. And wishing I had two weeks to get ready.

I left the next morning timing it so I’d get there right when they opened. On the way there, I was crying like a dork. Exploding heart. People on the subway probably thought I’d just broken out of a relationship, lost a family member, a job, something. No, I was just about do adopt a puppy! And whatever was coming up, I knew I needed to get it out of my system so I didn’t cry at the shelter. (They might think I was a basketcase and unfit mother?). Charlie, the trainer there, spent a good two hours with me before I took Quinn/Leon home. Sean Casey Animal Rescue is a rad place. At one point I had to pee so I went back through the cages of freaking out dogs to a small bathroom and while peeing casually glanced over into the sink next to me to find a giant turtle in it. Needless to say I did not wash my hands this one time. Rescue turtles? Cool.

After about 3 hours, they called me a car and we loaded it up with the crate and everything else I bought from the pet store next door. This is the photo I took of a very nervous dog in the car.

looking scared on the way home from the shelter

Our first afternoon was a little nervewracking. I was sort of afraid, not knowing what his background was and if he might get aggressive. But really he’s about the sweetest thing ever. Hyper, but incredibly sweet. He slept the first night in his crate, but after that on a dog bed next to me.

I still had a name dilemma. I knew him as Quinn, but the trainer at the shelter said it was probably best if I renamed him. New life, new name. Shit. New name? It took me days to sort out. It was hard for me to think of him as anything other than Quinn. I’d finally come up with Leon as the top running alternate name (explanation below) but kept thinking of him as Quinn. One night on a walk through drunken B&T crowds in the MP district, I took a poll of all the party people who stopped to pet him and asked his name. I’d say, does he look like Quinn? Or Leon? They ALL said Leon. So, the B&T people voted. I listened. I figured Quinn could be his middle name.

LEON QUINN TRUJILLO STERLING BRITT is my boy’s full name. LEON is the character in my favorite movie of all time. The Professional, with Natalie Portman when she was super young, and Jean Reno, who played Leon. LOVE him. (If you haven’t seen that movie, best movie ever. Go rent it now.) Quinn: his shelter name obvs. Trujillo is for Rob Trujillo of Metallica. (sigh). Then Sterling and Britt are my BF’s middle and last names, respectively. Much more distinguished sounding than my last name, I thought. Anyway. Howard and Beth Stern’s dog is named Bianca Romijn-Stamos-O’Connell. I wanted a nice long name for my dog too. Why should they have only one name?

Leon Quinn Trujillo Sterling Britt

At the shelter, they said it’s really hard to get pitbulls adopted because they have such a bad reputation. They kept thanking me for taking him. I was like, no… thank YOU! For paperwork purposes, my dog is officially labeled an “American Staffordshire Terrier” but everyone I pass on the street goes, “Oh! A red nosed pit!” I think he’s definitely a mix of some kind. Of who knows what. I like to think he’s part pitbull, part rabbit (his ears!) and part piglet (he’s so pink! and snorts a lot!). And for the record, he hasn’t chewed up any inventory, or any computer cords. There are chew toys everywhere. I even added some to our inventory. Of course… Leon has rekindled the flame buried way down for me to build an entire pet biz. But more on that later. For now we just got some cool new stuff to put in the pet section of One Lucky Duck: organic and eco-happy toys, treats, doggy shampoo, and more.

With a puppy, training is key. And reading books. So far, The Dog Listener by Jan Fennell, and Good Owners, Great Dogs by Brian Kilcommons and Sarah Wilson, have been my favorites. Of course, I also got the entire series of The Dog Whisperer from Netflix too. Love Cesar! For personal training… I really highly recommend my first trainer Sean Morgan. He has a total Cesar Dog Whisper air about him. He walks in with that friendly but very strong presence. Leon immediately bowed down to him and did pretty much whatever he asked. I learned a lot. E-mail him if you need help, he’s lovely and very affordable… seansdogs@yahoo.com. Then through one of our regulars at the restaurant, I met Leon’s current daytime daddy, Justin Silver. Also an amazing trainer I’d highly recommend. His friend thought he’d be perfect for me and Leon because he has two pit bulls of his own and lives nearby. He also started and runs a not for profit foundation, Funny For Fido, which holds an annual stand up comedy event to benefit animal rescue organizations.

Justin w Chiquita n Pacino

Here’s Justin and his two pups (photo) and in a really sweet profile where he explains why he started this charity. To read it click here. And here’s his doggy care website: The Language of Dogs.

Leon now goes out every day with Justin and friends, running around with other dogs, and then comes home to pass out and snore on the couch all afternoon. All of which means I get a lot more work done during the day than I’d been getting done over the first six weeks. Justin totally loves Leon and gives me loads of advice all the time, from what collars and leashes to buy to the best neighborhood vet. When I asked Justin whether I should get pet insurance he said,“Trupanion!” so I’ve signed up for that too. (After getting drained by vet bills when my kitty lover was sick, wanted to be insured going forward).

The work that Justin does through his foundation to benefit animal shelters and my firsthand experience with Sean Casey Animal Rescue really made me want to help in some way, so that’s why we came up with a Gifts That Give Back program for the holidays, to donate 10% of sales of all our pet products to both Sean Casey Animal Rescue and Funny For Fido. Of course, one day I want to have a huge country vacation home where loads of dogs and cats and rabbits and anyone else can come live. But… for now, we’ll just do this neat little promo.

So, has my life turned upside down with Leon? No, and yes. I mean, it already feels upside down so maybe he’s turning it right side up? As I type this he’s gnawing away on a chew thing in my office, and Sydney (my cat, sister of Dallas) is on her bamboo bed on top of my desk snoozing away. Cats of course require way less attention. They do their own thing. But dogs… especially puppies, whole different story. Getting a dog for me seemed insane, but then, not. For months I’d been trying to figure out if there was something wrong with me, wondering why I was feeling so shitty and exhausted all the time. Which is not something I theoretically should be admitting, but then should I be lying? No! So I’ve been very open about feeling shitsville and trying lots of things. Thyroid issues? Low iron? Candida? Parasites? Chronic Fucking Fatigue Syndrome? The only conclusion I came to was just being overworked and over stressed. And specifically tired of people telling me I need to take better care of myself. So adding yet another “responsibility” to my life seemed crazy. But I couldn’t help it. Maybe I rescued a dog because I want to be rescued myself? Oh wait, we’re not in therapy. Nevermind. I’ll sort that out myself. But apparently there are studies that show people are far more relaxed in the presence of a dog. So, I think he’s good for me.

I’d always thought I wouldn’t make a good dog-mother because I’m so busy, but really… I’m here so much of the time. Working in a home office means Leon doesn’t have to spend all day stuck in a crate or a room or an apartment all by him self. And with other people around too, and my boyfriend here (who took him out last night for a 3am runaround) he’s rarely alone. And with Justin taking him out every weekday with his dog friends, he’s getting lots of attention. His first night having dinner with me outside Pure Food and Wine he slept in my lap on the front patio. The incredibly lovely animal lover and supporter Alicia Silverstone came out, kneeled down and closed her eyes, and Leon licked her entire face. She has her own pack of rescue pups so she’s probably very used to getting these facial tongue baths. So yes, I think Leon’s a happy puppy.

And, of course I feed him well. He’s not a vegan dog, but he’s mostly raw. Sydney’s raw too. I wrote a whole two pages in Living Raw Food about the grotesque atrocity that is conventional commercial pet food. I really would like to do something about that one day.

Taking care of Leon makes me happy. He gets me out every morning, even now in the cold, which feels good. I’ve met and gotten to know so many more of my neighbors. People talk to you a lot when you have a dog, particularly a damn cute one. We go to the dog park in Madison Square, and meet more people there. I like meeting people on a level that’s not Pure Food and Wine or otherwise work related, or social. Living in NYC can be really isolating but with a dog you’re more easily pulled into the neighborhood community. Which is nice. Being out with Leon gets me out of my own head where I otherwise easily wallow in a stressed out state way too often. He’s grounding. And sometimes I’ll leave to take him for a walk and be in a bad mood, but then seeing how many people look at him and smile as we go by, it’s hard not to feel better. Like everything will be okay. I like that he gets people smiling, which then gets me smiling too.

So… I would urge anyone whose thinking about it… do it!  With love from me and Leon. If you’re one of those people who likes looking at dog photos, Leon’s on facebook here. Or, he’s featured prominently on my instagram account too.  :-)  If you’re so inclined… check out your local shelter’s website… or go to PetFinder.com and type in your zipcode and start browsing.  xo OH, and be sure to follow Leon on Twitter at @oneluckypuppy. Woof!

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