The Machine’s Pump Volume 18 – #7 – July 2015

TIPPING POINT. Anyone that knows even a little about the exciting lives of Brave Combo members is aware that Jane, my wife, and I have lots of dogs and cats and support various animal rights groups, from our local shelter to big organizations, like PETA and Farm Sanctuary. We’ve always felt that if we came across a needy animal it was our responsibility, right then and there, to do something to help it and we’ve been surprisingly successful at finding homes for dozens of critters over the years. And, of course, the ones we either couldn’t place or couldn’t part with would join our family. A couple of years ago we peaked out at five dogs and six cats, but have since cremated Dudley, a fifteen-year-old brindle bird dog we snatched from a country road in East Texas when he was an emaciated puppy and Biscuits, a long-haired orange tabby who was with us for 13 years after we found him clinging to an embankment, about to slide into a culvert-turned-raging-river, during a heavy rain storm. My point is that my life has been just as focused on understanding animals as it’s been about making music. As much as possible, my day is filled with looking at and touching and playing with my dogs and cats. Jane often has to make me stop. I can get a little lost in it. Of course, that means the day is also filled with feeding them all, letting the dogs in and out and in and out, walking one of the dogs (Augie) AND one of the cats (Spunky), cleaning several litter boxes, several times and enduring barking, growling, hissing and demanding meowing (Stacie), especially in the kitchen. Dogs and cats really love food, yet they have no hands to help them eat (curious fact). Having to use your mouth as your hand must be fatiguing. On top of all of this, Jane must dispense medicine about fifteen times everyday to some of the little four-leggers, which includes giving our diabetic cat (Eddy) insulin shots at 10am and 10pm. Many of the things we have to do are too dull or too graphic (vomiting, diarrhea, enemas) to go into here but, trust, me, we are seriously involved. As well, we are two of the go-to people in the neighborhood to help with other’s animals AND I help feed two feral cats (second in command) on a nightly basis (between 9:00 and 9:30 behind a QT). We’ve never been able to figure out if we’re animal magnets or if we’re just always on the look-out, because someone has to be. And, although I get worn out and often frustrated, doing all I have to do (because they’re animals), I still love spending time with them all. I love just staring at them, noticing as many subtle things as I can. I feel like I get insight into the big picture by doing this. Each of our dogs and cats has a unique life. Each has a unique view-point. This is easy to see. Therefore it’s not a huge step to think that every animal in the world is special. Every animal has its own thing going on and living its life is important to it.

So when a story pops up in the news about a rich dentist from Minneapolis, flying to Africa, so he can kill a lion with his bow and arrow, to feel cool and more manly, I not only get sad, I get angry and, for just a moment, hate almost everyone who doesn’t feel as I do, as deeply as I do. Enough is being said about this particular asshole, so I don’t have to go on and on too much. But it does make me think about how people like him, who have lots of money, really do believe that their money can buy anything in the world and allows them to do anything they damn well please. But, maybe, just maybe, we are reaching another tipping point (remember, one day you could find your favorite Confederate flags in every major department store, the next day, like magic, they were gone – poof!). Maybe the public is finally becoming aware of what’s been going on in the twisted world of big game hunting and the power of the people just might force some significant changes, making this now-quivering Dr. Dipshit the scapegoat for them all. I’m delighted that he’s scared and hiding, that his career is most likely ruined, that he’s now despised by millions of people (that can’t feel good) and I really want him to be extradited back to Zimbabwe to stand trial. One of our most popular songs, “Skokiaan,” is Zimbabwean, so I’m a little sensitive about that as well, by the way. But, more so, I am delighted that this horrible act, stemming, obviously, from the good doctor’s low self-esteem, just might open those millions of eyes to the reality of animal suffering everywhere. And, I must admit, I am also humored by how the now-notorious Dr. Palmer thought the result of his “brave” exploits to darkest Africa would be admiration. He had no idea that he was, in fact, ruining his own life. Now that’s instant karma! And it’s hilarious! RIP, Cecil.

Donald Trump’s is a weird growth; a mutation of a human, created by the creepiest corners of the self-mutilating Republican party and they have to own him. They set the stage and made their environment suitable for such a monster as the blustering one and it grew and grew, galvanizing the party’s worst, most pissed-off, venom-spewing faction. Happy days are here again! On a side note, you do know that one of Trump’s sons hunts big game in Africa, right? No surprise there.

Okay, go out and look around and help an animal, in memory of Cecil, the black-maned, lion. And, while you’re at it, check out how many of the cheeses in regular ol’ grocery stores no longer use animal rennet, proudly stating it on their packaging. It’s a long way from perfect, but it is an admission that there’s a better, more humane way to treat farm animals. Dig?