Twenty four hours since I posted my thoughts on Buckley the puppy’s media storm and the abusive emails continue to ping at my inbox. I have to admit I did expect some fireworks from the usual suspects – Buckley’s manager and fanbase, and Jason Baker, director of PETA Asia-Pacific (who recently attacked legend Sam Neill over his brilliant advertisements on the health benefits of eating meat) and for that reason I made sure I kept the doors locked, the car hidden in the garage and the fur coat tucked away in the closet next to my hunting rifle and carving knife, but in all honesty I didn’t expect this level of hysteria.
There have been a few emails of support. Most notably this one –
“The dog’s a bloody wus. A couple of chopped ears and he’s gone all poodle. Come and talk to me when he gets stabbed in the pancreas.” – Chopper Reid
But most have been along these lines –
“Ears are how dogs hear and tails are how they are happy. This sick man knew what he was doing and aimed to take away Buckley’s ability to communicate. How can you stick up for him?”
“I hope your animals get their ears cut off. Then you’ll see how it feels.” (This really threw me for a while. I rushed into my backyard in a panic expecting to find that someone had hurt my chickens. Several moments passed before I remembered the specifics of chicken anatomy and stopped searching the pen for their ears.)
The most hurtful response comes from my father-in-law (a known dog lover and vegan sympathiser). A while ago I posed for a photo that appeared in a Physiotherapy campaign focussing on back pain. He obviously stumbled across it and decided to teach me a lesson. This is the email and accompanying photo –
Re: Buckley. How Would You Like It?!
For the safety of myself and my family I retract my previous post and will donate $20 to Buckley’s scholarship fund. My only hope is that we don’t lose someone of Buckley’s obvious talent to more prestigious international career opportunities.
I am going to try to put this all behind me and refocus on My Backyard – The Series…
My Backyard 2 – Back from the City
In my backyard there are animals.
None of them are running.
The have large pens
but they waddle or hop
at a slow to medium pace.
Nothing hurries them.
Nothing scares them into a sprint.
Their hides are their own –
they’ve been born beyond the point of being eaten.
Some may say they’re miles from home.
But I say they’re right there,
they’re right here.
My ducks for instance –
they’re both girls.
They eat and sleep and sort through mud.
They quack and clean and sometimes mount each other,
all at a slow waddle,
all, it seems, without the slightest hint of interference.
Compare this to the millions
crying to be heard in the city.
Quack is simple –
quack means sit and wait,
quack means stay at home, the days have settled.
Quack is pre-defeat –
it’s late, the race is over.