Christchurch

Well, they were right; Christchurch is about as English as you can get without crossing the Cliffs of Dover. The streets are all named Litchfield or Manchester or something, and the stream that runs through it is even called the Avon. It's a pretty place to take a walk or go punting.

They even built a gothic church, which stands in the town square now. It's a pretty nice place to watch street performers or meet up.

I don't know that I'd even call Christchurch a city; it has no skyscrapers and it just feels like a town. I walked all around it the first evening, and along the river, popping into one of the many pubs here for dinner.

Then today I rode up yet another gondola to the top of one of the nearby volcanoes that seem to be next to every town in this country. Afterwards I caught shuttles to two different wildlife reserves, zoos really, but both with lots of roomy areas for the animals. The first one was cool, I saw kiwis, huge rhinos up close, I even got to feed and pet giraffes! The second place had a wallaby that let me pet it, and there was a surprise: one of the Arapawa goats, donated by Betty herself. It seemed to be craving attention; I felt bad to leave it.

I'm also learning to be more open to meeting new people. On the ferry over here there was a guy I noticed who was tall, bald, and looked just like Vin Diesel. He was even wearing weird goggle-like sunglasses; I took to thinking of him as "Riddick". Anyway, as odd as he looked, I never dreamed of talking to him, but near the end of the trip he happened to be near me, and asked me where I was from. It turns out he's from Bavaria, and was a really nice guy! So now, if I'm sitting on a shuttle bus or something I ask other people where they're from, and I've already met a girl from Adelaide, Australia, some folks from San Diego, and even a bunch of college girls from Japan! One of them even asked if she could take my picture after the ride, and asked me not to forget her. I also got a pic of us on my camera, but I have such a stupid, nervous grin on my face I look hideous, so I won't post it!

But I think I'll keep this up, talking to strangers!

Anyway, that's about it for New Zealand for me. This is as far south of the equator as I go. Tomorrow I have just time to visit the botanic gardens and maybe a museum, then I fly back to Aukland, then on to Fiji. (That sounds weird even to me!) So I'l be back here in a few days telling you about that. See ya then!

Arapawa Animal Sanctuary

Well,I'm on the bus again now to my final New Zealand destination, Christchurch, half-way down the coast of the South Island. According to the guidebooks, it should be the prettiest of the cities I've visited so far. The buses ("coaches" here) are really the way to go: you can relax, enjoy the scenery, meet new people, and maybe get a bit of reading or writing done. And the coaches are very nice, with large, comfy seats (better than most airplanes), usually with lots of empty ones, and even bathrooms in the back. These ain't Metrobuses!
The countryside along the coast reminds me of a mix of Oregon coastline and Texas hill country. It's quite pretty and green, with gravel streams coursing lazily to the sea. I've spotted some "Middle-Earth" type areas that look like the Lord of the Rings may have been filmed there. (There was a tour in Wellington to go see "The Shire", but I didn't have time.)
Anyway, I had a great time at Arapawa (pronounced Ara-PA-wa) Island and Betty Rowe's animal sanctuary. It was very isolated and a bit rugged, but that made it a nice break from the cities I'd been touring up til then. It's just a little farmstead with twenty or so Arapawa goats, a pair of sheep, two young feral island pigs that came around to scrounge, and assorted geese, cats, and a Weka or two, a Kiwi-like bird that humans haven't managed to wipe out yet.
Betty started her sanctuary in the '70's, soon after her and her late husband Walt moved there to manage sheep on the island. They soon discovered the beautiful wild varieties of goats, sheep and pigs that all have striking coats ranging from black & white to calico or torti-like colors, and sweet, shy personalities. After asking around they found that even the locals didn't know where they came from. Painstaking research indicated that they may in fact be descendants of old English breeds actually left there by Captain Cook on his expeditions in the 1700's. And even thought DNA tests proved that they are distinct, rare breeds (the English link has yet to be proven definitively), the New Zealand government, astounding as it may seem, wants only to exterminate them, as they aren't true native wildlife.
So Betty and her friends have been fighting the Department of Conservation for decades, and despite some government slaughters that have decimated the goat populations, have managed to preserve some on their 300-acre sanctuary, and export some to other rare-goat breeders in the U.S. and Britain. She is slowly gathering support from the media and people worldwide, so hopefully soon the D.O.C. will put a stop to the killing.
But even then the danger won't be over yet. There are less than 350 of the goats worldwide, hardly a plentiful breeding gene pool. And Betty told me about just a couple of years ago how she watched as a boat passed slowly by in front of the sanctuary (and its large "Animal Sanctuary" sign), then as soon as it was around the bend, shots started ringing out. The idiots ("hoons", as they are called here) shot twenty of the goats with high-powered rifles from the boat, just for fun. And these brave "hunters" even had children with them. When one of Betty's sons raced furiously after them, they fled for Picton, but were fortunately soon caught. But due to New Zealand's weak animal welfare laws, they were only fined NZ$500 (about $400) and the sho0ter's gun license was taken away. Keep in mind these were Betty's own goats, many of whom she had hand-reared since they were babies, and each had names and distinct personalities. The saddest part is, if they had only stopped at the sanctuary, Betty would have gladly welcomed them in for tea (as she does all visitors), and the children could have met and petted the friendly goats. But instead, like children themselves, all these morons could think to do was shoot them. I wonder what kind of lesson they thought this was teaching their kids?
This kind of callous disregard for other animals is unfortunately prevalent in rural New Zealand. One common method of "hunting" on the islands is for people to let dogs loose from their boats to run down the wild pigs and other animals, and attack them until, at last, if the hunters even bother, they come and shoot the prey. This kind of cowardly ignorance left a pig screaming in the woods near Betty's house, where her husband found it with three of its legs chewed off (whereupon he immediately shot it). The "hunters" hadn't even bothered to find it. And guess what? There's NO laws against this at all. It's perfectly legal here. And apparently the dogs trained to do it are half-starved, then thrown bits of pig flesh to fight over, just to get them used to that kind of thing. Wonderful pastime, ain't it?
So the battle against shortsightedness and ignorance continues, meanwhile Betty gets help from many volunteers and people who write or email from around the world. While I was there she received a letter and a $50 donation from someone who had read her story on the internet. But those a few and far between, and for now she mostly relies on her sons and other friends to help keep her little farm going. [If you'd like to read more about the sanctuary and see some pictures of the striking goats, click on http://www.rarebreeds.co.nz/rowe.html
I had offered to volunteer there for a few days at the Sanctuary with Betty, who invited me to stay as long as I wanted. Her son Mitch met me in the nearby town of Picton and with his pretty wife Deb, bought me out to the island, where they have their own nearby weekend home. Betty met me on the dock with a hug, and we carried in the groceries I had brought. We hardly needed them--she served me delicious vegetarian dishes for my whole stay. There wasn't a huge amount of work for me to do-- I re-hung a shed door, pruned a large branch off a tree, did a bit of cleaning and general handyman stuff, but mostly I just enjoyed feeding and getting to know the animals. One afternoon I went for a hike up into the rugged mountain behind the farm and along the beach, and in the evenings we sat on the porch with a stupendous view of the bay, and had long talks about life in New Zealand. It was, so far, the highlight of my trip... I even got to name a couple of the animals: there are two magnificent rams, but they were just called "Rambo I and II"; I named the second one Ramses. And a handsome male goat wandered in from the hills and settled in, purely voluntarily, with the herd at the sanctuary (perhaps it's lonely in the wild); he is a beautiful, healthy-looking specimen, so we came up with--what else?-- "Hercules". (Note: when he arrived, the resident couple of geese made sure he knew his place, by pecking at him for a bit! He took it calmly and now hangs around with the other males, an accepted member of the family.)

One final note about the island for you astronomy buffs I had what was quite probably the best, clearest night of my life for stargazing while there. The island is practically uninhabited, it's in the middle of the Pacific, and there was no moon-- we're talking clear, dark skies. So after dinner, I walked up a little rise to the gueast house to go to bed, and I remembered to look up. Well, there should have been an orchestra playing a crashing symphony, or at least some of that stargazing music from Cosmos, because I was awestruck. Stretching across the whole sky was the Milky Way, big and bright and you could see why it was called the 'backbone of the night" by the ancients. I could almost hear Carl Sagan saying "billions and billions of stars". The next thing I saw was the constellation Orion-- but oddly, he was upside-down! --but even then, he was so bright, his sword stood out better than I'd ever seen it. Then I immediately hunted for the Southern Cross, which I spotted quite easily, big and bold, hanging there in the sky like a celebrity I'd read about all my life but never seen until now... then I noticed Leo, which I'd also never seen except in observatories. always being too low on the horizon.

And finally, I noticed a fuzzy patch of sky that looked at first like a comet I'd seen once, but much bigger. Then it sunk in to my head that this must be one of the fabled Magellanic Couds, the sister galaxies to the Milky way, also visible only in the southern hemisphere. I had forgotten all about them until then. I must have stood there for a half hour, struck by the majesty and permanence of those stars, and felt, for a moment, a kinship to the universe that I've never felt before. It's hard to explain, and I'm sure it sounds corny now, but I stretched out my arms and said out loud, "I'm part of all this", at the same time knowing that my life is fleeting and insignificant against the backdrop of Eternity.

Sorry, but I guess the splendor of it all brought out the poet in me.
Next: Christchurch: City of Gardens.

Wellington

I think these pics are pretty self-explanatory... Wellington's a nice place. I thought Aukland was the capital of New Zealand, but it's actually here, which I'm sure most of you already knew! The city's nestled in a harbor in front of some mountains (or more likely old volcanoes), so the cable car goes right up from the middle of town to a great viewpoint and gardens.

[Later] Well, that was a big waste. it's finally a clear night, so I went outside hoping to maybe see the Southern Cross, but the city lights are so bright you can barely see any stars at all. I've been here 5 days and still haven't seen it! But that's ok, this weekend should be much better when I go out to that island with the goat sanctuary; according to the picture I saw of it, there's almost nobody living there... it should be nice dark skies-- if only it doesn't get cloudy again! (Speaking of astronomy, Joe and Mike, I found out that New Zealand time is exactly twelve hours different from Greenwich time, which means I'm on the opposite side of the planet from you! Happy now?) Another nice thing tonight, even though I've started to get used to sleeping w/o a fan (yes, can you believe it??), I asked last night here at the Wellington youth hostel, knowing that there was no way they'd have one, but just in case. Well, of course, they didn't, but the nice young guy at the desk really made a search (they actually have some, but use them for other things); and today when I got back from sightseeing, there was a fan buzzing in my room! I made a point of thanking the lad. The rooms in this hostel, although still pretty bare, are way better than that horrid first one in Aukland. That one had only one small prison-cell-like window way up high that only opened a few inches, which helped not at all the stifling heat of the room. I had to prop the door open to get what little air I could, which I'm sure made all the young girls passing by think I was creepy. (*Look, Helga, there's that old American trying to watch us again*) And there was nothing in the room but two beds and a battered old fold-up chair-- this one has a nice little desk and end tables. Even the reading light was horrible, because it was mounted right over the bed so it shined right in your eyes as you tried to read. And of course, early in the morning, construction was going on outside! Needless to say I didn't sleep too well. But tonight I'm going to bask in the luxury of a cool room and a humming fan to lull me to sleep.

P.S. Oh, and C.A., you were asking about the water... it's fine, I've been drinking tap water all over this place (I try to save a little plastic by not buying too many new bottles). No worries there, mate!

Some Notes on New Zealand

If you're curious about this island country, here's a few observations:

Money: their money is beautiful, the "paper" bills feel like paper but are practically un-tearable, and each features some famous New Zealander on one side (except Queen Elizabeth on the $20) and native wildlife on the other. The bills even have a little clear patch with a watermark in it-- rather hard to forge, I think.
Maoris: The native New Zealanders are everywhere; they work in shops, drive the buses, I think even one of the pilots on the Air New Zealand plane was one. They have a distinctive look, kinda like Hawaiians. I was told by a little old lady on the bus that they have been given a lot of land back. For instance, she pointed out a mountain we were passing and said it was Maori-owned, and people were not allowed to go on it as it was sacred. Perhaps the U.S. government could learn something here.
Weather: It's exactly the opposite of the U.S. By that I mean it's exactly the same, only as you go south, it gets cooler. Being late summer here, Aukland up north was like Tampa's weather was last month: t-shirt & shorts. But a 10-hour bus trip south to Wellington means now I'm wearing jeans and a long-sleeve. Another odd thing I didn't think of-- the days are longer here. Well, sure, it's late summer... only I somehow didn't realized that would change the length of the day. Helloo? Wakey wakey, Dave!
Oh, and I have yet to see the constellations here. It's been cloudy every night except the first, when frankly I was so tired I forgot about it. Maybe tonight will be the night I see the Southern Cross!
Land: I don't know what my expectations were, but it seems pretty much the same as the U.S. east coast. It's very green, although that lady said there's been a drought here this summer. One sad thing: she pointed out miles of cleared land were you could see bulldozers had pushed all the trees into great mounds of decomposing matter. She said it was to make more room for dairy farms, and that it used to be all woods. Which seemed a little sad, to me, especially becuase, just a bit further on, we drove through endless miles of treeless scrubland. It seems if land needed to be cleared and grass planted, why not that area instead of woods?
The lady also asked me what the U.S. is doing about carbon credits. I had to tell her that U.S. corporations and the government don't give a hoot about carbon output or credits, which is frankly an embarrasment-- just one more reason to look forward to the end of the Bush administration.
But the main difference in the geography is underneath: it's very volcanic. Places where they've dug out (like on a highway through a hill) the earth is ash-grey. The main lake in the center of the North Island is an old volcanic caldera. Many of the cities are actually build on the sides of extinct volcanoes. And in the town of Rotorua, where there's steam vents and bubbling mud pools everywhere, you can even smell the sulphur!
Quirks:
Travel agencies are "Flight Centres", and there's a chain of PetSmart-type pet stores called "Animates".
There's an odd mixture, especially here in Christchurch, or old English place names (Canturbury Place, Worcester Street) and Maouri (Waitangi Rd, etc.)
Everyone's been asking me what I thought about the campaigning in the U.S. It seems they know more about it here than I do!
It's very English here: they drive on the left side of the road, every hotel has a teapot and tea in it, and in every town there are "Tearooms" and of course a pub or two, as well as a fish & chips shop.
The accents range from very posh, finishing-school English to rough country drawl almost as thick as an Australian's.
They seem to be a fairly "green" and forward-thinking country, yet they sell animal skins in tourist shops, and are flattening their own forests to make room for dairy and sheep farming, a rather unnecessary and highly inefficient way of making protein (of course, this happens all over the world as well). Fortunatley the big, ugly American way of factory farming, with its gigantic cattle barns and polluting feetlots, has not caught on much here yet, but it's probably just a matter of time. Veal is very much for sale here, as well as eggs from battery-caged hens.
All in all, New Zealand seems to be still an unspoilt, low-populated country. I would hate to see it paved over, Wal-Marted and Disneyfied, and turned into a mini-America... Please let it not be so.

Aukland & Rotorua

It's funny, but I think some places need time, like wine, to grow on you. Aukland may be one such place. I may have given it a bit bum rap. The second day, the sun came out, and I went for a walk to the nearby "Domain" park, a huge swath of grass covering acres of open parklandand beautiful tropical trees, which oddly happened to be all on the top of an ancient volcano-- you could even just make out (if you knew what to look for) the caldera, or cone, right next to the Aukland museum, poised majestically near the top with a magnificentview of the city. The museum was actually quite impressive, even from a boy who's used to Smithsonian standards. It was packed with great Maori artifacts, including a huge war canoe carved out of a single tree that could hold up to 100 warriors. It also includes, on the top floor, the history of New Zealand at war, with walk-through exhibits of life in the trenches in WWI. But what I liked best was the evolutionexhibit, showcasing a giant Moa bird towering three meters (over 9 feet) tall. I mean, the leg alone was taller than I am! And thisis a BIRD! It looked like a dinosaur, for pete's sake! The shame is, it was driven to extinction by humans only a few centuries ago. If not for overhunting, it would still be around today. Can you imagine zoos with birds as tall as an elephant? Incredible.
Anyway, then I walked around other parts of the city, including right through the beautiful university section, that were quite nice.I guess you shouldn't judge a town in one day. I looked at a map of the city and realized that I had just scratched the surface of it.
Then yesterday it was raining, which was good because I spent most of it either on the computer this morning or on the bus coming to Rotoruathis evening. Rotorua isn't an exotic island, although it sounds like it should be! It's a town half-way between Aukland and Wellington, pretty much right in the middle of the North Island of New Zealand. It's an average sized town on a big lake, so it has a nice waterfront,where I walked today among hundreds of birds... there was hardly anyone else around as it was still raining. And no, I had no bread to feed them! (I wanted to, but the nearest store was blocks away.)
Anyway, I had heard about a historic old pub named the Pig & Whistle. New Zealand, founded by the British, is full of old pubs likethis. So I found it and almost right away got invited to join the table of two Englishmen, Brian and Mark, and we proceeded to have a greatconversation, good food, and several rounds of beer (I wanted to sample the local brews, and did). These guys, both about my age, were both working towards getting citizenship in New Zealand, which apparently holds enough interest to draw people from all over.We were later joined by another Brit ex-pate, a pretty young 20-year-old girl from Nottingham who was also trying to emigrate to N.Z. She wasworking two jobs and didn't know what she wanted to be in life, just that she liked to travel, having done so as a child. Sound familiar?
So that was my one night in Rotorua. Todday I leave for Wellington, which according to my two new British friends is the best town to be in here.I was supposed to meet up with Brian this morning to ride the "Zorb", the giant inflatable ball that you get inside and roll down a hill; he said he'd meet me at the hostel at 9:30-- well, exactly at that time I went downstairs to look for him; the receptionist said he had come early, anddecided that I must be sleeping in, so he left. Here's a clue, people: if you say you're gonna meet someone at a certqin time, WAIT UNTIL THAT TIME before you leave! I mean, I was a bit hung over anyway, and not feeling quite up to rolling around inside a huge bouncing ball, but it would havebeen nice to at least say goodbye to the fellow. Anyway, I'll push on to Wellington and see what it has to offer. See ya then!

Free-wheelin' in New Zealand

Let's see... where did I leave off? I never did see that Mike guy again (sorry, girls!), but the next day I said goodbye to Lahaina and Maui and made it to the airport on time for my puddle-jumper to Oahu, the original Hawaii-Five-O island with Honolulu and nearby Waikiki. My hotel was in Waikiki, a nice enough area of the city, with a great beach and lots of shops and such-- but all artificial. It's like Disneyworld goes Hawaiian, with ritzy hotels thrown in. Even the palm trees, which are real enough, are pruned so the coconuts won't drop on tourists' heads.
One night was plenty for me. I'll take the creaky old hotel in Maui any time.
The next day I had plenty of time to take a tour bus to Pearl Harbor and a drive-by tour of Honolulu. The memorial was very moving; I recommend it to everyone to see it some time. You've all seen the photos, but being there makes it real.
I wandered around until it was time for my overnight flight to Aukland, New Zealand. I don't know if it's just me, or the stars, or what, but this was the third time this trip that my flight was delayed for two hours! Also, after we finally got going, we had a scheduled refuel stop in Fiji, which was frustrating, as I'm going back there after my New Z tour. I wish I could have just stayed there a bit, then flown on. *Sigh* Airlines, ha? Wahdyagonnado?
So we fly into Aukland this morning after a fitful night's sleep, to put it mildly, and suddenly I'm awake. I have no idea what time it is back home, and in fact I lost a day crossing the International Date Line (Not that I mind, but why'd it have to be a saturday??)
On an aside note here, I think I've figured out why I love to travel: every time I arrive in a new place (even one I've been to before, like London), I get this "high" for a while, and simply must hit the streets and walk around. This is even if I've gotten NO sleep on the plane. Heck, I've had poor, exhausted girlfriends break up with me after trips because of that! (One cold, rainy day in Venice comes to mind--poor girl.) It wears off after a while, but for those few, brief glorious hours I feel excited and eager, like a kid at Christmas, as I set off to meander around a new town.
So once again, tired as I was, after finding my hostel (and cruddy room) I lit out to explore Aukland. It's a rather small, very walkable downtown, and I covered it in just a few of hours, with obligatory stops at a pub or two down at the harborfront (where I saw a sign that said "Heineken: Breakfast of Champions"), and a rest on a bench to feed some birds.
And know what? It's nothing much to write home about. They don't walk upside down or talk backwards or anything! Seriously, As I told Jen, if I had to compare, I'd say it's the Baltimore of the southern hemisphere. Decent waterfront, a ho-hum concrete town square, and the requisite tall tower all tourists must go up, presumably to see why they've come thousands of miles to get there. I skipped it, but as I have another day, maybe I'll do it tomorrow.
There are also some parks here that I haven't seen, and I have a nagging suspicion that my tourbook of N.Z (that I haven't read since I was home) might have a suggestion or two. But that will be grist for another day. Meanwhile, I've got a few more local beers to try.
P.S. In one Irish pub they had a sign on the wall which I copied:

AUTHENTIC IRISHMAN FOR HIRE
Storytelling and Singing
Dancing and Carrying On
Available All Hours
Experienced Drinking Companion

Now, does that sound like anyone you know?? I think I'll put it on my next business card.
P.P.S. Oh, and I seem to have, eh, misplaced my camera again, so sorry but I can't post any pictures until I recover it or get a new one. Sorry, C.A.!

Flights of Fancy...

[This is another Bill Bryson moment I had on the plane last night; not a whole lot to do with my travels, so I apologize for the rambling.]

I passed a sign the other day that said, "The best things in life aren't things". So true. It's funny how you can spend a lot of money on stuff, yet enjoy the free moments in life far more. Even little ones that might happen every day, but you probably never stop to think about; sometimes if you pay a little attention, something special can happen...
One great thing about the beautiful weather in Hawaii is that it allows so many restaurants to be open-air, which, as anyone who knows me well can attest, I really like. I must have more Mediterranean DNA in me than my parents let on: I think I was meant to live in that kind of climate year-round. I can't imagine a heaven without a little taverna by an Aegean harbor, with a little old couple serving fresh Greek tomato salad, feta cheese and spinach pie. (And of course some island wine to go with it).

And one thing that comes with outdoor restaurants is-- birds!
Hawaii has its fair share of pigeons, but also some pretty white doves and asoorted other smaller brown things although, surpisingly enough, no seagulls-- it's true! Look it up; something to do with the lack of tides.
Now, I'll be the first to admit I'm actually not even sure that they were pigeons and doves, I just know they looked pretty much like that. In fact, as much as I like birds, I'm pretty much an idiot when it comes to identifying them. An average six year old knows more species of dinosaurs than I know avians. I can spot a chicken straight away, I can work out the basic body plan of a penguin, and I'm pretty sure about ostriches, but then they are pretty similar to emus, you know, so don't bet the ranch on my ornithological prowess.
Anyway, I always seem to attract a motley bunch of them while dining alfresco. I suppose the fact that I constantly drop crumbs could be a possible explanation.
It's not that I'm a particularly messy eater, at least not any more so than your average senile octogenarian; I sometimes drop crumbs on purpose. I've been feeding birds for a long time, but in Honolulu something quite special happened--twice. The first day, as I was haviing lunch in Tiki's, a nice open-air place near the beach, I started giving pieces of some quesadillas to a pretty mottled white and red pigeon, and happened to hold a crumb in my fingers and lower my hand for him to eat, but instead he hopped up onto my hand, cocked an eye at me, and pecked the food. When he was done he casually hopped down. I had to do it again; again he hopped up onto my hand and ate.
A few minutes later a waiter and waitress came by, and for some inspired reason I just held my empy hand out this time, and my little feathered friend flew right up onto it. The waitress gasped, and the waiter said, "I have never seen that happen before!" It was pretty cool. Heh, heh, little did they know I had given him the five-minute course in hand-hopping.

Then the next day I lunched at another place outside, and happened to get a free muffin with my fruit plate. I started tossing crumbs to the one pigeon nearby, and soon had a whole flock crawling over my shoes, complete with a huge "bully" pigeon who spent more time chasing the other birds away than he did eating, and all the while those tiny brown birds zoomed in and snatched crumbs up before their larger cousins could even react. I noticed one of them had three toes... that is, only one toe on one foot, and two on another. God knows what awful thing had happened to him to cause him to lose toes from both feet, but he was hopping around fine, and showed more courage than most... he even hopped up onto my table and found a few crumbs that had fallen off my plate. Cheeky little guy, you had to give him that!
But then I noticed one scruffy, older-looking pigeon who looked like he had gotten into some oil or something, his feathers looked thin and clumped, especially around the neck, but he was charging right in there with the rest of them, fighting for his share of crumbs. I wanted to get a closer look at him to see if anything was wrong, or maybe if something was stuck on his neck, so I just reached down and slowly scooped him up. I was amazed when he just sat calmly in my hand, not flapping or even trying to get away. We just looked at each other for a while. (He was probably thinking, "Ok, now where's my food?")
Now remember, this was a wild bird, almost certainly never touched by human hands before. Even dogs-- altough they've been bred to be docile for 20,000 generations-- when raised feral will simply never allow people to touch them. Yet this little bird, totally wild, trusted me enough to rest for a while in my hand. He (or she, I'm not sure; how can you tell?) eventually climbed out onto the table, walked to the edge, and flew off to another table to beg for more meals. I never could see anything wrong except for the oily feathers.
Later that day, reading about how America's giant farm factories treat chickens in Peter Singer's landmark book Animal Liberation, I was struck by the differences in their situations because of us: millions of chickens are forced to spend their short lives crowded together in hot, stifling, ammonia-reeking darkness, fear and misery, with less wire cage surface to live on than a quarter of your computer screen (it's true; look it up), and then there's old Scruffy Neck, calmly trusting me to lift him up to stare at me face to face, or brave little Three Toes, brazenly jumping onto my table for a snack. Sure, they have to scrounge for their food, but in the end, they get to fly away. There's really no comparison at all.
The wild ones may fight for food, but they won't have to fight for breathing space... something to consider next time you pick up a bucket at KFC-- one of the worst offenders, by the way.
In fact, it made me think: if I could perceive actual personalities and character in such a short time with the few I actually paid attention to, how many others have similar attributes that we'd rather not think about as we eat them?
Anyway, for what it's worth, I just thought I'd share. These are things I think about while flying over a dark ocean at night when I should be sleeping. Thanks for reading... and I hope you don't think I'm going daft!