Cruelty-Free: Compassion Over Killing (the internship)
Birthday Cupcakes
Hens and hogs and cows – oh my! Since mid-June, I’ve had the extraordinary experience of working as a legal intern at Compassion Over Killing, a DC-based organization whose mission is to end cruelty to animals in agriculture. The sheer numbers are staggering: more than a million animals are killed for consumption every hour, animals that can and do feel pain. There are few laws in place to protect any animals, and in most states farm animals are exempt from even those protections. But the good news is that this is changing: people are becoming more aware of the suffering that factory farming causes and, as a result, consumers and laws are changing their ways. What an inspiration to be part of a team spending their days trying to help all these animals who cannot defend themselves, to witness their dedication on a daily basis and the intelligence and creativity they bring to their jobs.
Some highlights of my time with CoK:
- All the firsts, as a 1L/Rising 2L: first real-world memo; first visit to a prosecutor’s office; first meetings on Capitol Hill; first phone calls to federal agencies, etc.
- Discussing HR 5566, the bill to stop the production and distribution of animal crush videos, at the offices of Congresswoman Giffords and Senators McCain and Kyl, just days before the House voted on it — and approved it by a landslide!
- Vegan cupcakes from Sticky Fingers Bakery on my milestone birthday
- A beautiful drive along the Maryland coast with Cheryl, on the way to meet with the state’s attorney. When she pointed out a battery-cage facility, I said a little prayer for the caged hens inside.
- Serving up non-dairy Caesar salad at City Hall with CoK’s outreach volunteers
- The Animal Rights Conference in Alexandria, VA and tabling for CoK
- HSUS’s Taking Action for Animals conference weekend
- Visiting Poplar Spring Animal Sanctuary for rescued farm animals
- Working and learning each day with legal interns, Lisa, Rory and Mel. It was great getting to you know you guys! Lots of laughs in between navigating the swampy roads of Westlaw…
Legal Interns
My eternal gratitude to Cheryl, Erica (Wonder Woman!), Christina, Francesca, Max, Frank, Lisa, Rory, Mel, Lauren, Doba, Boru, Hermione, and all the volunteers who came into the office each week. A special shout-out to fourteen year-old Katya, a young fiery spirit who I know will do wonders on behalf of the animals — you’re awesome!
Although, as a general rule, I don’t dwell on negative images and stories related to animal abuses, it’s impossible to completely avoid them; sometimes, the suffering seems so much, and what needs to be done so much… it’s overwhelming. In those moments that I know we all have, I will picture my CoK friends at the office, making the phone calls, searching through piles of documents, handing out veggie hot dogs on a corner, leafleting on the streets of DC… all the stuff of a routine day at CoK. And I’ll be reminded that there are so many, many people who care about these animals, who have compassion, and who — together — are a brilliant force at work in the universe each day.
Erica and Mel
Thank you for the privilege of being part of your team, for providing me with a learning ground, for sharing your journeys with me, and for becoming an integral part of my own journey. Six weeks, in a way, lasts forever.
(Special thanks to Josh Balk, for suggesting that I call Cheryl in the first place!)
Pushkin and Rothko
Since the creation of LettersToPushkin.com, I have been so moved by all the letters and pictures people are posting as they are coping with the loss of a loved one. Also, on the Facebook page for Letters To Pushkin, another support network is blossoming – and I want to thank everyone for the comments they’ve been leaving there. It is because of this outpouring of honesty and compassion that I decided to share with you a recent personal reflection. A warmest thank you to everyone who has been supportive of the site and is helping to spread the word.
26 June 2010
For my first free day in DC since moving into the apartment, I had plans to go to The Phillips Collection early in the afternoon. It’s one of my favorite museums in the world, and it’s now just a few blocks from my home away from home for the next six weeks. After the museum, the day’s agenda included a Bikram Yoga class, followed by dinner in Georgetown. It was the perfect plan. However, my morning got off to a bit of a shaky start as I allowed myself to become distracted. You see, although I’m not a “morning person,” my morning meditation has become one of the most important parts of my day. And, while I’m starting to feel like I’m getting my groove back after having had a few days to settle in, my routine in my new environment is more susceptible than it normally would be to circumstances. I was already a block from my apartment when I realized I’d skipped out before giving myself the time I usually take each morning to set myself apart from whatever is happening, all the details of life that could in an instant fall away.
As a practice, I begin the day by getting still and clearing my mind (much easier to do at the very beginning of the day before the emails, the phone calls, or work gets my mind racing and my body moving). At home in Tucson, Galileo and Otis are creatures of habit as well: “Is it time to meditate boys?” They immediately come in from the yard, jump down from the sofa, or come running from wherever they are in the house, and trot into the room where we meditate each day. I begin by reading a daily reflection from Sogyal Rinpoche’s Glimpse After Glimpse, which by now I have read a few times over. I follow the reflection with a prayer of gratitude, for all the blessings in my life. I say prayers for my loved ones, family, and friends. I also pray for myself — usually for clarity, focus, and to finish the day a little bit better a person than when I started. I say a prayer for Otis and Galileo, that they are protected from harm and suffering, and I say a prayer for Pushkin, the spirit that we call Pushkin: that he remembers he has a family that loves him very much. That, wherever he is, he feels safe and knows he’s loved.
After the prayers, I try to get very quiet and I begin to breathe with Pushkin. During one of his last days with us, he held his beagle nose right under mine and insisted we breathe together. After a few breaths, I started to move my head away but he nudged me back. Full breaths together for several minutes. The lesson I took from that has become a mantra of sorts for me: in our breath, we are one. Although we are separated now, we could never be separate. Pushkin is still with me all the time. And it’s more than just a mind game to me. It’s been a year and a half since the beagle body gave out on him, but that only means he isn’t restricted anymore by physicality. Now, his spirit flies. And with my feet planted firmly on the ground, I’m able to take Pushkin places now that he could never have seen before. Last summer I took Pushkin to his first Yankee game — at the new Yankee stadium, which was also a first for me. Pushkin came skiing with us last January in Park City, and he has sat on my lap for an Alvin Ailey performance and also at an Etta James concert. He certainly has been to many law-school classes with me by now… I consider us a dynamic duo in the animal law efforts. He has been with me on the bench in Riverside Park that now has his name on it, and together we’ve wandered into the old dog run at 105th Street. Sometimes, I imagine his little beagle-self walking beside me when I’m walking, as I have while I’ve been walking around Washington DC this week. There was a time when this city was my home. Now, I invite Pushkin to walk around with me so that I can show him some of the places his mama used to know before I knew him. Now, I’ve shown him the Georgetown campus, the places I used to sit and read, my favorite spots in the old neighborhood.
So when I arrived at The Phillips Collection today, I was already looking forward to showing Pushkin some of my favorite pieces. But, having realized my omission in the morning routine, I also wanted to find a quiet spot where I could be still and meditate. Soon enough, I came to the Rothko room. It’s a small rectangular room tucked away on the second floor of what was once Duncan Phillips residence. On each wall, one of Rothko’s large canvasses. I sat on the bench in the center of the room and let my eyes settle on the panel right in front of me, which consisted mostly of blues and violets. I began my prayers, trying to quiet my mind, trying to immerse myself in the tranquility of the painting. Rothko paintings, at least for me, take some time to settle into. It takes a while to see how the shades of colors emerge, then merge with each other, how there is movement in a painting that at first glance can look static. This painting: one color in the background, and a large block of another color taking over about two-thirds of the space. When it comes to Rothko’s work, if you don’t sit with it, you miss what’s there. A simple brush stroke across the canvas suddenly seems to float, set itself apart from the other colors. Suddenly there are pink tones in the violet that you hadn’t noticed at first. The boundaries of the colors begin to blur until the painting has an almost hypnotic effect. It was here that I said my prayers, swimming in a sea of more shades of blue and purple than you can imagine.
For my morning conversation with Pushkin I turned to the panel on my left, and I repositioned myself at the far end of the bench. This panel was quite a contrast to the previous one: so much more light — rather than violets and blues, there were yellows and reds to mesmerize me. Like a sunrise. I sat at the edge and began talking to Pushkin. This was his first Rothko painting.
At first, I imagined him sitting there with me, or maybe watching from above. But then I had, in the quiet moment, an incredible thought: I asked Pushkin to use my eyes, to see the painting through my eyes, so he could understand how beautiful this painting was. The background of this canvas was painted red, which then became orange, then deep blood red at the edges; a rectangle of gold went from near the top edge of the painting, down two thirds of the canvas; there was a wave of pink maybe fuchsia at the bottom of the yellow square; and I began to see more gray in the gold. The miracle was that — in that instant — I felt like I was seeing the painting myself for the very first time. My eyes had tears in them. I was completely overwhelmed by the beauty of what I was looking at, and at the same time thinking about my life and everything that had happened to get me right there, in that room, at that moment. It was one of the most intimate moments of my life. In our breath, we are one.
I stayed a long time in the Rothko room today. I spent some time sitting with the other two large canvases in the room as well, before moving onto the next room. Eventually I got up and, for the next few hours, I witnessed beauty in so many forms. The paintings were magical; the afternoon was magical.
It occurred to me that grief itself is not unlike a Rothko. As you sit with it, you will notice how it changes. It can be confusing and haunting and beautiful all at the same time — and shows you things that you never would have noticed had you not taken the time to get still, get quiet, and get past the surface. But you have to sit with it, breathe with it. And then the grief sits with you. The grief stays with you, just like the image of that Rothko will now forever be imprinted in my mind. But eventually I did get up off the bench, and I did venture into other rooms. Grief stays with us, but we also need to keep going. It is possible to again experience beauty, to experience joy. I showed Pushkin so many marvelous paintings today, and then I showed him Georgetown, and I sang to him in the chapel (we were all alone), and I finished our wonderful day together by wishing him sweet dreams.
Decisionmakers: Motives and Outcomes
Public decisionmakers can act in self-interested ways; but the interest of one often serves the interest of many, as in the case of Tennessee Senator Steven Cohen and the statute he initiated, in its original form called the “T-Bo Act” (§ 44-17-403). “T-Bo” was the name of the senator’s dog, who had been attacked and killed by another dog. With this statute, Tennessee became the first state to codify the right to recover damages for loss of companionship for tortious harm to a companion animal.[1]
Death of pet caused by negligent act of another – Damages
(a)(1) If a person’s pet is killed or sustains injuries which result in death caused by the unlawful and intentional, or negligent, act of another or the animal of another, the trier of fact may find the individual causing the death or the owner of the animal causing the death liable for up to $5000 in noneconomic damages…
(d) Limits for noneconomic damages set out… shall be limited to compensation for the loss of the reasonably expected society, companionship, love and affection of the pet. [2]
What was Senator Cohen’s self-interest here? His dog already was deceased; he would not himself be able to recover damages related to the tortious death of his dog, which of course took place prior to the statue’s enactment. However, there are self-interested motives at work here beyond a financial award, implied by the language of the statute itself. To have initiated this law, it seems fair to suggest that Senator Cohen thought it an injustice — to him (and his dog) — that the law, at present, limited damages to the fair market value of an animal; there was no recourse, nothing acknowledging the emotional component of the human-companion animal relationship. In seeking to change the law with this statute, ultimately what the senator was seeking was the recognition of the special nature of a relationship with one’s companion animal; also, in doing so, the law would implicitly distinguish companion animals from other personal property or chattel. The senator clearly had a personal, emotional stake in pursuing this change in the law, having suffered the loss of a companion animal through tortuous injury first hand. Although he could not gain financially from this bill, this “win” had an intrinsic reward for him. Finally, should the senator ever have another dog and similar tragic events occur, he will have the ability to seek damages that reflect not only the physical loss (traditionally, damages based on “fair market value” or “replacement value”) but also take into account the emotional loss.
What other group or groups benefited from this action? Beyond the senator’s own interest, those benefiting from this statute are the citizens of Tennessee that have companion animals, specifically those who have companion animals killed by another. In this way, however his motives may have been driven by personal experience and emotions, Senator Cohen did provide a benefit to a large group of his own constituents. In addition, the act, as the first of its kind, created a ripple effect in other states. In 2002, an Oregon jury awarded $136,000 to a family that lost four dogs when a neighbor intentionally poisoned them; in a 2007 Chicago case, the city paid $27,500 to a plaintiff whose dog had been shot by a police officer running through the plaintiff’s yard while in pursuit of a suspect; in 2008, three men were ordered to pay $30,000 after killing a Chihuahua.[3] By inspiring other states to adopt similar statutes, and inspiring courts to make these kinds of decisions, the actions of Senator Cohen benefit the citizens of other jurisdictions beyond Tennessee’s borders. On a broader level, the enactment of the T-Bo Act has fueled the fire of the animal rights movement and often is cited in subsequent legal arguments against the current property status of animals. People look back at this pioneering state law as one of the landmark cases illustrating the trend in modern-day courts towards recognizing that animals are substantively different from a person’s car or even an irreplaceable family heirloom. By expanding the possible damages for a lost companion animal to include a consideration of loss of companionship and affection, Senator Cohen’s T-Bo Act opened a new door for animal guardians and animals alike. In this way, an action born out of a personal interest has benefited many.
[1] Animal Law, Cases and Materials. Waisman, Frasch, and Wagman, ed. Carolina Academic Press, 2006. p. 77
[2] http://www.animallaw.info/statutes/stustn44_17_403.htm
[3] “Why Is a Dead Chihuahua Worth 30K?” Peter Lewis. MSN Money. January 26, 2009.
Dog Licenses: Why the resistance?
This afternoon at a local Starbuck’s, there was a flyer, with picture, posted on the community bulletin board: Missing. Murray. Terrier Mix. Last seen near Oracle and First. Four days had passed since this last sighting. Last week, a similar flyer was taped to a front door of Eller College. Missing. Champ. Champ looked like some kind of Boxer mix. This morning, the flyer was gone. What became of Champ? I have found more than a handful of dogs by the roadside and coaxed them into my car. All but one had a collar with tags, which made reuniting them with their guardians easy. One, with no tags, still made it back to her home – with a little luck or a small miracle, depending on how you look at it.
Provisions of Chapter 6.04 require all dogs three months of age or older to have a current Pima County license affixed to a collar and worn at all times. To obtain the license, the dog must have a current rabies vaccination, administered by a licensed veterinarian. www.pimaanimalcare.org
Anyone who has a companion animal is likely to wax poetic if you ask her about her non-human family member. Yet, one of the most traditional forms of regulation when it comes to domesticated animals — licensing — remains unpopular with guardians to the point of being violated by the majority. During a recent look by Oro Valley (Pima County) into licensing compliance among its residents, it was estimated that the compliance rate is as low as 25%. “Town Considers Break with County Animal Control.” The Explorer News. July 1, 2009. www.explorernews.com
The regulation of dog licensing has several benefits, both to the dog guardian and to the general community. For the dog guardian, licensing protects an “owner” interest in his “property” and the tag can be essential to reuniting a lost dog with his family. More generally there is a public health interest, benefiting those with dogs and other community members alike: licenses and the yearly renewals require up-to-date rabies vaccinations. Also, licensing fees often are used towards funding a community’s animal control program, which in addition to rescuing strays focuses on other public safety measures. For Tucsonans, animal control takes care of everything from lost pups and kittens to that rattlesnake that somehow made it into the garage.
In addition to these reasons, there is another major benefit to this regulation. Especially in cities like Tucson, where the local animal control has yet to adopt a no-kill program, there is only a brief window of time for a captured animal to be reunited with his family before being euthanized. Despite a mandated holding period, there are multiple exceptions to the rule that allow animals to be euthanized sometimes within hours of their capture. Pima Animal Control admits to destroying between 60-70% of the animals that come through its doors. If a dog is separated from his guardian, the clock is ticking and odds are against him if he is not readily identifiable. Having a tag can mean the difference between life and death.
Why is a regulation so good so unpopular? The first and most obvious answer is money: in Pima County, the yearly licensing fee is now $15. And the fee skyrockets to $60 for unneutered and unsprayed animals. People often see these yearly fees as wasted money because they do not consider services of animal control other than stray pick-ups and the local shelter, and so they do not see an immediate use or interest in the provided services. Also, when dogs are “inside pets,” it can be a challenge getting people to recognize the possibility of their own companion animal being lost, so the need for a tag seems negligible. Certainly, if the dog never leaves the house and backyard, the risk of getting caught in violation of the ordinance dwindles to nothing. Finally, some may disregard the requirements simply because they do not want to even think about the possibility of being separated from their four-legged loved one. Essentially, these owners are in denial… as many people can be when it comes to unpleasant realities.
There are some other contributing factors to the unpopularity of licensing. First, the attached requirement of the rabies vaccination might play a substantial role in the non-compliance of some guardians. Those who do not want to be bothered with vet visits and vaccinations, or those who have dogs with health issues that might be negatively affected by the vaccination, deliberately refuse to meet this requirement of the license; in choosing against the rabies vaccination, they cannot keep a current tag on their dog’s collar. At best, they will opt for one of the name/phone number tags that a person can purchase at an engraving vending machine at many local pet stores. And now, better than tags — that can be lost even more easily than a poodle — we have microchipping, which is the surest way to protect a dog from being separated from his home. Dangling tags on collars seem antiquated. Another major obstacle is the lack of enforcement. That officers do not enforce the licensing rule tends to validate the view against these licensing ordinances. It is highly unlikely (unless, perhaps you take Fido to a dog park), that an officer is going to approach you and ask why your dog is not wearing a tag. It is even less likely that an officer is going to walk up to you and your dog and check to see that a tag is current. If law enforcement so obviously thinks it is a waste of time and resources to bother with enforcing licensing regulations, why should anyone care?
The objectives of licensing ordinances are meant to regulate, to shape behavior. As illustrated, this “regulation” is failing to shape much of anyone’s behavior, save a minority of conscientious citizens. Regulation without enforcement is regulation that has been set up to fail from the start. To make this regulation more effective, local law enforcement needs to make periodic checks of animals that are being walked along neighborhood streets and at local parks. Periodic checks will provide incentive to enough people that there should be noticeable improvement from the shockingly low compliance rates that we have now. And periodic checks would not be so burdensome on officers to warrant serious resistance from the town and police administrations. Increased enforcement along with an ongoing and consistent public outreach campaign that highlights the personal interests of dog guardians will be the best way to garner support and compliance. But people with dogs are not the only ones a community can appeal to – surely, there is a human-interest component to every lost animal story. In addition to the emotional appeal, the practical appeal of public safety concerns makes the licensing of dogs a regulatory issue that truly matters to everyone.
When an entire community realizes they have a stake in the compliance, its members are more likely to openly support the regulation and openly disapprove of violations. And having a neighbor who scowls at you when you walk out your front door with an unlicensed Fido on his leash may be all the incentive you really need to get your dog that shiny new tag.
In Memoriam
After many, many years as a public school teacher, he’d semi-retired to the role of a part-time teacher at this private school, teaching a couple of classes back to back each morning; he was seventy years old, and it was his goal to teach until he was seventy-five. Unlike myself, Tommy was a morning person. While I was still working on my first cup of coffee and therefore only slowly coming into full consciousness, Tommy would be in his classroom bright and early, very often helping a student before the school day officially began. Always, he’d have some classical music playing. He’d often tell me it was a piece he was currently practicing himself; I suspect an ulterior motive was to expose his students to music outside their normal scope of influence, because that was the kind of teacher he was. Beyond that, Tommy Harper was someone who surrounded himself with beauty, in the truest Keatsian sense of the word, and you couldn’t help feeling like some of this magical world he lived in would rub off on you whenever you were near him. Sometimes I’d deliberately set my door wide open, so that the sounds of the cellos and violins would bleed across the hall and into my room. I believe most of the students who had him as a teacher during these last years of his career will remember Tommy fondly as the sweet old man who loved to talk about books… and also manners. Then there will be those who really listened, and who let themselves be changed by the experience of having him in their lives. They will be the ones who more fully appreciated the breadth of his knowledge and the personal wisdom that infused his interpretations of Hardy and Plato.
Tommy himself was like something that stepped right out of an Austen novel. The best way I can describe him is that he was a gentleman. His voice and his mannerisms were soft, but he had a sharp intellect and wit. As much as I relished my classroom discussions with the students, it was the conversations with Tommy that I most looked forward to during my time at the school. We would sit around, losing track of time, and talk about fictional characters like they were our real-life friends with real-life problems. And he was equally passionate about good writing and teaching. I don’t think I will ever know another person who can make me laugh so hard with one offhand comment about a student’s misuse of the semi-colon. And we talked about life. He would talk about his wife and his eyes would light up just the same, I imagined, as they did when the two of them first fell in love. He’d encourage me to take time to explore places in Arizona such as the White Mountains, making sure to recommend a very particular bed and breakfast, offering details of the warm rolls served at breakfast and the breathtaking views. Or to try the new vegetarian restaurant a few blocks away; the way he talked about things, he’d make their hummus sound poetic. Tommy also had to keep an eye on his blood sugar, so he always had some fruit around his room, and sometimes he’d send a banana or an orange my way before leaving for the day. Tommy was all about simple gestures and modest offerings that could literally change the entire tone of the day.
The last time I saw Tommy, he and his wife had been kind enough to invite my husband and me into their home, among a small group of their friends. The intimacy of the gathering was like stepping back in time, a glimpse of Americana from the movies of the 1940s. When we arrived, Tommy was excited to introduce us to his wife, and then to the others. It was one of the warmest welcomes I’ve ever been given. The house itself was welcoming, decorated in a way that spoke of the years lived here, the children now grown and off having families of their own, a life built and a family sustained. We sat in their parlor while Tommy played the piano for us and then everyone mingled over refreshments. It was a lovely afternoon.
I have been blessed to know so many amazing people in my life, some who have achieved great heights by the world’s standards, great success and great wealth. Tommy Harper was an English teacher in a public high school for most of his life. He wasn’t famous; he wasn’t even a college professor. I have admired many, and yet I can honestly say I have never admired anyone more than I did him. HIs passion for literature and teaching; his constant enthusiasm for learning and life; his devotion to his family; his discipline and his faith: the sum of the man, an enduring inspiration.
Tommy Harper played sonatas. More to the point, he was a sonata himself, a true masterpiece. I think he would approve of an allusion to Wordsworth here as an appropriate close to a meditation about a life well-lived, and about a friend who will be missed:
What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
( from “Ode: Intimations of Immortality”)
Clickin’ My Heels
OK, let me elaborate. The sneakers are emblematic of a larger change happening in my universe right now. You see, this weekend, I drove a trunk-load of shoes down to the local vintage re-sale shop and rid myself of ALL my leather shoes. Now, I’m not going to get on a soapbox and start proselytizing — that’s not what this about. But understand that, for me, this is a huge move. It’s like everyone who goes vegetarian and gives up that almighty makes-you-weak-in-the-knees hamburger. Lucky me, I’ve never been a hamburger person; in fact, I’ve been a salad artist of sorts since the age of three or four, so going veg was, I know, not as much of a challenge for me as it is for those who are not as wild about their greens. But how I do love those leather shoes! Admittedly, I think I actually clung to the boot box, lingered just a little too long not to notice, before handing it over to the boutique’s salesperson.
So my challenge now, after surrendering the beloved shoes, is finding the vegan replacements. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that even my fabric pumps were not acceptable (ugh — leather soles!). For a few minutes, I honestly thought I bit off more than I could chew, as I stood there sizing up the empty shelves: all that remained were a couple pairs of flip-flops, a pair of Converse, and a single pair of vegan T-straps I ordered before the great purge just to make sure I wouldn’t end up with a bunch of sorry-looking footwear. Oh yeah – and despite my vegan, activist ways, I have no desire to re-invent myself into something too crunchy; I don’t need to look like I’m always about to go on a hike. Shoe maven (or whore, depending on how you want to look at it) that I am, I insist on animal-friendly shoes without sacrificing my urban style.
This would be an adventure, I assured myself, standing barefoot in the closet. I started researching online and ordering judiciously. I spent hours (and hours) looking at the same web sites over and over again, trying to be a wise shopper even though I was stumbling around completely new territory. Back to basics. How hard can it be to find a cool pair of black flats?
I don’t know when they arrived exactly. I was heading out to teach a yoga class when I saw the package outside my front door. Considering the context, it would be lovely to imagine they simply descended from the heavens, appeared out of thin air (OK – if you can indulge in some good old-fashioned willing suspension of disbelief and forget about the UPS label for a minute, it really does help underscore the significance of the moment). I swept the package up in my arms and took it along for the ride, all the while filled with anticipation.
I opened the package still sitting in the car, outside the yoga studio; I simply couldn’t wait until after class. I opened up the shoebox, and the first thing I noticed was the noticeable absence of that usual first waft of leather smell. I picked up the faux suede shoe with pure delight, a bliss that lasted throughout my yoga class. I wondered if my students sensed a little more bounce in my Surya Namaskar, caught my smile as I floated into plank pose. I’d like to say I was able to stay present, stay in the moment on the mat: but the truth is, I was excited about my new shoes and couldn’t wait until I would get to try them on.
Finally back at home, I hurriedly laced each shoe, always a little clumsy about lacing over rather than under. Still, I wanted to get it right. I wanted them all laced up and ready to go when I slipped them on. Feet in, I pulled the laces tighter for a snug fit and then stood, shifting my weight from side to side and admiring my happy feet. Yes, my feet were indeed happy, along with the rest of me. I felt like a million bucks, so much so that I started doing time steps right there in the kitchen, in my new shoes, with three very puzzled dogs looking on. And it gets even better. The brand name of the shoes, visible on the sides and tongue: MACBETH. So this vegan-shoe-lovin’ Shakespearean couldn’t have found a more perfect shoe!
