Frankensteer

My brother sold his cows this spring meaning I would have nothing to check on during my summer walks (sans Rex. As the grass grew lush, Lloyd contracted Western Feedlots to pasture 140 steers here. (he gets 50 cents a pound gained and he insists I get rent for my pasture) Three cattle liners arrived and empted the terrified animals into our coral. These animals had been given every shot and hormone and were branded and ear tagged before leaving the feedlot. Prodded by electric shocks from yelling drivers, they burst out and broke fences in an effort to escape . The raced around our fields for a half day, some breaking out and going into the coulee. And one group becoming mad that they began throwing themselves at the barnyard fence to get back inside. We settled them for the night in a pen by the water hole. Seems they were more secure in a confined area. Over the summer we have seen them grown and cam down but with the behavior of bulls. They bellow night and day like a chorus of frogs and tear up the ground while making bull holes. I have learned that these animals are full of steroids. (140 Barry Bonds) They are harmless to me but very rough on each other. Today Lloyd came and took home one of the steers that was being ridden day and night by a group of would be bulls. Seems this smaller steer had become a sex object to them. By the time Lloyd arrived, it was lying down surrounded by a pack of rapists. I guess that is what happens to humans in the pen.
I watched a CBC documentary called Frankensteer, that was shot here in S Alberta's feedlot alley. No wonder mad cow and other diseases occur, and e coli (hamburger disease) killing kids. I know I would not eat any meat raised this way, no matter how high the pasture fee paid. .
Chow larry

son finds kitten in Daarfur

I’ve traveled out to Umdukhun on my first trip back to Darfur . My journey here began on a MI-8 helicopter from Nyala, the capital of South Darfur State . During the pre-flight briefing, the engineer stated that we’d be flying at 1000 feet. When he finished and asked if there were any questions, I thought I’d take the opportunity to clarify the altitude (out of curiosity). From the captains seat in the cockpit a thick eastern European accent asked “What altitude do you want to fly at? Today is customer chooses day so its up to you”. I responded but apparently MI-8’s don’t have enough oxygen to make 30,000 feet.

My colleague, a Tajik man in his fifties with several grandchildren returned from one of the schools he was overseeing with a small kitten the children there had given him. Truth be told, the little black-haired furball is probably too young to be separated from her mother but that was long since done. He thought it would be a good idea to have the cat around to look after the insect problem and deal with any snakes in the compound. I asked if a name had been chosen before proposing that we name her “Mugur”; after a Romanian colleague who recently left after he spent nearly 2 ½ years around Darfur . We both get a kick out of hearing the other one calling “Here Mugur, come for your milk. Good girl”. Despite my insistence that foreigners should not domesticate animals, creating dependency then leave; I must admit that Mugurs demands for replacement powdered milk (because the last batch was funner to knock over than actually consume) generally get two grown-men up away from their work to tend to immediately. Oh, she’s not completely black-haired since a curious spout with a freshly painted white door altered her appearance. We’re all getting a little greyer out here though. Our Sudanese colleagues either think its terribly fun or we’re both off our rockers. Jury still out on that one.

It had rained the day prior which results in a bug/insect free-for-all. They were absolutely everywhere. We’d gone to play volleyball and returned just after dusk. When I went to shower I discovered dozens of them attacking the light and right then vowed never again to shower after sundown when I needed to use the light. In my bedroom, I was horrified to discover that, with the mosquito net only partly down, several colonies of ants, flying things I’d never seen before and of course the inevitable mosquitos had made their way around the lack security of the net to be underneath it with little chance of being able to escape even if they choose to. Thankfully we still had power so I turned the fan on high, lifted the net and shook the bedsheets. I was glad I brought a ‘sleepsack’ into which I could completely retreat, though I did take notice of a few visitors walking up my leg.

Early the following morning, as the roosters began their morning routine, I decided that the rooster-call setting I have on my phone alarm needs to change. I can get back to sleep each morning only after convincing myself its not the electronic thing but the real thing (those birds really do a grand impression of a Nokia).

Sunday I went out to a new camp, Jeddid with probably over 9,000 people who have only arrived since the start of June. Most are from Darfur with a handful of refuges from Central African Republic . To get there, we walked through the market to the wadi (a normally dry channel which becomes a river during seasonal rainy periods). There we took a raft constructed with probably one cubic-meter of sticks and fastened with rope to get across to the other side. After we crossed the wadi, we took a ride on a horse-drawn cart through thick mud then walked for about 20-30 minutes to the main part of the camp.

Today we visited a slaughter-area; set up by another agency to provide a common area for people to butcher goats. We’re digging a pit (royal we here… ) for the remains (for hygienic purposes. I guess I’ve never watched an animal get slaughtered so it was an interesting experience. As the goats took up to a minute to ‘expire’, I found it interesting how the other goats so camly waited about. Okay, the few that were tied up were pretty much committed but several weren’t and I began to think these few, free-to-run-for-it goats were pretty much the least-briefed on the outcome animals in existence. “Hey, where’s Bill? He was here a second ago. Oh- he’s over there with a knife on his throat…”

HOW I GOT INT0 CIA FILES

Suffield Base, 1971. Inspired by Ian Tyson's TV ads against British tank training here, I had agreed to represent the NDP at a protest rally. I took a bus from Calgary and hitched a ride from the highway to the base with a CFCN news crew. Bruce, the reporter, offered me a ride back to Calgary after the rally. We drove past a security fence with a row of armed soldiers standing inside. There were half as many protestors at the gate where a smiling officer waved us to a separate area and invited us for tea with the base commanding officer after the "ruffians" left. Bruce told him that he was invited to go with the military to Cyprus in the fall. The officer quickly rescinded my invite upon learning I was representing not the media but the NDP and had me escorted back to the protestor area. I found myself in a strange mix of protestors from burly IRA men shouting "F the British" to Anti Vietnam Coalition members wearing gas masks to a silent group of ranchers, upset about tanks starting grass fires. Having been raised on a farm and I identified with the ranchers. Smilie said only one spokesperson per group would be allowed to enter the base to address the CO. I became spokesperson for the ranchers as well as the NDP and was marched through the gate along with 4 other protestors. The armed soldiers on top of each building reminded me of Kent State but, I told myself, this was Canada. The CO sat at a table as we took turns petitioning him. We were constantly interrupted by 2 guys in white coveralls filming us and asking who we were representing. As the IRA guy ranted about British tanks and the Anti Vietnam coalition woman claimed nerve gas was made here, I thought I recognized one of the film crew. When it was over we were marched out past a tea trolley loaded with sandwiches for the media. Outside the base my fellow protestors disbursed while I waited for my ride back to Calgary. I began jotting notes about my experience as 3 bus loads of Mounties emerged through the gate and drove off towards the highway. Suddenly the gate house corporal came out accusing me of writing down licence numbers and he grabbed my notebook. On the way to Calgary I related all this to Bruce, who was stunned how it contrasted to what the CO had told the media. He stopped at a pay phone to call a new story to CFCN and the Calgary Herald. That evening both carried a story of massive enforcement for a small protest at Suffield. A week later Bruce called to say his invite to Cyprus had been recinded. Since then there have been break-ins at the office of the MP for Suffield suggesting there probably was nerve gas production. The Brits, including Prince Harry, are now training for a new war and the CIA admit they spied on left wingers in Canada. I found out the cameraman I recognized was one of my High River schoolmates. If I am in the CIA files, I hope Ian Tyson is there with me.