Animals? Who gives a shit?

Please excuse my profanity, but in the mood I'm in right now, it seems appropriate.

Last Sunday, Jenn and I headed out to do some walking in the late afternoon. After winding our way through Cayuga Heights, we arrived at Beebe Lake, which is part of the Cornell plantations. Originally, this area was a forested swamp, but to capture hydro-power, a dam was built on the downstream end, raising the water level by around 28 feet. At that end of the lake, Fall Creek cascades over the wall of the dam and the natural rock that the dam is built into before entering a short, relatively calm pool. At the end of that calm pool is another waterfall. Here is a satellite photo of the area; if you zoom in on the left side of the lake, you can see the layout pretty well:

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It's a beautiful area and home to abundant wildlife. In particular, there are several families of geese that have been living there over the spring. 

As you can see in the photo, there is a foot bridge that crosses over the gorge between the dam cascade and the lower falls. Jenn and I were crossing over the bridge when we saw two people looking down into the gorge, one of them holding a cardboard box. Soon we saw what they were looking at: two goslings were paddling around below us in the short section of calm water. The couple with the box told us that these two goslings had gone over the wall of the dam from Beebe lake when a couple of dogs happened by, startling them away from their parents and siblings. And now, they were trapped below, between the two waterfalls. The walls of the gorge on either side were essentially sheer cliff.

The couple with the box thought perhaps that if the goslings went over the second falls, they might survive. And since the gorge below that waterfall was accessible by a footpath further downstream, they thought they might rescue the babies if they went over. After all, they had survived the first waterfall. But it was pretty clear to Jenn and me that while the first waterfall, was a series of short survivable bumps, the second waterfall was much too high. If they went over, that would be the end of them.

I considered trying to climb down from the Beebe Lake side, but I hesitated. First, I figured it was probably illegal, and second, scaling down even the one portion that was not sheer cliff looked pretty dangerous. I imagined myself getting stuck down there, or worse. I certainly didn't need to be billed thousands of dollars for an emergency rescue. And since the goslings did not seem to be in any immediate danger or distress - they actually looked fairly content where they were - it seemed wise to consider other options. 

First I thought to call Cornell's wildlife clinic, but since their number is unlisted, I had to call the pet hospital's emergency line instead. After I described the situation to the receptionist, she told me that the wildlife clinic would not be able to help. They don't come out to get animals. But I insisted on talking to them, so she took my number and said she would ask them to call me.

I hung up and we waited, watching the goslings swim around, grooming themselves and snacking on whatever morsels happened to be down there. I again considered how I might climb down myself, but Jenn was afraid I would kill myself and the couple with the box thought it was too dangerous as well. 

After ten minutes or so, the wildlife clinic called me back. No, they would not come out to rescue the goslings, and cautioned me not to try. I asked if they thought the fire department might send someone, and she thought it was worth a try. So I called the Ithaca Fire Department. The gentleman who answered the phone there said it wasn't his jurisdiction, but more importantly, the IFD was not allowed to do anything dangerous to save an animal. I tried to explain that it wasn't that dangerous, especially for someone with the right equipment, like some rope and climbing gear. Surely they had some of that lying around. He suggested I try calling the Cornell Police.

So I called the Cornell Police, and the dispatcher there told me basically the same thing. "We wouldn't waste manpower just to rescue two goslings." She said she would call the SPCA, who might come down to help, but in the same breath she told me they would advise the SPCA against going because it was too dangerous. When I asked if somebody from the SPCA would call me, she said, "No, we'll take care of it." Meaning of course that they wouldn't do a damn thing.

With all our options now exhausted, Jenn said that if I could get Don Walker, a fellow Farm Sanctuary staffer and avid gorge hiker, to go with me, we could try to rescue the goslings ourselves. When I called Don, he suggested that we call Kate Walker (no relation), who used to work for Farm Sanctuary before taking her current job as a Humane Officer for the SPCA. If Kate was willing to try a rescue, he would come help us out. Finally it seemed like a plan was coming together. 

I called Kate, and she said she could be there in 20 or 30 minutes - she was finishing up another call. There was hope! Kate and Don and I would scale down into the gorge together and rescue those goslings! 

But then, just as I was getting off the phone with Kate, the goslings went from contentedly swimming around in the pool below to walking out along a ledge toward the lower falls. We barely had time to gasp in horror as they walked out too far and toppled off the side of the cliff. It happened in just an instant. 

Suddenly, the four of us were sprinting off the footbridge, up the hill toward Stewart Avenue where another bridge crossed the gorge. From that vantage, we could see two tiny specks floating lifelessly in the water. They looked dead. But then one of them began splashing about weakly. Maybe he was just stunned by the fall. So we took off again toward the footpath that led down to the water. I got to the bottom faster than I ever imagined possible, practically surfing down a mudslide shortcut between a long switchback on the trail. I ran over the rocks and through the water until, out of breath, I reached the pool below the waterfall. I could see both goslings clearly now, and neither one was moving. 

The closest one was floating toward me, so I pulled it's fuzzy body from the water and laid it gingerly on a rock. Hoping against all reason, I felt for vital signs. But there were none.

I turned to walk back down stream just as Jenn was catching up, her legs being substantially shorter than mine. Our eyes met and I shook my head. We both made an effort not to cry. 

Further back, the couple with the box was carefully making their way along. They were certainly discouraged to hear the news, but I could tell that it didn't touch them the way it did us. These two people, who had stuck with us through the whole 30 or 40 minute ordeal and were prepared to be inconvenienced for the sake of two goslings, probably cared more than most people would. But at the end of the day, it was just two goslings. 

Just two goslings. That was the attitude of the wildlife clinic, the fire department and the police department, each one passing the problem off on somebody else, not wanting to be inconvenienced for the sake of mere wild animals. Maybe if it had been a puppy or a kitten trapped in the gorge, those people on the phone would have been more interested. But people who care about all animals, not because they're cute or cuddly, but because they are sentient beings like us, are few and far between.

As Jenn and I walked home, our eyes as wet as our soggy shoes, I kept hearing Chuck's voice in my head from the interview he gave after the pig rescue last summer. Asked what made the pigs so worth rescuing, he said "I don't think it mattered so much that it was 'just pigs...' It could have been chickens; it could have been rats; it could have been anything. I would have gone out there no matter what."

And while I debated whether or not to tell this sad story, those words echoing in my head made me realize again just how rare it is in our society to find people with so much compassion that they will endure real hardship and sacrifice for the sake of creatures that most people consider little more than animal-things. If someone like Chuck (or Don or Kate) had been working at the wildlife clinic, or the fire department, or the police station, we might have saved those goslings instead of wasting half an hour getting the run-around from people who would barely lift a finger. Jenn and I both regret that we didn't just take immediate action ourselves. Instead we held onto the false hope that somebody with better resources and equipment would actually give a shit.

So let's take a moment again to appreciate the people who give a shit. Here's to Don and Kate. Here's to everyone I work with at Farm Sanctuary. And most of all, here's to Chuck.