„My Dog loves me“ – Really?

„My dog loves me“, optionally also any other so-called pet, „Loyal and affectionate and unbreakable“ it says. But is that really the case?

My dogs are with me. They are there. They are always there. I can’t imagine it any other way. Was there life without her? Of course, it has, but what do I know about it. It seems to me that it would never have been any different because their presence enriches my life. Wordless, but always turned to. I took responsibility when I brought her into my home and my life. It wasn’t their choice. They didn’t have to decide anything, they had to let it happen.

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Happy Mothers Day

When Stella came to me that morning and greeted me happily as always, I already noticed her restlessness, but also the anticipation of what was to come. It was her first child.

„I’m sure you’ll do well,“ I whispered in her ear.

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We love all – Do we love all?

I had decided to spend Valentine’s Day on a so-called life court, a place where living beings that are no longer useful from the point of view of the industry can live happily, a place of peace and lived love, which is the focus of this day stands. Of course, if you live love, you live it every day, but it’s probably an occasion to reflect on it a little. What is love? Isn’t it the kindness that leads us to look out for one another, to support one another, to be there for one another, and to be free to live simply?

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Always at my side

I sit on the stairs that lead to the front door of my grandparents‘ house and try to collect myself. When was the last time I was here? It must have been many years. Nothing is what it was then. My grandparents were long dead. Now my aunt lives in the house, but that’s not why I hate coming here. Because even back then, when they were still alive, nothing was as it was before. Before then, it was a happy time for me, those first years of my existence. I actually grew up here with a black spaniel by my side for as long as I could remember.

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Until the End

You lie in your favorite spot in the sun. You like the warmth. I sit with you and stroke you. Your breathing is steady, but it can be heard that you cannot breathe freely. If you lie still, everything is fine. You closed your eyes and I caress you, feel the warmth of your body and the calm that emanates from you. Stroking is good for your circulation, I’ve read. May be. A positive side effect, because above all it connects. We are just there. Before, when you were younger, you came and asked for it, the petting. Now you are old, you lie more than you used to and when I come to you to stroke you, it’s good. The hair has turned white and everything is a little more leisurely than before. It seems to me as if it was only yesterday that you came to us as a small, lively puppy. More than ten years have now passed. Where has the time gone?

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Because it does Matter

It was one of those days when I couldn’t cope with life. This is not unusual any more. Not at all remarkable. It happens to me, sometimes. But this time I had a reason. Even one that others would accept that you can’t get on with life. At least as long as the others are not one of the strictest, who have such a well-intentioned and unnecessary “pull yourself together” in their standard repertoire and who cheer anyone who wants to hear it. Even those who don’t want to hear it. But my reason was damn good. I saw my marriage go down the drain, and just as it is impossible to make the water suddenly flow uphill, so it was impossible to reverse it again. Or is it? Had I really tried everything?

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The Future is Vegan (2): The Re-Biedermeierization of the Society

Many aspects play a role in answering the question of why those who are committed to improving the living conditions of all living beings are torpedoed, attacked, discredited and disparaged. First of all, it is the social conditions that are reflected in the political situation. People in bourgeois society these days are comparable to those of the Biedermeier period, which spanned the period between the end of the Vienna Congress in 1815 and the beginning of the bourgeois revolution in 1848. The ideal of this time was the cozy, apolitical family life. Politically, it was characterized by ingenuity, informer and oppression. This retreat into your own four walls, the focus on your own navel, takes place again today. The big difference is that monitoring is much easier than it was then. Metternich would have been delighted.

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Every single minute of the day

Not every day, but every single minute of the day, horror reports of abuse, misuse, rape, and all other kinds of suffering reach me.

Not every day, but every single minute, it is present because it is happening, now and now and now and now, because it is so encompassing and omnipresent.

Not every day, but every single minute of the day, if you still have at least a little sympathy, you want to despair of all the human-made horror that happens everywhere, yes, maybe even next door.

Not every day, but in every single minute of the day, one stands uncomprehending in front of the incomprehensible stupidity that floats of species-appropriate and pain-free, meaning a little less suffering or a quick death.

Not every day, but in every single minute of the day you want to scream, for all those whose screams no one hears, because they are well hidden, in dark, crammed, closed, and who wants to look it gets to do with the legislature, the property more important than ending the suffering.

Not every day, but every single minute of the day you want to cry, a tear for each creature, whose torments you and you and you, and probably also I blame, because I have to let it, because I cannot help it.

Not every day, but every single minute of the day, one wants to be there, a living admonition to let life live, in freedom, in happiness, in lightheartedness, to leave it untouched, because no one can own life except that, it belongs.

Not every day, but every single minute, it is present, also right next to me, on your plate, and you whisper to me 100,000 times something of tradition or that you cannot do otherwise or some shit that I do not want to hear anymore, cannot hear anymore.

Not every day, but every single minute of the day, I see that there are people around me who also feel, think, see, despair, cry, scream and fight, who help each other out when they think they cannot go any further because the sorrow depresses one.

Not every day, but every single minute of the day, I see the commitment and willingness to intervene for the abused, abused, raped, and ill-informed of this world, regardless of their own lives or their own reputation, for those who commit their lives will be repressed showered.

Not every day, but in every single minute of the day, I live life with all devotion, in all passion, live the love, colorful and intense as life itself, lose myself, surrender, be lost and let surrender, for that very reason and despite everything hostile to life.

Not every day, but in every single minute of the day, I want to celebrate the little moments of happiness that I get, in exuberance and pure disrespect for the correctness and decency.

Not every day, but every single minute of the day, I want to be the freedom that I wish for all others, the freedom to shape your life in such a way that it is yours, that it is full of possibilities and privileges.

Not every day, but every single minute of the day, life should be just life. And it needs no further justification.