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August 13-16, 2005


"Why can't we be friends?" - Monday August 15, 05



Charlie on Pine Bank Bridge - Monday August 15, 05



Pop brought a rat for Charlie before I arrived - Monday August 15, 05



Charlie mantled his food once Maggie showed up. I've not seen this before. She didn't approach too closely but he wasn't taking any chances, he didn't want to share that rat today - Monday August 15, 05



Maggie with her back to her brother as he ate his food without sharing - Monday August 15, 05



58th Street & Broadway - Monday August 15, 2005...yes, I said 2005.


You can email me here: lincoln@palemale.com



Click images above for older photographs


Sunday August 14, 2005:
I watched with mixed feelings the carriage horses being driven back to their stables at around 10:30 this morning. One irate driver yelled at a cab in front of him to clear the corner so he could get by, then he whipped the horse to make the light. All the horses were being sent home as the temperature climbed above 90 deg today. Why did they allow them to trek all the way up from as far as 38th Street & 11th Ave in the nasty muggy weather only to be sent back home an hour later? When the temperature rises like this why don’t they let them instead spend their day under the trees at Sheep Meadow with no harness or ropes and with a couple of sprinklers for them to play in?
I walked up Seventh Ave and realized the truth and reality in the words of a former friend as she said to me last December; “(L) What you want and what you’ll get are two completely different things!”
The Pine Bank area was extremely quiet—no sign of the babies at the sprinklers and no one in sight through the wire fence. I did see two or three sightings of Pale Male Jr. flying between the trees, but after an hour or so there was no movement in the playground. Shortly after I headed north toward the Boat Pond.
The horses were probably by then, all back in their stables with angry drivers that were not able to get paid for the days work. Do I feel sorry for the drivers? How do I balance my feelings for the drivers with that of the animal that is chained up and pushed around and stuffed in a 4’X10’ stall and God knows by the looks of those decrepit buildings on the Westside if they have air-conditioning? God knows how they handled the animals once out of the public eye.
It was a good day, business-wise, for pedi-cabs; their riders had to get off their seats to peddle the up-hills, sweating and breathless as they kept up their guided chat. They have a choice the horses do not, I reasoned.
At the Carriage Turn-Around just before Bethesda Fountain several police horses were out on duty. The temperature was too hot for the carriage horses, but not so for the police horses. I watched the beautiful creatures cooped up in their frugal carriers. One of them stamped on the floor of his stall as his cellmate was taken out for a drink at the small fountain in the center of the turn-around. I could not continue to The Boat Pond without approaching him.
“Do you think it is right for this poor animal to be out in this weather?” I asked a cop who was in charge of the trailer with the stamping horse. I imagined he saw before him an idiot addressing him to whom he was compelled to be courteous. I also imagined a flash of thought going through his mind to just shoo me off with my stupid question.
“What do you know about horses?” he asked.
“Not a whole lot,” I replied, “but I feel that this animal should not be out on a day like today.” I continued. The police officer shook his head and smiled as he thought how best to continue the pointless conversation.
“Do you have any professional training in horses?” he asked with an expression and posture of an old math teacher I had in my teens.
“I don’t believe I need professional training sir...I just have to look into his eyes.” I pointed to the animal that continued to be unsettled in the cramped trailer. The man chuckled and attempted to convince me that you cannot know how a horse feels by looking into their eyes.
“What do you think the wild horses in Montana will do on a day like today to keep cool?” he asked still looking like the math teacher whose name escapes me, but not his condescending expression.
“I haven’t been to Montana, but I imagine that they would find a shady tree and rest, or just run free and have the air cool them...” I was actually thinking of a bunch of horses with no ropes around their necks running around some big open field with mountains and large grassy fields and streams. “I doubt those horses in Montana has to contend with this...” I continued as I pointed to the tailpipe of the SUV that transported the horse trailer. The engine was running to keep the inside of the SUV cool, and the tailpipe poured out its poison just a few feet from the horse’s nostrils. “I can smell that (cr) from all the way here but I can move away easily...they have to continually inhale that...” I said to the cop who I imagined looked at me as the most ignorant person he ever saw.
The cop and I continued aimlessly with no end in sight. My voice had no more impact and no more substance than the sounds of the cicadas that washed the air with their loud sweeping calls. I mentioned that the carriage horses were sent home because of the heat.
“Horses have been pulling carriages forever...they were made for doing that task...they do not have feelings like humans do...all they need is water on a day like today...” I presently felt the sounds of the very cicadas to be filled with more reasoning and more substance. I wanted to cheer them on and bless them that being small insects they were immune to the humility of being shackled and pounded into submissive behavior like the horses in front of me. I felt myself being like a cicada or even less, with my feeble attempt to make certain people open their eyes to the plight of these innocent animals. I recalled an old friend whom I thought I could depend on for support on issues like these, announcing with pride that she betted on The Belmont Stakes, and another hollow acquaintance recalling with delight how exciting ‘The Rodeo’ was that she visited in Cheyenne. ‘...so what, like we should just let all animals run free and wild?’ another recent voice from another hollow acquaintance.
I shook the cop’s hand as a mark of good intention, and walked back to my cameras which I left on the sidewalk, I continued to hear all the vile voices, to me anyway, of people I knew that condoned animal circuses, zoos...I wanted to become a cicada and blend unseen on some tree and join in their chorus. Suddenly, out of the loathsome voices came one beautiful, clear voice that made me proud to be a little bigger than a cicada, at least enough so to lift a large camera; it was the voice of little Maggie,
“...I think all animals should be free...I don’t like to see the horses pulling those carriages!”
Suddenly all those thoughtless voices ceased to torment me, and the hope that little Maggie’s voice was echoed in millions of other kind-hearted children cheered me up. The thought of a future generation that will one day wipe out rodeos and circuses and zoos and look back at my generation in shame, carried me through the rest of the day.



http://www.petitiononline.com/njparrot/petition.html

Pale Male & Lola Update

Pale Male Jr. Update


Hardly any room for Mom on the platform - Sunday August 14, 05



...I know it looks disgusting, but last year when I cleaned it they rejected it for almost a whole day. Anyway, they don't seem to be bothered - Sunday August 14, 05



The roof on the platform appears not big enough for this little stinker, so he has to get shade elsewhere - Sunday August 14, 05



Pale Male keeping cool in The Gill - Sunday August 14, 05



After his bath he perched on this branch until I had to run for shelter from the first of three big storms that hit the city today - Sunday August 14, 05



The animal machine - Sunday August 14, 05


You can email me here: lincoln@palemale.com



Click images above for older photographs


Sunday August 14, 2005:
I watched with mixed feelings the carriage horses being driven back to their stables at around 10:30 this morning. One irate driver yelled at a cab in front of him to clear the corner so he could get by, then he whipped the horse to make the light. All the horses were being sent home as the temperature climbed above 90 deg today. Why did they allow them to trek all the way up from as far as 38th Street & 11th Ave in the nasty muggy weather only to be sent back home an hour later? When the temperature rises like this why don’t they let them instead spend their day under the trees at Sheep Meadow with no harness or ropes and with a couple of sprinklers for them to play in?
I walked up Seventh Ave and realized the truth and reality in the words of a former friend as she said to me last December; “(L) What you want and what you’ll get are two completely different things!”
The Pine Bank area was extremely quiet—no sign of the babies at the sprinklers and no one in sight through the wire fence. I did see two or three sightings of Pale Male Jr. flying between the trees, but after an hour or so there was no movement in the playground. Shortly after I headed north toward the Boat Pond.
The horses were probably by then, all back in their stables with angry drivers that were not able to get paid for the days work. Do I feel sorry for the drivers? How do I balance my feelings for the drivers with that of the animal that is chained up and pushed around and stuffed in a 4’X10’ stall and God knows by the looks of those decrepit buildings on the Westside if they have air-conditioning? God knows how they handled the animals once out of the public eye.
It was a good day, business-wise, for pedi-cabs; their riders had to get off their seats to peddle the up-hills, sweating and breathless as they kept up their guided chat. They have a choice the horses do not, I reasoned.
At the Carriage Turn-Around just before Bethesda Fountain several police horses were out on duty. The temperature was too hot for the carriage horses, but not so for the police horses. I watched the beautiful creatures cooped up in their frugal carriers. One of them stamped on the floor of his stall as his cellmate was taken out for a drink at the small fountain in the center of the turn-around. I could not continue to The Boat Pond without approaching him.
“Do you think it is right for this poor animal to be out in this weather?” I asked a cop who was in charge of the trailer with the stamping horse. I imagined he saw before him an idiot addressing him to whom he was compelled to be courteous. I also imagined a flash of thought going through his mind to just shoo me off with my stupid question.
“What do you know about horses?” he asked.
“Not a whole lot,” I replied, “but I feel that this animal should not be out on a day like today.” I continued. The police officer shook his head and smiled as he thought how best to continue the pointless conversation.
“Do you have any professional training in horses?” he asked with an expression and posture of an old math teacher I had in my teens.
“I don’t believe I need professional training sir...I just have to look into his eyes.” I pointed to the animal that continued to be unsettled in the cramped trailer. The man chuckled and attempted to convince me that you cannot know how a horse feels by looking into their eyes.
“What do you think the wild horses in Montana will do on a day like today to keep cool?” he asked still looking like the math teacher whose name escapes me, but not his condescending expression.
“I haven’t been to Montana, but I imagine that they would find a shady tree and rest, or just run free and have the air cool them...” I was actually thinking of a bunch of horses with no ropes around their necks running around some big open field with mountains and large grassy fields and streams. “I doubt those horses in Montana has to contend with this...” I continued as I pointed to the tailpipe of the SUV that transported the horse trailer. The engine was running to keep the inside of the SUV cool, and the tailpipe poured out its poison just a few feet from the horse’s nostrils. “I can smell that (cr) from all the way here but I can move away easily...they have to continually inhale that...” I said to the cop who I imagined looked at me as the most ignorant person he ever saw.
The cop and I continued aimlessly with no end in sight. My voice had no more impact and no more substance than the sounds of the cicadas that washed the air with their loud sweeping calls. I mentioned that the carriage horses were sent home because of the heat.
“Horses have been pulling carriages forever...they were made for doing that task...they do not have feelings like humans do...all they need is water on a day like today...” I presently felt the sounds of the very cicadas to be filled with more reasoning and more substance. I wanted to cheer them on and bless them that being small insects they were immune to the humility of being shackled and pounded into submissive behavior like the horses in front of me. I felt myself being like a cicada or even less, with my feeble attempt to make certain people open their eyes to the plight of these innocent animals. I recalled an old friend whom I thought I could depend on for support on issues like these, announcing with pride that she betted on The Belmont Stakes, and another hollow acquaintance recalling with delight how exciting ‘The Rodeo’ was that she visited in Cheyenne. ‘...so what, like we should just let all animals run free and wild?’ another recent voice from another hollow acquaintance.
I shook the cop’s hand as a mark of good intension, and walked back to my cameras which I left on the sidewalk, I continued to hear all the vile voices, to me anyway, of people I knew that condoned animal circuses, zoos...I wanted to become a cicada and blend unseen on some tree and join in their chorus. Suddenly, out of the loathsome voices came one beautiful, clear voice that made me proud to be a little bigger than a cicada, at least enough so to lift a large camera; it was the voice of little Maggie,
“...I think all animals should be free...I don’t like to see the horses pulling those carriages!”
Suddenly all those thoughtless voices ceased to torment me, and the hope that little Maggie’s voice was echoed in millions of other kind-hearted children cheered me up. The thought of a future generation that will one day wipe out rodeos and circuses and zoos and look back at my generation in shame, carried me through the rest of the day.



Pale Male & Lola Update

Pale Male Jr. Update


Charlie joins his sister Maggie for about two hours of play in the lawn sprinkler at 61st Street & CPW.
Saturday August 13, 05



According to Norma, the temperature reached 99 degrees in Central Park today.
Saturday August 13, 05



Even if the fenced off playground is ideal for the babies to spend all their time in safty, that area is missing one thing that the chicks obviously love--water!
Saturday August 13, 05



Maggie jumps into the air as the stream of water pointed at her.
Saturday August 13, 05



Charlie eyes something in the greenery at the north-west base of Greyshot Arch.
Saturday August 13, 05



Maggie was reluctant to get back over to Pine Bank Bridge. Pale Male Jr. brought her brother food enough for me to hear the racket from the other side of The West Drive. Maggie soon made her way back. No sign of Charlotte interacting with the kids. I often see her on the CNN sign and on the Essex sign.
Saturday August 13, 05


You can email me here: lincoln@palemale.com



Click images above for older photographs


Pale Male & Lola Update

Pale Male Jr. Update

Thanks for all the mail which identified the creature that Maggie caught and devoured on August 9th. It was a cicada.
I truly appreciate all the mail that I receive each day; they are a major driving force behind the daily treks into the park for ongoing photography. Please note that I read each one and try to answer as many as I can. Right now I am way behind in my replies so please don't think that you are being ignored. Also, there are a lot of mistakes made on the site--wrong names, spelling/grammar errors etc. Please let me know about any that you come across.
L.




Charlie swoops over The West Drive to perch only for a short while on a low tree on the west side of the drive at 64th Street, before going back over to Heckscher Ballfield.
Friday August 12, 05



He heads back over to Heckscher Ballfield (flying east).
Friday August 12, 05



Charlie looks up to see his father fly overhead.
Friday August 12, 05



Maggie (left) and Charlie spends a little time together on this tree at the east end of Dalehead Arch (at 64th St & CPW). The two are almost inseparable these days.
Friday August 12, 05



Maggie stares at a squirrel on a tree near the foot of Daleshead Arch.
Friday August 12, 05



Charlie with Maggie (in the background).
Friday August 12, 05


You can email me here: lincoln@palemale.com



Click images above for older photographs


Pale Male & Lola Update

Pale Male Jr. Update