Two years ago, I became vegetarian. Although I had debated it for years prior to that one day in January that I decided to let go of meat and not look back, the gist of came down to one singular event: I watched a powerful documentary called “Earthlings.” For those who haven’t seen it, it’s not strictly about the meat industry, it’s about how animals are used and abused in all sectors of human life, from factory farms, to the puppy mill industry, to entertainment and beyond. It’s truly an eye opening film that I would recommend to anyone. My path to vegetarianism coincided with interest in volunteer work which finally bubbled up to the surface this year. That’s why I decided to make the 40-mile trek down to Acton, Calif. this past Sunday to volunteer at Animal Acres, a farm animal sanctuary and compassionate living center.

Those who work and run the sanctuary are amazing, they’re not only gracious hosts, but they are great guides with a wealth of information about the farming industry and the animals they take care of, all of which they can identify by name. Regina, one of the cows that isn’t pictured was my favorite, probably because of the intensity of her history. Her mom gave birth to her as she was in line to be slaughtered. Another cow, Bruno, was in the back of a transportation truck ready to be taken to a veal slaughter facility when a faulty lock caused him and the other calves to come tumbling out onto the highway. He was the only one who survived. When you hear these stories and then see how gentle and curious these animals are, no matter how large they grow, it becomes harder and harder to look at that plastic wrapped piece of steak or bacon as just a piece of meat.

If you’re wondering what the volunteer activities consist of, be prepared to don gloves and carry around a huge rake, for shoveling manure out of the pens of course. I am sure that at first thought, that sounds like the most unappealing volunteer work you could do, but believe me when I say that it’s actually fun and not as bad as you would imagine. After a while, you feel like you’re on a mission from God to shovel up every last bit of shit you can find. But that’s only one end of the spectrum - we also got to garden, clean out stalls and interact so closely with the animals.

This is the area where all the birds live - chicken, geese, turkeys. The quote from Gandhi says “The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.” There are quotes down the stalls from George Bernard Shaw as well as Albert Einstein.

This is Rose the Goat.

I don’t remember which pig is which in the photos above, but they were probably my favorite part of the entire experience. They have so much personality that you would never expect and the way they feel is incredible, with their short little course hair and soft ears. It is not easily determined from these photos, but the pigs are massive. When I say massive, I mean 800 lbs massive, because they have been genetically altered to be huge for the pork industry, and since those hormones are in their genes, they pass it along to their piglets. Because of their super size, they are prone to health problems and die sooner.

This horse above was rescued from a backyard slaughterhouse operation and is new to the sanctuary.

All in all, it was such a rewarding experience. I had an amazing time and I recommend it to anyone, vegetarian or not to visit these amazing animals and hear their back stories.

Hello, world. It’s been one hell of a week. I’ve found it hard to write here about trivial matters such as what awesomely bad film I’ve discovered or the thoughts I’ve had in traffic, writing or food, while so many people are risking their lives to fight for justice in Iran. When basic human rights are stripped from you, nothing else seems to matter, and although I haven’t been in Iran since I was 2-years-old, I have my eyes and ears on every single piece of information coming out of there. I didn’t grow up in Tehran, but my parents did and my grandparents before them, and it still feels like home.

But I digress. Enough of that for now. I have commentary to post and things to write, but for now, I need happy thoughts , most of which come in the form of Henry the Maltese.

Look at this dog. Have you seen a funnier one? He perches himself on top of the stairs I’ve put for him to get to my bed. How he contorts his body to fit on such a small space is beyond me.

This a dog who loves his toys like a small child, one who parks at people on the street during a car ride, but cries after them when we drive away. This dog is scared of the pool, but not of dogs four times his weight. He’s the dog that loves the feeling after a bath, but hides under the bed in hopes of avoiding one.

This dog will claw at you endlessly until you lift him and put him on the dining room chair next to you - God forbid he be left out.

This is a dog who loves vegetables, from the lettuce he begs for, shreds and then eats, to the green bell peppers and cauliflower he likes to crunch on. Mostly, this little dog makes me happy, even when I’m upset about situations I cannot help halfway across the world.

There are a lot of things no one tells you when you get a dog, like that it takes anywhere from 6 months to a year to potty train them and not 2 weeks like literature suggests, or that they make this terrible swooshing sound that runs through their entire bodies, just seconds before throwing up or that they like to steal bras and underwear out of the laundry bin and run amuck around the house with them. Yea, I know.

Then there are things that you’re told that you brush off until it actually happens, like when they have horrible separation anxiety and you come home after a long day at work, practically wiped out, to find that your kitchen has been literally skunk sprayed with piss in revenge or that they might turn out to be super picky eaters that scoff at canned food.

When I brought Henry home that May day 2 years ago, I didn’t fully realize what I was getting myself into. I didn’t know that his baby teeth would fall out and he’d grow into his adult ones, I didn’t know that he would require surgery because of two bad knees, but despite all of that, I didn’t know that I was capable of loving him so much.

Driving back to L.A. from Hemet, Calif. from the breeders house was tough. He cried and he wiggled and he wiggled and he cried. It wasn’t until he tired himself out and fell asleep to the hum of the engine. He was only 2 lbs back then and about the size of a small stuffed bear. It’s hard to believe he’s only been in my life for 2 years, when it feels like a lifetime. There are many days when I can’t remember how I spent my time before he arrived and then there are other days when I realize how utterly empty the house would be if he wasn’t in it.

Upon the anniversary of a meeting that introduced us to each other, an encounter which has given me the opportunity to be happier, to laugh more and to realize that life does not seem right without a dog, I feel grateful to a 6 lb fiery Maltese, who loves green bell peppers, lettuce and blueberries and hates when you touch his paws, leave for work or don’t answer his scratches and calls for you to life him onto your lap has given me so much. I can only hope he feels the same. Judging by licks and nuzzles, it’s probably safe to say he does.

Are you upset little friend? Have you been lying awake worrying? Well, don’t worry…I’m here. The flood waters will recede, the famine will end, the sun will shine tomorrow, and I will always be here to take care of you. -Charlie Brown to Snoopy

Henry has spent the better part of this week snuggled as close to me as physically possible. Usually, he’ll sleep on the edge of the bed, wrapped up in his brown plaid blanket. He’s really good about sleeping through the night and doesn’t get up until my feet touch the ground, but I find him almost wrapped in my arms when I wake up.

Words do not do the feeling of waking up with a warm dog next to you justice. There are few pleasures greater than a friendly and loving lick in the morning or a black snout buried within the confines of your arm. He doesn’t need to be by me, after all- his puppies day are behind him and he’s already 2-years-old in human years, but he wants to be.

I stroke his belly and pat his head and he settles into a ball for the rest of the night. Sometimes, I wake to find him sprawled out on his back, his legs are far apart as can be and his front paws so close to his chest that he looks like a little otter. He feels at ease, relaxed and without a care in the world. It is in these instances where I am truly jealous of the life Henry leads.

He has no work to worry about, no social life, no bills, no traffic. His only concerns involve him securing the parameters of the house, perfecting his Academy award winning begging routine and resting after a day’s hard work of scaring away imaginary invaders.

At night, he turns almost human. The shapes in which he sleeps in, the content noises he makes when he’s come into an agreement with a space in which to lay his head and the way he rubs his eyes with his paws first thing in the morning, turn him into my little child instead of my little dog.

And that’s one child I’ll happily accept at this point in my life.

After two horribly dreadful days of being without him, my little lamb, Henry the Maltese came home today. About nine months ago, Henry underwent luxating patella surgery to correct both his knees. I documented his entire recovery process here in an effort to provide that information to someone who might be as nervous and scared as I was and ended up meeting many dog owners who were going through the same thing, especially Laura and her Maltese Rocky from Florida (Hi Laura!)

I had taken him to the vet on Saturday because I had slowly began noticing that when he was turning sharp corners while running (which was always), he would lift his right foot up, just the way he did before his knee caps were aligned correctly with pins. I would also occasionally catch him licking at his knee, so I knew something wasn’t right. His physical therapist had told me earlier that licking is a sign of pain, so I booked him an appointment at the vet so that they could take a closer look.

They suspected it was the pin that was bothering him and instructed me to bring him in on Monday so the orthopedic surgeon who did his surgery could take a look. On top of that, he had about four baby teeth (which I later found out was six) that needed to be removed and he hadn’t received vaccines in well over a year, so it was decided to kill three birds with one stone and do all procedures in one go. He was meant to come home Monday, but the surgeon had an emergency surgery so Henry ended up staying the night at the hospital, so the surgeon could take a look first thing in the morning.

Monday night was one of the worst nights I had had in a long time. It’s amazing how empty the house becomes when your pets aren’t there. You don’t realize how much you love them and how much of an integral part of your life they are until they’re gone. I didn’t know what to do with myself that night and Jason Mesnick also known as the worst Bachelor of ALL time wasn’t helping things either.

But I digress. I woke up Tuesday excited at the prospect of picking Henry up. I even packed away his toy and a blanket in the car, but as I had left work early and already driven half way there, I got a call from the vet alerting me that the surgeon was going to be late, so he would have to spend another night and he would be ready for pick up the next day.

Needless to say, I was gutted. One day was enough, I didn’t know how I was going to survive one more day without him. I was restless, anxious and over analytical the entire night. If I was getting this worked up over my dog, I thought to myself, I really didn’t want to know what it was like to watch your own children go through such things.

Today, after two hours in traffic from Santa Monica to Pasadena, a lot of stress, six pulled baby teeth, four stitches, a shaved leg and one daunting vet bill later, Henry is home again. He’s a bit drugged out and tired, but doing well all the same. He can walk, which is great and I’m hoping his leg will be as good as new going forward.

When I brought him home and put him down, he drank what seemed like a gallon of water and then went straight to pee. He quenched his thirst, emptied his bladder, ate some boiled and shredded chicken and had a nice rest in my lap the entire night.

If your dog has had luxating patella surgery, and you begin to notice behaviors such as the one Henry had, it’s a good idea to book a follow up appointment with your vet. A simple procedure can make a lot of difference. As far as I can tell, Henry is in minimal pain and he’s taking it quite well. Sometimes, we tend to forget how resilient animals are and how resilient we are when faced with adversity.

Pets not only give us joy on a day to day basis, they teach us so much about ourselves. They teach us to be selfless, to be loving, to be responsible, they teach us the most basic of human emotions: compassion. In many ways, it is the way you treat animals, not humans, that reveals who you are. After all, it was Milan Kundera, one of my favorite authors who said “mankind’s true moral test, its fundamental test (which lies deeply from view), consists of its attitude towards those who are at its mercy: animals.” Henry has managed to teach me so much about myself. There were times in my life when I cringed at the thought of having to take care of something or someone other than me. Henry has taught me that taking care of either animal or human is a truly rewarding and humbling experience and I couldn’t ask for a better little lamb.

Two nights ago, I gathered my things from the living room, including Henry the Maltese and went to bed, like I do every night. I had just settled in under my sheets and was planning on doing some reading, when I looked over to find that Henry was not on his usual spot on my bed. I looked around the room without getting up and I couldn’t spot him anywhere. I knew he couldn’t have gone out, as the door was locked, so I decided to look under the bed. Even though it’s one of his favorite spots, he wasn’t there either. I started to call out his name and got up, but soon enough my panic had melted into uncontrollable fits of laughter, as I saw that he had climbed into my knitting basket that was full of yarn and decided to perch on it indefinitely.

Naturally, I had to get out the camera and snap a photo of my dog-hen before he decided that nesting time was over.

I couldn’t contain my laughter. I sat there wondering what has possessed him to climb into that basket. He wouldn’t even budge when I tried to move him.

His shenanigans were just another reminder of how much he brightens my day and brings the utmost joy to my life. There are days when I can’t remember what life was like before him. How on Earth did I live for 22 years and not have him with me? It’s inconceivable.

The way he goes mental when I come home, how he licks my tears when I cry, the invisible intruders he barks at on his nightly patrol of the house and the persistent way he scratches at my legs, as if to say “lift me in your arms, now,” these are all moments that I am always going to remember. I can’t bear to think of my life without him, even though the reality is, that that time will come.

But let’s not talk about that now.

Today, Henry the Maltese turns 2-years-old. Two years ago, I drove out to Hemet, Calif., to see a litter of Maltese puppies. It was just him and his brother left. They were both placed in my arms. His brother was sweet yet docile. Henry began to gnaw at my fingers immediately. That’s when I knew that it was meant to be. I drove back two months later and brought him home, where he proceeded to take a nice long piss on my mother’s treasured Persian rug. Oh well.

There is so much to say about Henry. He’s only 6 lbs, but he has more heart than I ever could have imagined. He is fiercely protective of his toys and nothing makes him happier than getting a new one. He loves eating pepper and blueberries and runs circles around the dining room table when he’s excited. When you’re sad, he’s sad. When you’re happy, he’s happy. He wont even think about leaving your side if you’re having a bad day, sacrificing food and water to keep you company.

Last summer, Henry had to have surgery for luxated patellas on both of his knees, which I documented on this site. For such a little dog, he’s been through a lot. He spent almost two months holed up in his crate, with wrappings and stitches and an Elizabethan collar which I detest so much. But he pulled through and although it was difficult for him, it was one of the hardest experiences I went through in my life. It was in those moments of his pain, that I realized what it was like to have and care for children.

Henry is everything I’ve ever wanted and more. I hope you have a good birthday King Henry, I’ll have new toys and a tea saucer full of green bell peppers waiting for you.

Hugo is my boyfriend’s dog and the inspiration for getting Henry. He’s the original Maltese in our circle and is about 3-years-old. He spends his days perched on the couch, people watching by the window and barking at unsavoury characters. He loves liver treats, strolls in the park and holiday sweaters. It’s my dream that Hugo from London and Henry from Los Angeles will one day meet.

Getting ready in the mornings is never pleasant for me. Ever. If the problem isn’t the fact that I cannot bear the thought of getting out from under my soft, warm and ever so accommodating bed, it’s that I take one look in the mirror and immediately know it’s going to be a bad day because no amount of makeup or fake peppy facial expressions can help me. These are probably the days that I feel I’m at about 10 percent.

That’s how I judge how I feel on a given day, with percentages. For example, if I’m feeling pretty great, which means my clothes, my look and my mind are in order, I’d say I’m at 90 percent. If I’m feeling horrid and nothing is going well for me, including the mountain of a pimple that just showed up on my chin’s doorstep, then I probably feel about -5 percent. The most interesting part is, that even if I start out at a good percentage, say 75, by the end of the day, I’m almost in single digit numbers. That’s quite discouraging. I can honestly say that I’ve never felt 100 percent, EVER. But then again, who has? On second thought, I’m sure there are people who have. I hate them.

After I gauge a percentage, I go about my business of turning the kettle on, decided what to wear all the while running from the bathroom to my room multiple times. During this tedious process, Henry the Maltese is ever so vigilantly by my side and will follow me at all costs, no matter where I go and no matter how many times I go there.

When I get to the bathroom, he’ll duck himself in there with me and then, because no one is home and I need to make light of the fact that I feel like DEATH, I strike up a conversation with him.

“No Henry, that’s an illegal behavior,” I politely tell him when he sticks his head in the trash can.

While in my room, I ask him about my wardrobe. “What should I wear? What do you think? If you had to pick something for me what would it be? Oh c’mon, don’t be shy. Pick something!”

While in the kitchen, I discuss life. “If you had a choice between staying home and going to work, which would you choose?”

When he wanders off out of sight, I miss him. “Can you come back now? I have to leave soon and I want to see as much of you as possible. Why don’t you ever make yourself heard?”

When I have to leave, I reassure him that it will be ok. “I have to go now Henry. I’ll be back home soon, I promise. You just stay put, ok? I’ll be back I swear.”

And as I shut the door, I hear him barking in the distance, as if to say, “Why do you leave every morning?”

I ask myself the same thing.

When Henry the Maltese decided to wake up at 2 a.m. and stand in front of the bedroom door, patiently waiting for me to open it, I knew there was a problem. Usually if he gets up at an odd time, it’s to crawl under the bed in an effort to find cooler space, or sniff out some socks to chew on. I stumbled out of bed and opened the door and watched him head straight for his pad in the kitchen. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, and before I knew it, Henry was spinning in circles like a mad man, arching his back and probably feeling horrible that he was having a big bout of explosive diarrhea.

After I cleaned him up, wrapped him in a towel and went back to bed, I knew it wasn’t the end of the Diarrhea Night of Hell. I opened all the windows in the kitchen, knowing full well that if that putrid smell was not allowed to exit the building, it would surely kill a 200 lb. man.

By 6 a.m, I had let him go about his business and washed him about three times. When 7 a.m. rolled around, I contemplated whether or not I should make the trek to work.

Somehow I pulled strength from somewhere and got up to get dressed. I had barely made my way to the bathroom when I heard something that sounded like faint fireworks exploding in the living room. When I got to Henry, he was crouched over, no doubt in pain from whatever had just shot out of his ass. It was clear we were not celebrating ANYTHING.

The rest of my day was spent nursing him back to health. In more ways than you know, I needed a day off, and perhaps Henry answered my prayers by deciding to keep me up all night and day so that I could wipe his bum and try not to throw up at the same time.

As the day progressed, he sat in my lap, where he is right now, seeking warmth and comfort from me. Occasionally, he’d raise his head, look at me with those big brown eyes and let out a tiny whine. Tucking his snout under my arm, he went to sleep, only waking up if he heard a threatening sound. It’s in these moments, that I realize that I need him just as much as he needs me. The cleaning, the wiping, the worrying, the taking time off work, it’s all worth it, when at the most unexpected moment, he pops his head up just to lick my hand, as if he’s saying “thank you.” No Henry, thank you.