Traer Scott Photography Blog

Death on Our Shoes

It is no secret that the dogs who end up in shelters are the unlucky ones. These are not the dogs that get to nose open Christmas stockings, or who trot down the street with designer collars. They are not the dogs who sleep under the crisp bed covers at night or ride gleefully with their heads hanging out the windows of cars. More times that not, these are the dogs  who are viewed as being expendable by their owners. They are the ones who get loose or get dumped and no one comes to look for them. Many shelter dogs have rarely seen the vet...or been given a simple $20 vaccination that protects them against Parvo. Their bad luck however,  is the only way in which these dogs are inferior. They are just as smart, just as loving and just as beautiful as any other dog. Sometimes, more so.

Last week, a quiet, faceless enemy swept through the shelter where I volunteer. This time the antagonist wasn't time, but a faint trace of bright red blood in the dogs' stools which became proof positive of Parvovirus. So far, the outbreak has left a body count of 21, all Pit Bulls.

Every single dog that I nurtured, named, photographed, wrote Petfinder bios for, played with and taught skills to, is now dead. The staff who fed, watered and cared for  these dogs all day, every day now goes to work in a quarantined facility that is oddly quiet yet full of ghosts.

There are so many things that make this devastating, not the least of which is the fact that at least 3 of these dogs had been at the shelter for almost 4 months, while myself and the staff tried desperately every week to place them. The trio survived several culls for space, almost constant confinement, a severe lack of mental stimulation and a level of stress that most human beings can not even fathom. They triumphed over all of this- just to be taken out by a virus that spread silently from one infected carrier...a virus that is almost 100% preventable.

When I first heard that the shelter was closed due to Parvo, my heart fell into my stomach, but I had no idea how widespread the infection would be. The next day, I received a list with ten or more infected dogs on it, the following day, another 6. One by one, all of these lives which we fought so hard to save, were extinguished.  All of this from a virus that hung in the air, clinging to our shoes and our hands, spreading evasively since late June.

I am so saddened and angry at this needless loss of life. Angry because these dogs didn't deserve to be there in the first place and even angrier because if any one of them had been current on their shots, they would still be alive.

Over the past 15,000 years, we have succeeded in domesticating and thouroughly dominating a species that now is completely dependent upon us to survive. The gray wolf, which the dog was once domesticated from, hunts for it's food, breeds autonomously, possesses natural immunities to disease and lives a life completely free of and in fact,  antithetical to, human existence. Dogs on the other hand, have been bred for millenia to serve humans: as companions, workers and protectors. They are utterly subservient to our treatment and rely entirely on us for food, shelter, affection, amusement and good health.

All they really require is the most minimal of care and compassion and we continue to fail them.

We allow them to breed rampantly and then kill 4 million every year in shelters because there isn't enough space; we make them into designer breeds like Labradoodles and Cockapoos because it's a charming mix while 30% of the homeless dogs in shelters are pure breds; we abuse them, neglect them and even fight them until the death.

Don't we owe these ancient companions more respect? We show more reverence and good will to the very least and most despicable of our own species while constantly using and abusing the faithful creatures that have been at our side for centuries.

I write this in memory of Sasha (pictured), Huckleberry, Bandy, Tiger, Summer, Damon and all of the dogs who were needlessly lost last week due to public enemy #1, ignorance.

 

The Ocean and the Infinite

Today I was among tens of thousands of New Englanders who manically flocked to the beach in order to both celebrate and survive the first noticably hot Friday since Summer's  inauspicious beginning.

Every year at the start of the season,  I re-visit my fascination with the mystical allure of the ocean and the perplexing dichotomy that is our relentless reverence and exploitation of it. There's no denying that a swim in the sea on a hot day is refreshing. But so is a cold shower, air conditioning, or a dip in a clean suburban swimming pool. What is it about the beach and the tempestuous, primordial ocean that so enthralls us?

While shooting my last book Wild Horses, I was stationed in Ocean City, Maryland for a week.  With it's legacy of unpretentious pastel motels, elaborate putt-putt courses, tacky souvenir shops and every fast food chain known to man represented on the same street, Ocean City is an intoxicating, sentimental masterpiece of Americana camp and capitalization. I found myself powerless to resist it's ironic sincerity and timeless appeal. The Pizza Hut there still has a salad bar.

Like any and all of America's seaside oddities, Ocean City's retro splendor was drawn there decades ago by one thing and one thing only: the American public's overwhelming need to journey to the ocean. Every square inch of coast is flanked by something and behind that something are several parallel rows of other somethings that weren't lucrative enough to deserve beachfront property.

Had I arrived in Ocean City two weeks later, I would have been trapped in what locals describe as "amateur month" when high school and college kids arrive en masse to drink, puke and blister in the sun. Fortunately I got to witness the calm before the storm. And what an eery calm it  was. The beaches were barren, the few open restaurants empty, and the epic mini golf palaces and boardwalk still closed for repairs. The stillness and lack of people amidst so much tawdry infrastructure created a sweet, familiar lonliness for me. At dawn, before I spent the day chasing wild horses on the starkly contrasted pristine, unblemished shores of Assateague National Seashore, I wandered in somewhat of a trance through the aging, seasonally forsaken man-made spectacles of Ocean City.

That week I began what has become a long term project of documenting our complex and contradictory relationship to the ocean.

I will never live land-locked. Despite the inevitable crowds, traffic and stupidity, over the past few years I have continued to invent more and more excuses to be in or near the water almost every day. Whether any of the bikini teen queens, metal detecting septuagenarians, football tossing jocks or other  predictable beach characters realize it, I believe we are all drawn to the ocean in a need to reconnect with the infinite. The question is, will there be anything worthwhile left to connect with in 50 years?

 

 

 

Apathy is Not Acceptable

The choice to become a volunteer lead directly to the creation of my  book Shelter Dogs, and subsequently to the rest of my life.

I can actually remember the exact moment when late at night, sitting in complete darkness except for the sickly glow of my computer screen, I decided to act. It was then, browsing through photo after photo of dogs that were dead - completely innocent victims of overpopulation and ignorance - that I finally thought of a way to channel my anger and devastation. My sole purpose in creating Shelter Dogs was to make a tangible memorial to these animals in the hopes of saving others yet to be abandoned or even born.

The book, which met with immediate and completely unforseen success, officially kicked off my career with a bang. Now, almost 5 years later, Shelter Dogs has been re-released in paperback, sold in countries all around the world and translated into Japanese. We have raised tens of thousands of dollars for the ASPCA and hopefully inspired many other people to act in some small or perhaps great way.

I am still volunteering every week despite my deepest hopes that one day I will wake up and no longer be needed.

Since December, I have been the sole volunteer at my shelter in Providence. In that time,  I have had to step up to responsibilities that I never thought I could handle. In truth, I can't handle them but am trying to hold on for a few more weeks at which point I have been promised that we will get more help. Every week is a desperate struggle to save the dogs that have been unlucky enough to end up there. Every week more come in. Every week, some die whether it is due to space, illness or behavior issues. Every week, I delete these beings from existence when I hit "remove" on Petfinder.

However, almost every week, a really great dog finds a really great home. Bleu (see image) is this week's success story. Given his stocky stature, enormous head and of course, Bully Breed status, I didn't think he stood much of a chance, but last Friday, a couple came in and fell in love with him. Although Bleu has had to remain at the shelter this week to await neutering, the family has come to visit him everyday. Sometimes they come seperately on their lunch breaks. Today, the husband brought all three of their children. They have food, shampoo, a bed and all imaginable comforts waiting for this big lug for when he finally goes home on Tuesday.

Now, this family found this dog on Petfinder after viewing the photos that I took of him and reading the description I posted. When they came to meet him, I was there and spent over an hour talking to them to help them pick the right dog for them. This is an instance where I know that what I did actually made a huge difference in the life of this dog. This is the miracle of volunteering. How often do any of us actually get to say that we saved a life?

Volunteering on the front lines is definitely not for everyone, but everyone does have something, somehow to give. That is why I encourage every single person regardless of your occupation, age or financial situation to consider giving just one or two hours a week to a worthy cause. Analyze your strengths, talents and resources and share them. Graphic designer? Offer to re-design the logo for a local non-profit or create a brochure or calendar or new website for them. Lawyer? Offer your legal services or involve your firm in a charity drive. Plain old normal person? Collect towels and blankets for an animal shelter, help the local food bank, the list goes on and on.

If your passion is animals, then think about this: If just ONE new volunteer in every town, village or city in America helps find a home for just ONE shelter animal a week, then together we would change the destiny of over 25,000 animals EVERY WEEK, and over 1.3 MILLION a year.

Inspiration, gratification and immense personal growth are predicted side effects.

For lots of volunteer opportunities visit: Volunteer Match

Apathy is not acceptable.

 

Underwater in Early May

One of my purest joys in life, other than dogs and aiming a camera at things, is the ocean. In warmer months, I spend as much time as possible in the water swimming, snorkeling and yes, also photographing. 

Frustrated by the length of New England winters and my compulsive nightly dreams of diving beneath waves and gliding noiselessly through reefs, I finally decided to acquire the necessary gear to snorkel and swim in cold water.  Last week, I made my third attempt in the 48 degree Atlantic waters in Jamestown, Rhode Island. Although the thick, restrictive suit, hood and gloves take some getting used to, it has been a great joy to get back in the water several months before it's warm enough for bathing suits and bare skin.

I am beginning an underwater photo series on the Narragansett Bay Waters in Rhode Island and Southern Massachusetts which will feature a glimpse at the varied landscapes just below the surface of the water. This is one of my favorite images of all time: my husband and pit bull, Audrey  swimming together in the St. Lawrence River in Ontario.

 

Winding Back Up from Down Time

The past five years have brought many changes in my life. Indeed in more recent months, the defining difference has been a lack of change. From 2005-2008, I was in a career whirlwind with book signings, media events and shooting assignments which swept me to many corners of the globe. It became standard for me to be traveling about 5 out of 12 months each year. While the experiences were truly unforgettable, after the release of Wild Horses, it was time for a little break to catch my breath and allot time for work on several personal series which had long been put on the back burner.

With the help of a Fellowship Grant that I received from the Rhode Island State Council for the Arts, I have been able to devote time to working on The Hungry Ghost and Natural History. The former is now completed for the time being but the latter is still growing along with my scope and vision for the project. I will be returning to New York next week to gather more images and hope to also expand my shooting to include candid imagery from museums in Philadelphia and Los Angeles.

A great honor that has just recently come my way is an invitation this fall to photograph the much endangered Asian Elephant through Boon Lott's Elephant Sanctuary in Thailand. This opportunity is exciting on so many levels and I'm thankful beyond words that my generous hosts  thought of me for this project which will hopefully span many different aspects of the modern threats facing Asian Elephants. I travel to New Hampshire next week to meet with Katherine Connor, founder of Boon Lott's (making a rare trip to the US) as well as MaryLou Hecht of Dyad Communications, an activist and champion of the sanctuary.