Greetings, kind viewers, and welcome to Animal World: Our Co-Inhabitants. Today, April 24, 2010 is World Lab Animal Day, founded by the National Anti-Vivisection Society of the United States. On this day, anti-vivisectionists around the world work to raise public awareness about stopping the unethical, savage and unscientific practice of experimentation and demonstration on live animals, which causes extreme suffering and death to countless innocent beings each year.

Besides being a central figure in US literature, renowned author and humanitarian Mark Twain was a prominent advocate of animal welfare who spoke out against abuses such as bullfighting and vivisection. The world-renowned writer first encountered the field of publishing at age eleven when he began working as an assistant in a print shop.

As a young man he wrote articles for a number of newspapers and became famous in the US when his short story “Jim Smiley and His Jumping Frog” was published nationally. The work he is best known for, “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” was written in 1884, and is considered by many to be “the Great American Novel.” Animals were featured in many of Mr. Twain’s works, from his newspaper articles condemning animal cruelty to the thoughtful pieces written toward the end of his life, “A Dog’s Tale” in 1903, “A Horse’s Tale” in 1907 and his letter to the London Anti-Vivisection Society in 1899.

Several of Mark Twain’s moving commentaries were widely circulated in the press and numerous copies were circulated as pamphlets to promote the cause of animal welfare. In his letter to the London Anti-Vivisection Society, he wrote:

"I am not interested to know whether vivisection produces results that are profitable to the human race or doesn't... The pain which it inflicts upon un-consenting animals is the basis of my enmity toward it, and it is to me sufficient justification of the enmity without looking further."

We now present the first and the second chapters of “A Dog’s Tale,” a story told by a canine named Aileen Mavourneen.

CHAPTER 1

My father was a St. Bernard, my mother was a collie, but I am a Presbyterian. This is what my mother told me, I do not know these nice distinctions myself. To me they are only fine large words meaning nothing. My mother had a fondness for such; she liked to say them, and see other dogs look surprised and envious, as wondering how she got so much education.

But, indeed, it was not real education; it was only show: she got the words by listening in the dining-room and drawing-room when there was company, and by going with the children to Sunday-school and listening there; and whenever she heard a large word she said it over to herself many times, and so was able to keep it until there was a dogmatic gathering in the neighborhood, then she would get it off, and surprise and distress them all, from pocket-pup to mastiff, which rewarded her for all her trouble.

If there was a stranger he was nearly sure to be suspicious, and when he got his breath again he would ask her what it meant. And she always told him. He was never expecting this but thought he would catch her; so when she told him, he was the one that looked ashamed, whereas he had thought it was going to be she. The others were always waiting for this, and glad of it and proud of her, for they knew what was going to happen, because they had had experience.

When she told the meaning of a big word they were all so taken up with admiration that it never occurred to any dog to doubt if it was the right one; and that was natural, because, for one thing, she answered up so promptly that it seemed like a dictionary speaking, and for another thing, where could they find out whether it was right or not? For she was the only cultivated dog there was.

By and by, when I was older, she brought home the word Unintellectual, one time, and worked it pretty hard all the week at different gatherings, making much unhappiness and despondency; and it was at this time that I noticed that during that week she was asked for the meaning at eight different assemblages, and flashed out a fresh definition every time, which showed me that she had more presence of mind than culture, though I said nothing, of course. She had one word which she always kept on hand, and ready, like a life-preserver, a kind of emergency word to strap on when she was likely to get washed overboard in a sudden way— that was the word Synonymous.

After these brief messages, we’ll continue with Chapter 1 from “A Dog’s Tale.” Please stay tuned to Supreme Master Television.

Welcome back to Animal World: Our Co-Inhabitants featuring a reading of Mark Twain’s classic story “A Dog’s Tale.” Previously we learned that Aileen’s mother had a special word she always kept on hand; namely, “synonymous.”

When she happened to fetch out a long word which had had its day weeks before and its prepared meanings gone to her dump-pile, if there was a stranger there of course it knocked him groggy for a couple of minutes, then he would come to, and by that time she would be away down wind on another tack, and not expecting anything; so when he’d hail and ask her to cash in, I (the only dog on the inside of her game) could see her canvas flicker a moment— but only just a moment— then it would belly out taut and full, and she would say, as calm as a summer’s day, “It’s synonymous with supererogation,” or some godless long reptile of a word like that, and go placidly about and skim away on the next tack, perfectly comfortable, you know, and leave that stranger looking profane and embarrassed, and the initiated slatting the floor with their tails in unison and their faces transfigured with a holy joy.

And it was the same with phrases. She would drag home a whole phrase, if it had a grand sound, and play it six nights and two matinees, and explain it a new way every time— which she had to, for all she cared for was the phrase; she wasn’t interested in what it meant, and knew those dogs hadn’t wit enough to catch her, anyway. Yes, she was a daisy!

She got so she wasn’t afraid of anything, she had such confidence in the ignorance of those creatures. She even brought anecdotes that she had heard the family and the dinner-guests laugh and shout over; and as a rule she got the nub of one chestnut hitched onto another chestnut, where, of course, it didn’t fit and hadn’t any point; and when she delivered the nub she fell over and rolled on the floor and laughed and barked in the most insane way, while I could see that she was wondering to herself why it didn’t seem as funny as it did when she first heard it.

But no harm was done; the others rolled and barked too, privately ashamed of themselves for not seeing the point, and never suspecting that the fault was not with them and there wasn’t any to see. You can see by these things that she was of a rather vain and frivolous character; still, she had virtues, and enough to make up, I think.

She had a kind heart and gentle ways, and never harbored resentments for injuries done her, but put them easily out of her mind and forgot them; and she taught her children her kindly way, and from her we learned also to be brave and prompt in time of danger, and not to run away, but face the peril that threatened friend or stranger, and help him the best we could without stopping to think what the cost might be to us.

And she taught us not by words only, but by example, and that is the best way and the surest and the most lasting. Why, the brave things she did, the splendid things! She was just a soldier; and so modest about it— well, you couldn’t help admiring her, and you couldn’t help imitating her; not even a King Charles spaniel could remain entirely despicable in her society. So, as you see, there was more to her than her education.

CHAPTER 2

When I was well grown, at last, I was sold and taken away, and I never saw her again. She was broken-hearted, and so was I, and we cried; but she comforted me as well as she could, and said we were sent into this world for a wise and good purpose, and must do our duties without repining, take our life as we might find it, live it for the best good of others, and never mind about the results; they were not our affair.

She said men who did like this would have a noble and beautiful reward by and by in another world, and although we animals would not go there, to do well and right without reward would give to our brief lives a worthiness and dignity which in itself would be a reward. She had gathered these things from time to time when she had gone to the Sunday-school with the children, and had laid them up in her memory more carefully than she had done with those other words and phrases; and she had studied them deeply, for her good and ours. One may see by this that she had a wise and thoughtful head, for all there was so much lightness and vanity in it.

So we said our farewells, and looked our last upon each other through our tears; and the last thing she said— keeping it for the last to make me remember it the better, I think—was, “In memory of me, when there is a time of danger to another do not think of yourself, think of your mother, and do as she would do.”

Do you think I could forget that? No.

Keeping mommy’s love and wise words in her heart, the young pup Aileen set off to face life on her own. What kinds of challenges await for her ahead? Please join us next Saturday on Animal World: Our Co-Inhabitants for the second part of our three parts series on “A Dog’s Tale.”

Finally, our hero’s salute goes to the esteemed author and animal advocate Mark Twain for his insightful work promoting the welfare of animals. We also thank all anti-vivisectionists and concerned citizens around the world for their noble efforts to save our vulnerable animal friends.

Lovely viewers, thank you for your company on today’s program. Up next is Enlightening Entertainment, after Noteworthy News. May Heaven’s Divine light always shine on us all.

“Earthlings,” an award-winning documentary directed by vegan filmmaker Shaun Monson and narrated by esteemed US actor Joaquin Phoenix examines the terrifying and horrendous lives of our fellow co-inhabitants in the so-called “entertainment” industry.

When going to the circus, rarely do we stop for a moment and consider: What incites an animal to do something unnatural, even dangerous, such as jumping through flames, balancing on one foot, or diving into water from shaky platforms high in the air?

Make the Connection. Join us for our presentation of Part 5 of “Earthlings,” Tuesday, April 27, on Stop Animal Cruelty.

Greetings, benevolent viewers, and welcome to Animal World: Our Co-Inhabitants. Today’s show features the second part of a three-part series on the thoughtful, classic short story “A Dog’s Tale,” by US author, humanitarian and outspoken animal advocate Mark Twain.

This fine work published in 1903 is written from the perspective of a loyal canine companion named Aileen. Mark Twain’s love of our animal friends is evident from his newspaper articles that condemned animal cruelty, travel books that featured his observations on animals he encountered on his journeys, and novels that included animal characters. We now continue with our reading of “A Dog’s Tale.” Previously, the pup Aileen, after having spent a delightful childhood with her mother, was sold and taken away when fully grown. In tears, her mommy bid her farewell.

from CHAPTER 2

“In memory of me, when there is a time of danger to another do not think of yourself, think of your mother, and do as she would do.”

Keeping her mother’s love and her insightful words in heart, Aileen headed to face a new life on her own.

CHAPTER 3

It was such a charming home!— my new one; a fine great house, with pictures, and delicate decorations, and rich furniture, and no gloom anywhere, but all the wilderness of dainty colors lit up with flooding sunshine; and the spacious grounds around it, and the great garden— oh, greensward, and noble trees, and flowers, no end!

And I was the same as a member of the family; and they loved me, and petted me, and did not give me a new name, but called me by my old one that was dear to me because my mother had given it me— Aileen Mavourneen. She got it out of a song; and the Grays knew that song, and said it was a beautiful name.

Mrs. Gray was thirty, and so sweet and so lovely, you cannot imagine it; and Sadie was ten, and just like her mother, just a darling slender little copy of her, with auburn tails down her back, and short frocks; and the baby was a year old, and plump and dimpled, and fond of me, and never could get enough of hauling on my tail, and hugging me, and laughing out its innocent happiness; and Mr. Gray was thirty-eight, and tall and slender and handsome, a little bald in front, alert, quick in his movements, business-like, prompt, decided, unsentimental, and with that kind of trim-chiseled face that just seems to glint and sparkle with frosty intellectuality!

He was a renowned scientist. I do not know what the word means, but my mother would know how to use it and get effects. She would know how to depress a rat-terrier with it and make a lap-dog look sorry he came. But that is not the best one; the best one was Laboratory. My mother could organize a Trust on that one that would skin the tax-collars off the whole herd .

The laboratory was not a book, or a picture, or a place to wash your hands in, as the college president’s dog said—no, that is the lavatory; the laboratory is quite different, and is filled with jars, and bottles, and electrics, and wires, and strange machines; and every week other scientists came there and sat in the place, and used the machines, and discussed, and made what they called experiments and discoveries; and often I came, too, and stood around and listened, and tried to learn, for the sake of my mother, and in loving memory of her, although it was a pain to me, as realizing what she was losing out of her life and I gaining nothing at all; for try as I might, I was never able to make anything out of it at all.

Other times I lay on the floor in the mistress’s work-room and slept, she gently using me for a foot-stool, knowing it pleased me, for it was a caress; other times I spent an hour in the nursery, and got well tousled and made happy; other times I watched by the crib there, when the baby was asleep and the nurse out for a few minutes on the baby’s affairs; other times I romped and raced through the grounds and the garden with Sadie till we were tired out, then slumbered on the grass in the shade of a tree while she read her book; other times I went visiting among the neighbor dogs— for there were some most pleasant ones not far away, and one very handsome and courteous and graceful one, a curly-haired Irish setter by the name of Robin Adair, who was a Presbyterian like me, and belonged to the Scotch minister.

The servants in our house were all kind to me and were fond of me, and so, as you see, mine was a pleasant life. There could not be a happier dog that I was, nor a gratefuller one. I will say this for myself, for it is only the truth: I tried in all ways to do well and right, and honor my mother’s memory and her teachings, and earn the happiness that had come to me, as best I could.

By and by came my little puppy, and then my cup was full, my happiness was perfect. It was the dearest little waddling thing, and so smooth and soft and velvety, and had such cunning little awkward paws, and such affectionate eyes, and such a sweet and innocent face; and it made me so proud to see how the children and their mother adored it, and fondled it, and exclaimed over every little wonderful thing it did. It did seem to me that life was just too lovely to—

For a time Aileen lived a joyful, pleasant life in her new home, but then an event occurred that completely changed her life. We’ll find out what happened after these brief messages. Please stay tuned to Supreme Master Television.

Welcome back to Animal World: Our Co-Inhabitants featuring a reading of Mark Twain’s classic story “A Dog’s Tale.” With her new family, Aileen was living a cheerful, happy life, but as the warmth of summer faded and autumn quietly passed, an unexpected event occurred.

Then came the winter. One day I was standing a watch in the nursery. That is to say, I was asleep on the bed. The baby was asleep in the crib, which was alongside the bed, on the side next the fireplace. It was the kind of crib that has a lofty tent over it made of gauzy stuff that you can see through. The nurse was out, and we two sleepers were alone. A spark from the wood-fire was shot out, and it lit on the slope of the tent. I suppose a quiet interval followed, then a scream from the baby awoke me, and there was that tent flaming up toward the ceiling!

Before I could think, I sprang to the floor in my fright, and in a second was half-way to the door; but in the next half-second my mother’s farewell was sounding in my ears, and I was back on the bed again. I reached my head through the flames and dragged the baby out by the waist-band, and tugged it along, and we fell to the floor together in a cloud of smoke; I snatched a new hold, and dragged the screaming little creature along and out at the door and around the bend of the hall, and was still tugging away, all excited and happy and proud, when the master’s voice shouted:

“Begone you cursed beast!”

and I jumped to save myself; but he was furiously quick, and chased me up, striking furiously at me with his cane, I dodging this way and that, in terror, and at last a strong blow fell upon my left foreleg, which made me shriek and fall, for the moment, helpless; the cane went up for another blow, but never descended, for the nurse’s voice rang wildly out,

“The nursery’s on fire!”

and the master rushed away in that direction, and my other bones were saved. The pain was cruel, but, no matter, I must not lose any time; he might come back at any moment; so I limped on three legs to the other end of the hall, where there was a dark little stairway leading up into a garret

where old boxes and such things were kept, as I had heard say, and where people seldom went. I managed to climb up there, then I searched my way through the dark among the piles of things, and hid in the secretest place I could find. It was foolish to be afraid there, yet still I was; so afraid that I held in and hardly even whimpered, though it would have been such a comfort to whimper, because that eases the pain, you know.

But I could lick my leg, and that did some good. For half an hour there was a commotion downstairs, and shoutings, and rushing footsteps, and then there was quiet again. Quiet for some minutes, and that was grateful to my spirit, for then my fears began to go down; and fears are worse than pains—oh, much worse. Then came a sound that froze me.

They were calling me— calling me by name— hunting for me! It was muffled by distance, but that could not take the terror out of it, and it was the most dreadful sound to me that I had ever heard. It went all about, everywhere, down there: along the halls, through all the rooms, in both stories, and in the basement and the cellar; then outside, and farther and farther away —then back, and all about the house again, and I thought it would never, never stop.

But at last it did, hours and hours after the vague twilight of the garret had long ago been blotted out by black darkness. Then in that blessed stillness my terrors fell little by little away, and I was at peace and slept. It was a good rest I had, but I woke before the twilight had come again. I was feeling fairly comfortable, and I could think out a plan now.

I made a very good one; which was, to creep down, all the way down the back stairs, and hide behind the cellar door, and slip out and escape when the iceman came at dawn, while he was inside filling the refrigerator; then I would hide all day, and start on my journey when night came; my journey to—well, anywhere where they would not know me and betray me to the master. I was feeling almost cheerful now; then suddenly I thought: Why, what would life be without my puppy!

That was despair. There was no plan for me; I saw that; I must stay where I was; stay, and wait, and take what might come— it was not my affair; that was what life is— my mother had said it. Then—well, then the calling began again! All my sorrows came back. I said to myself, the master will never forgive. I did not know what I had done to make him so bitter and so unforgiving, yet I judged it was something a dog could not understand, but which was clear to a man and dreadful.

Sitting in the dark with her soft heart pounding in suspense, the familiar voices sounded distant and the future seemed unknowable to the faithful canine. Why were they calling her in such a frantic voice? Precious viewers, join us again next Saturday for the third and final segment of our three-part series on “A Dog’s Tale” by celebrated author and animal advocate Mark Twain. Thank you for being with us today on Animal World: Our Co-Inhabitants. Up next is Enlightening Entertainment, after Noteworthy News. May loving kindness always be your guide.

If you become trapped following an earthquake, what should you do?

I think first of all you should verbalize, you should shout, you should, indicate that you need help, if you actually can hear people digging, you should knock or use something to make a repetitive noise to let rescuers know that you’re alive.

Be sure to watch Part 2 of “Earthquake Survival with Dr. Jim Goltz,” Wednesday, May 5 on Planet Earth: Our Loving Home.

Greetings, esteemed viewers, and welcome to Animal World: Our Co-Inhabitants. Today’s show features the third part of a three-part series on the thoughtful, classic short story “A Dog’s Tale,” by US author, humanitarian and outspoken animal advocate Mark Twain. This fine work published in 1903 is written from the perspective of a loyal canine companion named Aileen.

Besides being a central figure in US literature, renowned author and humanitarian Mark Twain was a prominent advocate of animal welfare who spoke out against abuses such as bullfighting and vivisection.

Animals were featured in many of Mr. Twain’s works, from his newspaper articles condemning animal cruelty to the thoughtful pieces written toward the end of his life, “A Dog’s Tale” in 1903, “A Horse’s Tale” in 1907 and his letter to the London Anti-Vivisection Society in 1899. Several of Mark Twain’s moving commentaries were widely circulated in the press and numerous copies were circulated as pamphlets to promote the cause of animal welfare. In his letter to the London Anti-Vivisection Society, he wrote:

“I am not interested to know whether vivisection produces results that are profitable to the human race or doesn't... The pain which it inflicts upon un-consenting animals is the basis of my enmity toward it, and it is to me sufficient justification of the enmity without looking further.”

Today, we conclude our presentation of Mark Twain’s short story “A Dog’s Tale,” an engaging first-person narrative on the life of a loyal canine companion. Previously, the story’s main character, Aileen the dog, had risked her life to save that of her caregivers’ newborn baby from a fire, but instead of getting praise or words of encouragement, Aileen was chased and beaten by the male owner of the house. In utter confusion and terror, Aileen, now limping on three legs, went and hid in the home’s small attic.

They called and called— days and nights, it seemed to me. So long that the hunger and thirst near drove me mad, and I recognized that I was getting very weak. When you are this way you sleep a great deal, and I did. Once I woke in an awful fright— it seemed to me that the calling was right there in the garret! And so it was: it was Sadie’s voice, and she was crying; my name was falling from her lips all broken, poor thing, and I could not believe my ears for the joy of it when I heard her say: Come back to us— oh, come back to us, and forgive— it is all so sad without our —”

I broke in with SUCH a grateful little yelp, and the next moment Sadie was plunging and stumbling through the darkness and the lumber and shouting for the family to hear, “She’s found, she’s found!”

The days that followed— well, they were wonderful. The mother and Sadie and the servants— why, they just seemed to worship me. They couldn’t seem to make me a bed that was fine enough; and as for food, they couldn’t be satisfied with anything but delicacies that were out of season; and every day the friends and neighbors flocked in to hear about my heroism— that was the name they called it by, and it means agriculture.

I remember my mother pulling it on a kennel once, and explaining it in that way, but didn’t say what agriculture was, except that it was synonymous with intramural incandescence; and a dozen times a day Mrs. Gray and Sadie would tell the tale to new-comers, and say I risked my life to save the baby’s, and both of us had burns to prove it, and then the company would pass me around and pet me and exclaim about me, and you could see the pride in the eyes of Sadie and her mother; and when the people wanted to know what made me limp, they looked ashamed and changed the subject, and sometimes when people hunted them this way and that way with questions about it, it looked to me as if they were going to cry.

And this was not all the glory; no, the master’s friends came, a whole twenty of the most distinguished people, and had me in the laboratory, and discussed me as if I was a kind of discovery; and some of them said it was wonderful in a dumb beast, the finest exhibition of instinct they could call to mind; but the master said, with vehemence,

“It’s far above instinct; it’s REASON, and many a man, privileged to be saved and go with you and me to a better world by right of its possession, has less of it that this poor silly quadruped that’s foreordained to perish";

and then he laughed, and said:

“Why, look at me— I’m a sarcasm! bless you, with all my grand intelligence, the only thing I inferred was that the dog had gone mad and was destroying the child, whereas but for the beast’s intelligence— it’s REASON, I tell you!—the child would have perished!”

They disputed and disputed, and I was the very center of subject of it all, and I wished my mother could know that this grand honor had come to me; it would have made her proud. Then they discussed optics, as they called it, and whether a certain injury to the brain would produce blindness or not, but they could not agree about it, and said they must test it by experiment by and by; and next they discussed plants, and that interested me, because in the summer Sadie and I had planted seeds—I helped her dig the holes, you know —and after days and days a little shrub or a flower came up there, and it was a wonder how that could happen; but it did, and I wished I could talk —I would have told those people about it and shown then how much I knew, and been all alive with the subject; but I didn’t care for the optics; it was dull, and when came back to it again it bored me, and I went to sleep.

Pretty soon it was spring, and sunny and pleasant and lovely, and the sweet mother and the children patted me and the puppy good-by, and went away on a journey and a visit to their kin, and the master wasn’t any company for us, but we played together and had good times, and the servants were kind and friendly, so we got along quite happily and counted the days and waited for the family.

Aileen’s heroism and intelligence won the hearts of family and friends, and her bountiful happiness and delight never seemed to end. When we return, we will continue her story. Please stay tuned to Supreme Master Television.

Welcome back to Animal World: Our Co-Inhabitants, where we now feature the conclusion of “A Dog’s Tale.”

And one day those men came again, and said, now for the test, and they took the puppy to the laboratory, and I limped three-leggedly along, too, feeling proud, for any attention shown to the puppy was a pleasure to me, of course. They discussed and experimented, and then suddenly the puppy shrieked, and they set him on the floor, and he went staggering around, with his head all bloody, and the master clapped his hands and shouted: “There, I’ve won— confess it! He’s as blind as a bat!”

And they all said:

“It’s so—you’ve proved your theory, and suffering humanity owes you a great debt from henceforth,”

and they crowded around him, and wrung his hand cordially and thankfully, and praised him. But I hardly saw or heard these things, for I ran at once to my little darling, and snuggled close to it where it lay, and licked the blood, and it put its head against mine, whimpering softly, and I knew in my heart it was a comfort to it in its pain and trouble to feel its mother’s touch, though it could not see me. Then it dropped down, presently, and its little velvet nose rested upon the floor, and it was still, and did not move any more. Soon the master stopped discussing a moment, and rang in the footman, and said,

“Bury it in the far corner of the garden,”

and then went on with the discussion, and I trotted after the footman, very happy and grateful, for I knew the puppy was out of its pain now, because it was asleep. We went far down the garden to the farthest end, where the children and the nurse and the puppy and I used to play in the summer in the shade of a great elm, and there the footman dug a hole, and I saw he was going to plant the puppy, and I was glad, because it would grow and come up a fine handsome dog, like Robin Adair, and be a beautiful surprise for the family when they came home; so I tried to help him dig, but my lame leg was no good, being stiff, you know, and you have to have two, or it is no use.

When the footman had finished and covered little Robin up, he patted my head, and there were tears in his eyes, and he said: “Poor little doggie, you saved HIS child!” I have watched two whole weeks, and he doesn’t come up! This last week a fright has been stealing upon me. I think there is something terrible about this. I do not know what it is, but the fear makes me sick, and I cannot eat, though the servants bring me the best of food; and they pet me so, and even come in the night, and cry, and say, “Poor doggie—do give it up and come home; don’t break our hearts!” and all this terrifies me the more, and makes me sure something has happened.

And I am so weak; since yesterday I cannot stand on my feet anymore. And within this hour the servants, looking toward the sun where it was sinking out of sight and the night chill coming on, said things I could not understand, but they carried something cold to my heart. “Those poor creatures! They do not suspect. They will come home in the morning, and eagerly ask for the little doggie that did the brave deed, and who of us will be strong enough to say the truth to them: ’The humble little friend is gone where go the beasts that perish.’”

As the story ends, our hearts are saddened by the fate of the innumerable helpless, innocent animals dissected, infected, injected, gassed, burned and blinded while fully conscious in university and commercial research laboratories around the world. These innocent, intelligent beings, who have feelings and awareness the same as humans, are forced to be subjects in unethical, cruel and appalling experiments and procedures.

The fact is that animals are vastly different from humans with respect to anatomy, physiology, biochemistry and metabolism, so the results of experiments on animals are not valid for humans. For these reasons, we call for a worldwide ban on the practice of experimentation and demonstration on live animals, and look forward to soon-in-coming peaceful, harmonious future where all of humanity adopts the compassionate, ethical organic vegan lifestyle to preserve animals, humans and our precious ecosphere.

Our hero’s salute goes to the esteemed author and animal advocate Mark Twain for his insightful work promoting the welfare of animals. We also thank all anti-vivisectionists and concerned citizens around the world for their noble efforts to save our vulnerable animal friends. Intelligent viewers, thank you for your company today on Animal World: Our Co-Inhabitants. Up next is Enlightening Entertainment right after Noteworthy News. May we all live and let live in peace and unity.

Just as the uniqueness of each human being in our society is valued, the uniqueness of each species on our planet is a treasure we must protect. However, this treasure is rapidly disappearing. Esteemed botanist Dr. Peter Raven of the US believes our planet's Biodiversity is in severe danger.

In the past, in the geological record, we were losing about a dozen or so per year. Over the last 500 years, since people began writing about well-known groups of organisms, we’ve been losing hundreds a year. And now we seem to be losing thousands per year, going up towards tens of thousands

Please join us and learn more about the biodiversity crisis from Dr. Peter Raven, Wednesday, May 12, on Planet Earth: Our Loving Home.