Oppose Recent Editorial Appointment at The Journal News
Action Alerts From Animal Defenders of Westchester (ADOW)

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Oppose Recent Editorial Appointment at The Journal News

From: Animal Defenders of Westchester (ADOW)
June 16, 2016

Lohud recently sought new editors who could be a voice for various community issues; tho several animal advocates applied, Lohud refused all such applicants.

Who did they hire? Dan Bova...someone who thinks of animals' deaths as nothing more than a joke and fodder for a column; an editor for Maxim Magazine, who judges women's worth by their age and bra size. This is the same man who made fun of poor Harambe's slaughter. Now he tells how much fun it was to buy a fish, get bad advice from a 'kid who was stoned' which caused the fish's death - such a humorous tale! Fish are intelligent, sentient, friendly and sociable - far more than grist for this person's pathetic 'humor' column. His story is offered in 'explanation' of why he won't buy his children a dog - not even the slightest reference to 'adoption,' even though this concept has been (thankfully) in the American lexicon for a few years now.


The press can change the world for the better - or blast it back to the Stone Age. Lohud wouldn't dare hire someone who demeaned the lives of gays, minorities, etc. It should not be open season on animals just because they cannot speak.

Short notes are fine; one note and cc the rest is also fine. Please complain. It is the only way lohud will respond to the portion of the 'community' they forgot.

Robert Brum: [email protected]
Nancy Cutler: [email protected]
Swapna Venugopal: [email protected]

Please read: There's something fishy going on in Larchmont
By Dan Bova, The Journal News, June 16, 2016

This is to all my pet-adverse neighbors who swore they'd never cave and buy their kids a dog.

I don’t have to tell you that there is an ever-widening divide going on in our nation and sadly, that gulf of belief has found its way onto the quiet streets of my Larchmont neighborhood.

I’ve been shocked at how many people I know — people I cherish as friends — who have done a sudden 360 in the face of adversity and jumped to the other side.

I’m talking, of course, about people who have finally given in to years of pestering and bought a dog for their kids.

My neighbors and I were all once stoically united on this front — we were on the same side! Specifically, the “I don’t have the bandwidth to keep one more thing alive in my house” side.

But, one by one, they have crumbled. Oh yeah, I’m going to name names here: Cindy and Ken! Eric and Krista! Erik and Denise! Mary and Robert! Stephen and Rachel! Sanjiv and Amy!

Do you people realize the chorus of “Dad, can we get a dog? Dad can we get a dog?” that rings out every time your cute little snuggly-wuggly poo walks by our house?

I understand that I am denying my kids one of the singular joys of humanhood, but here’s the deal: We have had pets in our home.

And it did not go well.

Most recently we had a black goldfish named Swimmy. You know those goldfish with the E.T. bulging eyes? That was Swimmy.

That little bobbin' bastard had a heart of gold but, unfortunately, he also had an eyeball of goo. Around the one-year mark of Swimmy’s life in the Bova house, his left eye started to get this weird film over it. Within a few days, it looked like he was trying to wash out his contact lens with Elmer’s glue. It was a big ball of gloppy nastiness.

We went to our local fish doctor (a 19-year-old kid in the fish aisle of the pet store who I’m not sure was stoned, but I’m also not sure wasn’t stoned) and relayed Swimmy’s symptoms.

The kid thought about it, possibly consulted a manual (or read the back of an aquarium box) and recommended some drops to put in the tank. We bought Swimmy the drops and a new Spongebob pineapple castle to cheer him up.

Dan Bova responds to readers letters about his column on being sprayed by a skunk.After a few days, it was clear that the drops weren’t clearing anything up. But Swimmy wasn’t giving up easily, and neither we were. So we went back to our fish doctor (this time I’m pretty certain he was stoned) and he gave us a last-ditch, experimental treatment he’d read about: fill a cup with salty water, stick Swimmy in it for no more than 30 seconds, then take him out. The salt would act as a disinfectant and zap 20/20 right back into that puss-ey peeper.

So back home we went and with all the intensity of a particularly bizarre episode of E.R., I snatched Swimmy from his bowl and dropped him in a cup of the non-FDA-approved salt water. Lisa stood by with a stopwatch app calling out the seconds. “30, 29, 28 …”

I’d never prayed for a fish’s eyeball before in my life, but on that day, I was tugging on Jesus’s robe, asking for an ocular miracle. “... 3, 2, 1, get him out!” Lisa shouted. I did as she commanded and dumped Swimmy back into his normal tank. “Clear!” I shouted. We all backed away. “I think it helped?” I reported, wiping the sweat from my brow.

“Oh yuck!” gasped Lisa, “Did you just touch you face with the same hand that was touching Swimmy’s gross eyeball?”

After some feverish Googling of “can you die from goldfish goo?” and the application of a gallon of Purell, we settled in for the night and hoped we’d find a bright-eyed and bushy tailed Swimmy the next morning.

Long story short, Swimmy was doing the eternal backstroke the next morning. Turns out you maybe shouldn’t take medical advice from a stoned guy at your local pet store. Come to think of it, I’m not even positive he worked there.
Swimmy was laid to rest in our flowerbed surrounded by those who loved him: two adults who were fighting back tears and two kids who were wondering if their parents had in fact gone insane.

“He was a really nice fish,” Lisa sniffled. “Um, can we play Wiffle Ball now?”

Henry asked. “Sure son,” I whispered as I took my wife’s hand and we slowly walked back into the house.

So there you have it kids, that’s the real reason you can’t have a dog. The problem isn’t that your parents are heartless, it’s that we are too heart-full. It’s been two years and I still get choked up thinking up that little E.T.-looking finny freak.

Yes, that sounds like a lame excuse to not get a dog, and fine, maybe it also has something to do with me not wanting to spend my mornings with only a thin Stop ’n’ Shop plastic bag between my hand and a warm, freshly-baked turd, but it’s the truth.

Swimmy, you’re forever the family pet. Oh, and also you, the other two fish who died and whose names escape me. You guys were pretty good, too.

Dan Bova is a married Larchmont father of two. He's been the editor-in-chief of Maxim, a producer at “Jimmy Kimmel Live” and currently is editorial director of Entrepreneur. Got an idea for a column? Hit him up on twitter: @DanBova1

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