Positive Animal Caregivers: The First Response

There is a coffee shop in Bali that I visit every weekend. Not because the coffee is consistently good. In fact, it's often the opposite.

“What should I get you today?” Udha, the barista, asks as he takes my order. “I made a new recipe with this bean. Do you want to try it?”

Every week he offers me something different. He might brew the same beans with another method or at a different temperature. Sometimes he adds milk. Once, it was a secret mix of cream and coconut paste.

Frankly, not every cup is a success. But when something doesn't quite work, I tell him honestly, and we start exploring together.

“It's too foamy. What if you added another shot of coffee?”

“Good point,” Udha says, reaching for his notepad. “I'll try that with my next pour.”

Our conversations can stretch for fifteen minutes. Sometimes half an hour. I often leave the café wide awake, heart pounding, after three or four experimental cups in pursuit of a slightly better recipe.

This week, while Udha was preparing my drink, I was reading Harry Eckman's essay, Can We "Science the Shit" Out of This? In it, he proposed a thought experiment.

“Imagine you could set aside everything that exists right now. If you were starting from scratch, knowing what we know now about animal populations, human behaviour, community dynamics, and how change actually happens at scale, what would you actually design?”

What would I design?

Perhaps a national park-style, government-funded model for mass sterilization. But would taxpayers—especially in developing countries—support using public money for animals? What about social enterprises providing low-cost veterinary care? Private veterinarians would probably revolt.

I struggled to complete the thought experiment.

Ironically, all the while, Udha was experimenting right in front of me.

It wasn't because I lacked ideas.

It was because working in animal welfare has trained me to look for flaws first.

Budgets.

Politics.

Staffing.

Collaboration.

Those instincts are useful. None of those objections were wrong. If someone proposed those ideas tomorrow, I'd probably ask the same questions.

The problem wasn't that I was thinking about constraints. The problem was that I'd allowed them to become the opening move instead of the closing one. They ended the conversation before it had a chance to begin.

As I sat there, another thought occurred to me.

This wasn't the first time animal welfare had become trapped by the first question it asked.

For years, advocates accepted that street dogs had to be killed. The debate wasn't whether they should die, but how to make their deaths more humane. It wasn't until someone challenged that assumption—asking how we could kill fewer animals instead—that an entirely different path emerged.

Before we could invent a different solution, we first had to permit ourselves to ask a different question.

And was it one unusually innovative person who figured that out?

I'd been thinking about experimentation as an individual trait. Watching Udha, I began to wonder whether I'd had it backwards.

If I had rejected his experimental drink the first time, would he have offered another? If I'd insisted on getting the same cup every week, would he still be bringing me new ideas?

I'd spent the whole essay assuming the important person in the coffee shop was Udha. By the time I finished my drink, I wasn't so sure.

Perhaps creativity wasn't the remarkable thing.

Perhaps the remarkable thing was how unfinished ideas were received.

I still don't know if I'll get a great cup next weekend.

I do know Udha will probably have another unfinished idea.

The more interesting question is whether I'll meet it with the same curiosity.

If this essay brought someone to mind, I'd love to hear about it. What's an unfinished idea someone shared with you recently, and how did you respond?

If this newsletter has been useful to you, the best way to help it grow is to pass it to one person who'd connect with it — a colleague, a fellow volunteer, anyone doing this work who might want to feel less alone in it.

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Small acts of care often look ordinary until someone pauses long enough to notice them. This week, a few things worth noticing:

If you have a win worth sharing — your own or someone else’s — reply to this email. I’d love to hear about it.

Mark your calendars for these upcoming opportunities to connect with others:

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Thanks for spending part of your day with me and the rest of the Positive Animal Caregivers Club. Take care of yourself this week.

– Philip