Every animal has a story. In ZOOBURBIA, urban naturalist Tai Moses launches a lively exploration into "the extraordinary, unruly, half-wild realm where human and animal lives overlap." The author's woodsy backyard at the base of the Oakland hills becomes a laboratory for encounters with a variety of animals, from deer, raccoons and squirrels to birds, lizards and feral cats. The more Moses learns about their natural histories, the more curious she becomes about their life histories--their stories. After a failed attempt at backyard farming, Moses turns her energies to wildlife gardening in an effort to restore some of the dwindling habitat that sustains our wild neighbors. A captivating blend of memoir, natural history and storytelling, illustrated with original linoleum block prints by Dave Buchen, Zooburbia is a magnifying lens turned to our everyday environment. "Moses captures 'the human desire to form an emotional bond with other creatures' and its nuanced shades of both glory and misery." — Publishers Weekly "Moses writes in an engaging style, applying self-deprecating humor, righteous anger, or even Zen philosophy as the material requires. She describes nature and animals beautifully and simply. This is the memoir of a writer who has put real thought into how she relates to the natural world, and readers will find those thoughts worth considering." —Jeff Fleischer, Foreword "Dog and horse, deer and mole: these are the flesh-and-blood spirits who attend Moses' writing, metamorphosing her first-person essays into a radiant collective consciousness. We live in a zoo without cages. Moses' book is a keeper." —Joanna Brichetto, BookPage Tai Moses has been a journalist and editor for many years. Formerly a senior editor at AlterNet.org, her writing has been widely published in the independent press. Tai lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband, dog and cats. "Zooburbia" is her first book. The Mindfulness Bull To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work. —Mary Oliver I've always been a great daydreamer. I woolgather, I mind-wander, I don't pay attention to what's going on around me. Once I was making tea, leaning against the stove and waiting for the kettle to boil. It took me a few moments to notice the flames licking at my shirttail. My thoughts were in one world, while my body, even ablaze, was in another. Minor mishaps like that were not infrequent in my life. I burned toast and overflowed the bathtub; I missed my train stop or freeway exit. Yet I couldn’t give up daydreaming: there was so much to think about and imagine in the playground of my mind. Then, one day in early spring, I went for a ramble in a regional park up in the foothills. I was wandering through a grassy valley, adrift in a pleasant reverie, when I came upon a herd of cows grazing along the path. A large glossy black cow raised its head and looked at me, but I continued to stroll absentmindedly down the path. When I was a few cow's nose-lengths from the black cow, it dawned on me that this was not a cow at all, but a bull. The bull, now undeniably a bull, lowered his head, pawed the ground, and two cartoon puffs of steam issued from his nostrils. His breath smelled herbaceous and slightly malty, as if he had been drinking beer along with his grass. I froze. I racked my brain trying to remember what to do when faced with an irate bull. Was I supposed to make myself appear larger by shouting and waving my arms around? Or should I try to seem smaller, perhaps even play dead? Should I climb a tree, dive into a river, run like hell? Then I thought, I'll just sidle by, he won't even notice me. I took one cautious step forward. The bull sashayed over—I was amazed at how quickly this massive animal could move—and butted me in the side, and I bounced across the path as effortlessly as a pebble. Heart hammering, I scrambled to my feet and scurried away down the path. I looked over my shoulder to see if the bull was in pursuit, but he was ignoring me, enthusiastically cropping the grass where I had been standing. A thought went through my mind as clearly as if a voice had spoken in my ear: Wake up! And at that moment, I did feel remarkably, spectacularly awake. Adrenaline can have that effect on a person. The grass looked greener, the sky more cerulean. Had birdsong always sounded this melodious? Had acorns always had this marvelous conical shape, this satiny shell? Fully awake and engaged in the present moment, I felt like a new kind of animal: a mindful one. The bull had shaken and awakened me into a heightened state of awareness and it felt…wonderful. I looked back at the herd. Some of the cows were settled down on the grass chewing their cud and gazing off into the middle distance, though I knew they were also alert and watchful, aware of any danger that might come their way. They were ruminating—consciously. I thought of the way my dog sometimes lays on the couch in a sphinx-like posture, her paws crossed in fro