Book Details

	Animal Spy: Animal Welfare Behind Enemy Lines By: Spamer, Terry; Thorburn, Gordon Published By: Vision Paperbacks ePub for Digital Editions Price: $29.99 PDF for Digital Editions Price: $29.99 Mobipocket Reader Price: $29.99 Microsoft Reader Price: $29.99 PDF for Digital EditionsePub for Digital EditionsMobipocket ReaderMicrosoft Reader	EBOOK OPTIONS ADD TO CART ADD TO WISHLIST TELL A FRIEND RECEIVE ALERTS
	After years working for the RSPCA, Terry Spamer became the first freelance undercover agent investigating animal maltreatment. He has endeavoured to seek out large-scale operations of cruelty to animals and to expose them - via infiltration, surveillance, and covert recording - to the animal welfare authorities and governments. His work involves personal danger, as those capable of such terrible atrocities to animals are often willing to harm anyone who tries to thwart them. In "Animal Spy", Spamer tells some of his most gripping stories, including covert investigations of: the illegal capture of wild monkeys for research, the killing of endangered species for taxidermy, Polish horses being cruelly turned into Italian salami under Mafia supervision and 'squishing' small animals by stamping on them in stilettos. Horrifying, yet compelling, this book is an essential eye-opener to the cruelty that lives on in a 'civilised' world.

Excerpt

Imagine a little boy of four, perched on the settee between his dad and his dad’s brother. The men are drinking beer. Dad is listening to his brother tell a story. The boy is eavesdropping, not realising that the story is being told for his benefit. ‘There’s a lonely zebra, see, got separated from the herd, and it’s a hot sunny morning by the banks of the Ubangi river, which, as every schoolboy knows, flows into the Congo. Poor zebra. All alone. In that heat. He munches a few blades of grass, flicks his tail at the flies, munches a few more blades of grass, and decides he really needs a drink. Which can be a very good idea at certain times of the day. Oh, thank you. Yes. Double Diamond will do well. ‘Now, the zebra knows that drinking from the cool, cool waters of the Ubangi carries with it a risk, and that risk is called crocodile. Nine times out of ten, or even ninety-nine times out of a hundred, you can go and drink from the cool, cool waters and never see a crocodile. They only eat twice a year anyway. So you’d be unlucky to meet one that was hungry, one that fancied a bite, wouldn’t you?’ The little boy sat, transfixed. His dad often said he was so hungry he could eat a horse, but the boy had never thought there was an animal in the world which actually did that as a matter of routine. ‘If there is a crocodile, he – or it might just as well be she – will be lurking in the sand and mud by the edge of the river,’ continued the dad’s brother, Tony. ‘Lurking. That’s what he’ll be doing. And you won’t see him, lurking, because he blends in with the sand and the mud of the Ubangi shore. ‘So, along trots the zebra. The sun is high in the sky. Must have a drink. That zebra is cautious. And so he should be. Over there is the pool of lovely cool water, so he just has to step across this little sandbank, so he steps across it, and dips his fine zebra head towards the water, and CRACK!’ Tony slapped his hand on the boy’s bare knee and the boy leaped a foot in the air. ‘And this is where we see the cunning of that crocodile. His jaws are for snatching and crushing. He can catch the zebra, and hold it no matter how much it kicks and wriggles, but when it’s dead, can he chew it? No, he can’t. And he can’t swallow it whole. Too big. So, he drags that zebra out of the Ubangi river and off to a little spot he knows where there’s a particular arrangement of tree roots. He pushes his dinner in among the roots so it’s secure, then he takes a bite at the rump and holds on. Then, he twists himself around and around like a spinning top until the meat comes away and he can swallow it. Lovely. Very nice, a bit of zebra. Rump steak. Has to be fresh, mind. Yes, aye, just the one more bottle then I’ll have to be away.’ The little boy was me, that was my Uncle Tony, and my whole life from that second onwards was decided. At first that meant as much wildlife as could be found and watched and studied by a small boy in east Yorkshire. I collected everything that could be collected, kept frogs and newts and stone loaches in the outhouse sink, kept pigeons in a loft. I even kept a young tawny owl, which was quite an experience. Being a surrogate owl parent makes you learn a great deal about the habits and habitat of shrews, voles and field mice.

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