Eventually we grew up enough that we both had steady jobs, and so we passed a money milestone where we didn't have to slip household appliances out of the Goodwill drop-off at midnight. After we met all the details that go into surviving, we even had a tiny bit of cash left over. At that point, we considered donating some of our meager surplus to charities, nonprofit organizations, and good works in general. So we sent $10 here, $15 there—not much, but we did what we could.

As a result, for ten years we've been getting mail from every charity and nonprofit in the United States, asking us for money. After a decade of this, we're burned out on organizations that claim to do good works.

For example, the Defenders of Wildlife regularly ask us for money so they can "save the wolves." Their mailers show graphic pictures of mistreated wolves: people trap them, poison them, blow their heads off... Obviously, wolves need some Defenders, all right.

But to get continued response every year, the Defenders of Wildlife have to keep raising the bar. Every year, their brochures show that the situation has gotten worse. The traps become more brutal than the previous year, and the poisons somehow cause the wolves more pain. The Defenders always feel that it's more important for us to donate money this year than it was last year.

This year's appeal urges us to send money, in return for which we get to "adopt a wolf pup." The same letter notes, however, that at least two states are actively involved in exterminating wolves. So why would I adopt a pup that has already been sentenced to death? My $10 versus the Treasury of the State of Minnesota—this process seems terribly futile.

And I have to assume that next year, things will be even worse. While I suppose that populations of wild wolves are beneficial in certain ecosystems, the Defenders of Wildlife are failures—at least according to the mailings they send us.

You know, I doubt that's the message they want to communicate, but that's how their letters read. When I contemplate ten years of dead wolves, I get too discouraged to write the would-be Defenders a check. Perhaps they are good at working with wildlife, but they're terrible at asking for money.

The Sierra Club has learned this lesson, and recently their style has changed.

Like the Defenders of Wildlife, the Sierra Club's mailers a few years ago were urgent alarms about the immanent destruction of something or other. Just reading them seemed pointless. How would our measly $10 "save threatened roadless areas in the western United States"? Why waste a postage stamp? We felt better if we spent our $10 on a couple of burritos and Pacificos.

An article in a recent Sierra magazine about organic beef ranching illustrates a better way to ask for money.

I have seldom asked myself, "Hey, why can't I buy organic beef in my local Safeway?" The magazine article opened with a glowing portrait of a thriving organic beef industry. A long paragraph of benefits—I thought, "Sure, this sounds pretty good." The article then explained why current industry practices are harmful to the environment and unhealthy for beef consumers. Discouraging, but the writer quickly followed up with upbeat quotes from ranchers who raise organic beef today. Finally the article explained that the industry is on a slow upward growth curve.

The author didn't ask for money because things are terrible. She asked us to support the organic beef growers because we can make things better. Unlike sending the Sierra Club $10 to save the western United States, this process doesn't seem futile.

Meanwhile, somebody from the Development Department at Defenders of Wildlife is probably driving around in Montana right now, scouring the range for wolf carcasses to photograph.

The header font, Kleptocracy, was created by Ray Larabie.