Patent Ready!

Today was not a great day.

Realistically speaking, my job is not exactly what I would consider stressful. I get calls, I drive to them, I get to them when I can... it's not like they're going anywhere.

Needless to say, it's not exactly life and death... well, for me anyway.

But today was not ideal. There was a bit of rain (bit surprise with the summer we've been having) and this seemingly warranted people to drive like idiots. I think that I may have been driving around with a sign strapped to my van reading "PLEASE CUT ME OFF".

However!

Alert the papers: I have found the solution to tailgaters.

It's easy! All you have to do is tie a dead skunk to hang out the trunk of your vehicle!

That trip back to the shelter was the best drive I had all day.

Sometimes You Just Know

It's true.

Sometimes, you can just tell that a call is going to be an adventure:

"DOA ground hog -Back of building, stuck in pipe."

Oh goodness...

I arrive at the back of a small apartment building and find that where the parking lot ends there is a retaining wall down about a foot to the sloping grassy back area. Sticking out of this wall... is a ground hog. You see, there's a drain pipe that went under the parking lot and exited at this wall. There is, however, a small pipe that crosses the larger hole to, as I understand, try and keep animals out.... evidentially quite unsuccessfully mind you.

Something like this:
Anyway, see that little spot between the bar and the bottom of the pipe? That is where the stupid little stinker wedged his head in and died.

An incredibly nice older woman who made the call greeted me, soon followed by the building's superintendent and another building resident. Again, surprised to see me as the one showing up to remedy this situation, we joked about getting paid the 'big bucks' for my job... aka. min wage.

Gloves? -check
Garbage bag? -check
Vicks? (for the smell) -check
Man-Pants? -check

Getting hold of the little guy's shoulders, I give a tug.... zero movement.
<crowd gasps>

Tugging harder, trying to shimmy him out for a few minutes, I make little leeway. The superintendent suggests I lose the garbage bag and just grab him with the gloves for more traction... I say he's more than welcome to give that method a try if he'd like, yet surprisingly he declines.

We laugh and chat, mostly about how I'm supposed to be an elementary school teacher,as the peanut gallery grows slightly. Eventually the older woman needs to catch the bus to work, but sadly comments that she wishes she could see how it all ends... luckily for her the superintendent offers to drive her to work. (New thought: charging admission?)

Progress is slow. Shimmying only works so well... I'm not going to lie, bits of his scalp were coming off... how he got in there in the first place is beyond me. I eventually reach in and try to push him out... meaning I find myself reaching into a hole to push on a dead, bloated ground hog's face in order to unwedge it from being stuck in a pipe.

Seriously, I have no idea how either the ground hog or myself got into that situation.

Yet I can't deny that my day provides me with very unique accomplishments.

After 30-45 minutes of pushing and tugging on the little bugger, when he finally came lose I, along with my newly formed fan club, cheered.

...Oddly enough, thinking this would be the end of my 'interesting' calls for the day, I went directly from this to a woman with a dead goose... stuck on top of her gazebo.

"Yea... I don't really know how you're going to get it off of there"
"Neither do I... but it's gotta be easier than the ground hog I just dealt with..."

A Friendly Reminder...

Today was a bit different. We've been updating our dog licensing and I was calling around to different households to remind them that their dog's license is out of date.

At first I thought that the worst part of this task would be leaving answering machine messages for people. I know everyone thinks that they sound like a moron when they leave messages, but I somehow seem to feel especially stupid.

However...

There are a few main reasons why people haven't renewed their dog's license:

1) They've moved
2) The dog has died
3) They just genuinely forgot

The last option isn't so bad and neither is the first, with the exception of that awkward "...um... no, sorry, I think you have the wrong number" moment.

Yet please note possibility #2.

Therefore, most of what I say seems to go something like this:

"Hello! It's the Humane Society calling. We've been updating our dog licensing and we're calling to check on how Scruffy's doing!
...Oh... just passed away... I'm so sorry to hear that...
...Yes ma'am... I'm sure he was a lovely dog...
...I'm... really sorry to have brought all this up again...
...Did you happen to get another dog by any chance?
...Irreplaceable, yes I ..I understand...
...Ma'am, yes, I'm really sorry for your loss..."

I should just change my message to straight out say

"Hello! It's the Humane Society calling. This is just a friendly reminder about how your dog just died. ..Oh you just got over that? ...Yep, we're rehashing that wound for you all over again! Alright, well you have a good day! Take care!"

Calling old ladies is the worst.

I am a horrible person.

I'm Not Really Sure About How Spellcheck Would Feel About This One...

Pull up to squirrel in the middle of the road.

Intact? Check.

Win.

Seriously, it's an easy pick up... maybe 2 seconds max.

I get out of the vehicle, bag in hand, and am about to grab the little critter when a vehicle approaches. I step back from being half a moment away from very obviously picking up the animal in the middle of the road when...

KKQWURSPLLRDTHH.....

I turn to face the moronic driver, raise my arms in dismay... only to hear...

QRSPLLUDDRRUH...

...

A second car?

seriously?

Thanks.

Well... needless to say... my nice, intact, simple, and easy squirrel was no longer around.

Anyone Up For A BBQ?

I'm taking orders!

Progress!

An additional side note for today:

I bagged another skunk, but all by myself this time! Also, I wasn't even that stinky afterwards.

I realize that this is largely due to the fact that the skunk had managed to bite the big one without rupturing his stink glands (bless his heart), but I, on the other hand, am going to chalk my relatively-stinkless-escape up to my progressing skills.

Now that's what I call talent!

Couldn't You Have Just Buried It?

Now, I know it may sound surprising, but dead things are not always easy to find.

Yes, they are usually splattered across the pavement like one of those grade school projects where you try to drop an egg off the roof and you're supposed to create a parachute but it never really works properly... or was that just me? But then again, sometimes they look like a bowl of red jello scrambled up with bits of fur and then dumped onto the ground... oh, and then there are always those "chip bag" incidents. You know, when you get those mini bags of chips and someone inevitably steps on one left on the ground and pops it. The bag itself still looks relatively intact, but all the chips have shot out one end and exploded across the floor.... Take the same concept and substitute the chip bag with.. oh, I don't know --a bunny.

Anyway, where was I going with this....

Ah yes, sometimes these little critters can hide on you!

Thankfully, today offered me some assistance in locating a dead squirrel. No, it wasn't the smell. True --that usually helps. But you see, depending on how fresh these things are the rancid stench can wain in a strong breeze.

No no, actually... an entire construction crew decided to flag me down.

Arms were frantically waved. Flags were flapped. And in and amungst the whistling and laughing, a collective "THE DEAD SQUIRREL IS OVER HERE!!!" resounded out from the group.

Awesome. Way to be discrete. I don't know if any of you realize how awkward it can be to have an entire crowd of people staring at you while you pick up a dead animal, but apparently I am fascinating. Perhaps I should start charging admission....

I do, however, find myself laughing at the hushed "...yea, it IS a chick" murmers that always seem to carry on. Yes I am a girl. Yes I am picking up dead things. I also loaded up over 100 pounds of donated pet food into my van with a man standing there watching me today. But as far as the death is concerned, seriously guys, I'm just going to pick it up through a garbage bag. Don't you think, as big manly construction workers, that you should be able to do that for yourself?

Something tells me that my expectations might be a bit high. I'm pretty sure chivalry died, rotted, got super maggoty, was scraped off the pavement, and then bagged by me a long time ago.

My Sense of Normal Is Severly Distorted

It was 11 o'clock and all was well.

Two hours on the job and I hadn't touched anything dead yet. I'd brought some animals to the vet and had started to learn how to do some computer task related to dog licensing.

11:30 -A call for a dead squirrel; yet I arrive and it's nowhere to be found.

11:35 -A thought: Oh my goodness. What if this keeps up until noon? Maybe I could actually pass an entire Wednesday morning without touching anything dead. (Not a thought that likely crosses many people's mind mid-work-week, the fact that not touching dead things is abnormal. But then again, I've never really considered my sense of normalcy to be all that common -and this job really hasn't help change that.)

11:45 -A call for a dead opossum; my plan is beginning to deflate. It's okay, I think to myself, maybe if I drive there slowly it'll be after noon, or it'll be missing when I arrive again...

Fat chance.

This opossum made up for the fact that I hadn't touched anything else all morning.

He was fresh. Really fresh. Meaning, the blood is still pretty runny and bright red... then he went and had his head smashed in, so brains were all over the place... gross right? I mean, really gross. True, but oddly its nothing I haven't seen before. It wouldn't have been a problem, but then to top it all off the little bugger went and shat himself.

POO EVERYWHERE

He was double bagged.

I was not impressed.

I got back into my van at 11:58.

The Fence Incident

Today I encountered the most awkward death I've had to deal with by far.

A raccoon, you see, had gotten stuck in a fence and passed away.
Reaction: Poor raccoon, go to backyard fence, remove raccoon, carry on.

Life: "Oh no, it's Friday, it's hot... let's make this more complicated..."
Me: "But... Is that really necessary?"
Life: "Yes. Most definitely."

I felt like I was dealing with one of those little brain teasers where you're trying to remove the metal ring from an odd entanglement involving small rope and wooden sticks. Except this brain teaser involved a dead raccoon instead of a metal ring, tall grass and weeds instead of rope, and then a large, tall, warped wooden fence.... plus then add in an exceptionally large swarm of flies along with half a dozen wasps surrounding you while you complete this task.

Ooo fun...

Now, I understand that people generally complain saying "I don't get paid enough to put up with...blah blah blah..."

But SERIOUSLY

I do NOT get paid enough to, not only pick up dead things, but also get stung half a dozen times by angry wasps in the process.

I shake my fist at you minimum wage.

I radio the other officers asking what to do with the wasps (maybe there's a trick to getting rid of them? ...I don't really know what I was going for...)

"No trick... That's just part of the job that we have to deal with."
"...Oh..."
"-Wait, well... are you allergic to bees?"

...just say yes. Then someone else will probably offer to come and deal with this. You don't know for sure, people develop allergies all the time. Maybe you ARE allergic to bees and you've recently developed an allergy that you're unaware of! Getting stung IS really uncomfortable. So you COULD be allergic! Best not to take the risk.... just say yes...

"No. Not allergic. I.. just really don't enjoy getting stung..."

So here's the setting. I tried to think of how I could best explain it; turns out that I'm using pictures more than I thought I would. But give me a break, I'm using Paint here.

Alright, so this warped fence had created an unfortunate gap between the boards, much more narrow than above, but hopefully you get the idea. From what I could tell, some poor raccoon was strolling along the top of the fence and then had a misstep or something and managed to fall between the gap in the boards. The poor thing had it's body on one side and its head on the other.

Sad for the raccoon.

Terrifying for me.

What this means is that not only am I fending off wasps to pick up a dead raccoon (trust me, if I had any say in the matter I would've let them keep it), but I have to slide this thing up the fence vertically because the wedge that has been created is not wide enough for the head to be pulled through horizontally. It was kind of like when you see a kid with his head stuck in a banister and he can't back out... except it was a dead raccoon head...

Eventually I did manage to successfully remove the raccoon and remained free from wasp stings.

Needless to say, it was disgusting.

However, I did have some help. With all the trouble I was having (the darn thing was really stuck in there) the homeowner asked if he could do anything and I suggested that he try to pull on the warped fence in attempts to to widen the gap as much as he could to at least remove some pressure. What I neglected to realize at the time was, as I finally managed to slide the raccoon up the fence I was dealing with the weighty lump of its body.... the homeowner, on the other hand, got to watch a dead raccoon head float up the edge of his fencing from the other side.

Oh goodness, I couldn't help but laugh. But he was a good sport about it. He thanked me incessantly, promised to fix the gap in the fence, and proclaimed a new appreciation for his paper-pushing desk job.

A Day For The Birds

Today was the day that I got a pet duck.

Generally speaking I pick up road kill, but I also do some other errands while seeing to injured birds and other small animals (the other day I got to help a baby bunny!)

This morning, for example, I delivered some young birds to a rehabilitation centre. You see, the Humane Society doesn't have the means to rehabilitate all animals. Cats, dogs, and other domestics are one thing, but wildlife and birds have pretty different needs. Anyway, throughout the area there are a number of people who are registered rehabilitators and are able to care for specific needs of different birds and wildlife. Bird Rehab Centre Supervisor --sounds like a fun job. I like to think that I bring them the celebrities with drug addictions of the bird world. Anyway, they were pretty cute... I mean, not all young birds are cute... sometimes they're downright ugly... but these guys were sweet and soooo tiny.


Then in the afternoon I get a call to an... interestingly scented apartment in, shall we say, a more sketchy part of town. There were no parents to be seen. Apparently the official story is that these teens "found a duckling". However, other bits and pieces of the story were overheard from background giggles about the poor bird's siege and capture. They had then put it in their bathtub all day.

Seriously... Yes, ducklings can swim. But all day? I hope they don't apply that logic to their own children, "Oh sure, Billy loves to swim... yea, I think he's been out there for about 6 hours now... maybe I should check on him..."

Anyway, so I get the duckling and bring him back to my van. Really, I'm just supposed to put him in the back and drive on, but he's adorable and shivering. I take him out of the container and he snuggles right up to me. Cutest little thing I've ever seen.


I bring him back to the shelter just in time for the end of my shift, but I stick around while the lovely ladies at the front desk call around to different duck rehabbers in town... but... they were all full.

So here's the less-than-ideal part of reality. Without proper rehabilitation options, the duckling is unable to survive. Ducks are not one of those adoptive animals (unlike geese), and so to release it around other duck families hoping for a happy ending... actually results in them turning on and attacking the "outsider" duckling. Also, wood ducks can be very difficult to rehabilitate even with professionals, and the average person doesn't really have the time, means, or ability to do it themselves. Thus ultimately, if left without proper care, the duckling would slowly suffer and die. Anyway, to avoid such a slow, painful and inevitable ending, it's actually more humane to euthanize the little guys. And so... without a rehabber in town, I was told that I'd have to say goodbye to my little duckling.

Confession: In the briefest flash I thought my eyes were going to tear up.

OBVIOUSLY I'd broken the rule of not getting attached.

So, while carrying the little guy around the shelter with me and making enquiries, after some time and with some help we were able to find a duck rehabber who was willing to take him.

The catch: this place was well out of town and I couldn't take him there as a Humane Society employee.

Thankfully, not only am I a Humane Society employee, but I am also a Person. And, as a Person, I was perfectly able to take Eddie on a little road trip. And so I punched my time card out and headed to my car, Eddie in tow.

And thus, for a few hours before taking him to the rehab place, I came to own a pet duck.

And I loved him.

I didn't get home until about 10pm, it turned out to be just over an hour trip there and back. Along the way with my sister, I glanced at the clock and then at Eddie snuggled in her arm.

"That's weird..."
"Hm?"
"...He would have been dead for two and a half hours now".

Perhaps I Should Have A Cape

In a violent world where innocent lives are smushed, splatted, and squashed, I, gallantly, have vowed to rid the world (...well... at least my general area within city limits) of the decaying aftermath largely caused by the villains of vehicular animal-slaughter. Armed with thick gloves, garbage bags, Man-Pants, and super-strength hand sanitizer, I head out, alone, to inspire hope for a cleaner, less smelly world.

Okay... so it's a bit of a stretch... maybe DC and Marvel won't be breaking down doors to add my character to either of their superhero universes... perhaps fine tuning is necessary before approaching them with an official pitch.

But seriously, I'm not really sure who people expect to show up when they call for someone to come pick up dead animals on their property, but most have seemed pretty surprised to find a me, a 22-year-old girl, in their yard to pick up dead things. (This, by the way, I take as a good sign--that I don't initially strike people as someone who picks up dead animals for a living.)

I show up, quick bag it as if picking up after one's dog, and then go on my way. Some, I believe, feel the need to justify the fact that they called someone else to do this simple yet dirty task for them. For example, today I got a call to retrieve a dead bunny in someone's backyard.

I arrive at the house and a fairly intimidating man opens the door. You know, the type of big guy you'd expect to see sitting in a snug-fitting black leather jacket on the back of a Harley. He shows me to the back yard flower beds (assumability his wife's) and, with an awkwardly sheepish and slightly embarrassed glance to the ground, he stands about two feet away from the animal and points saying "...I think it's a bunny..."

I smile and walk over to see a rabbit, completely intact (no missing bits or open wounds) and completely without any flies to deal with! (This, in case anyone needs clarifying, is considered an excellent find!)

"Oh yea, that's a dead bunny" I said as I quickly bagged it without slightest bit of trouble, tied off the bag and then stepped back from the garden. Seriously, it takes about 5 seconds to deal with something like that.

"So that's all there is to it then?"
"Yep!"

I think he felt the need to clarify as he quickly followed with...

"Yea so the bunn-- *cough* the rabbit was here and, ya'know, I would have just ...gotten it myself but... um, the garbage. I didn't want it to have to sit in the garbage until it was picked up and all."
"Oh no, don't worry about it. Not a problem at all, we'll take him away."
"Yea, thanks. I mean, as I said, I would have just gotten him myself but..." he gestures to the curb, "...the garbage"
"Yep, makes sense! It really wasn't a problem. I just really appreciate you calling us before the maggots set in!"

I mean really, how many people get to have these kinds of conversations?

Perhaps my special powers come from my Man-Pants. And thus a 22 year old girl, a freshly graduated elementary school teacher is able to surpass even the most manly of men in order to handle dead bunn- *ahem* rabbits.

I wonder what he would have thought about the time that it took two separate garbage bags to entirely clean up after a raccoon, or when I had to fold that maggoty raccoon in half... ugh, raccoons are just messy...

I think I should arrive with some sort of theme song playing from my van in the background. You know, to create a more dramatic entrance in order to enhance the awe inspiring mystique that surrounds my job.

Love

No ridiculous stories for today.
Just my favourite brain damaged cat.

See?
Big blue eyes.
Told you so.

p.s. um... don't expect too many picture postings...

There aren't really many opportunities for me to encounter cute animals...
...well, live ones anyway.

Dear Sir,

To the older gentleman in the vehicle today,

Thank you, sir, but it is quite alright. I am already fully aware that my job is truly gross. Actually, I can promise you that I am so completely WAY more aware than you could possibly be of just HOW gross my job is.

That said, while I am bagging a dead ground hog and your car passes me, I do not need you to lean halfway out your car window and adamantly yell "EEWWWWWWWWWWWWWwww!!!!!!!!"

As I said. It's alright. I already know.

Yes, my job is gross.

Today's Lesson

Scenario: Two injured birds with broken legs confined to a box on an apartment balcony.

Plan: Go to apartment balcony, retrieve injured birds.

Reality: Alright, so really, apparently, "there are two injured birds with broken legs in a box on my balcony" actually means "I have two pigeons loose on my balcony".

So I get there and the two pigeons are frantically walking around. This, as I explain to her, is probably a sign that their legs are not, in fact, broken. Also, there is no box in sight.

I pick them each up and neither have any injuries that I can find. So I tell the lady that the birds are actually completely fine... yet she seems less than impressed.

"But they are pooping everywhere."
"Yep! Birds will do that."
"...So you're not going to do anything about the poop?"
"Sorry ma'am... no."
"But I called you here. I called you here and you're just going to leave the poop and everything?!"
"I... um... sorry ma'am, you cannot call the Humane Society to come to your apartment and clean up pigeon poop. That's not a part of what we do."
".... but... there's poop everywhere"
"Yes ma'am. But... it's not my responsibility to clean up your pigeon poop... sorry"

She was really quite unimpressed. But seriously... did this woman honestly think that the Humane Society would come to her house and clean up pigeon poop?!

Upon sharing this story with another officer, today's quote of the day was discovered:
"Well... you don't exactly have a classroom teaching job, but you're still teaching... one village idiot at a time..."

Well That Stinks

Today, for the first time in my life, I picked up a dead skunk.

Skunks, as I understand them, are not the type of animals that people generally get all that close to when they are alive, let alone when they're dead. Yet I, as it would appear, apparently do not fall in with the general population when it comes to dead animals.

Despite this being the first week that I've been working alone, another officer came to help me out with this particularly stinky situation. There is, you see, more of a technique involved when dealing with the skunks... and then also the corresponding wash-down ritual to be completed afterwards.

Despite the strong smell of skunk as I approached the critter, I was told that he was nothing. The skunk was still intact and his stink sack hadn't ruptured, so comparatively, he was probably the best skunk I'd get.

"If the level of stink intensity from this skunk were to be compared with eating wings, this would be just your starter... very mild"

Well, mild or not, I was still entirely sprayed down with some skunk-off stuff to help kill the smell.

My job makes me feel so glamorous and irresistibly attractive. ;)