As I hang up my taxi hat, I pick up a new one. I am now an animal control officer for the Whatcom Humane Society. Instead of shuttling just of age party goers, and the career drunks here and there, I am now chasing after aggressive dogs and finding creative places around town to dispose of skunk carcasses.
I haven't officially been commissioned yet as my backround check is taking longer than usual (they're looking into something about a noodle incident), but I'm pretty confident that Ill be badged and bagging up kittens officially in no time. Right now I am going through training and it involves a lot of paperwork and people telling me what to look forward to.
I have already been advised to pay careful attention to what end of the dead deer I decide to pick up when hoisting it into the back of the truck. Apparently a deer decomposes faster in the inside than the outside. This little fact allows our unfortunate mammal to eventually become a sort of Bambi shaped bag full of liquid goo. Now this would be all well and good if we were leaving the deer to sit and rot as nature intended. Instead, because Mr. Rich and his wife Mrs. Moneybags (she kept her maiden name) don't want this deer to sully view of the golf course, I must move it somewhere else.
Moving the ex-deer would not be such a problem if it were at least closed at one end (I applaud those of you who see where this scenario is going). Picking up one end of the deer before the other provides an exit for the sludge and it will flow out freely. If there happens to be a person helping you with the other end, they will be very mad at you and the deer will be a little lighter. I think I am going to like this job even better than the last one. Toodles!
