Primal love

Another bizarre animal case. Sometimes I feel like I am on the set of a bad David Lynch film. If you were to ask me a year ago what I thought I would be doing in a year I can guarantee that my answer would not be, "aiding the FBI and the US Marshals in arresting a naked pervy ex-millionaire, and his beast loving tourist friend in the Sumas wilderness."

yuck
double yuck

fowl foul

If you happened to be reading today's paper (The Bellingham Herald) and wondering to yourself: "My, who's handsome latex gloved hand, and svelt looking uniformed body is that on the front cover?" then wonder no more! It's me folks.

A real career milestone, and only after three short months on the job. What could be next for this jet set go getter? Daytime talk show appearances? My own line of barnyard cologne? An actual picture of my face?

here's the link

Friends

I am a vegetarian, an environmentalist, and an animal rights activist, but I love fly fishing. I love wading into streams and rivers. I love finding weird bones, rocks, and clay deposits. I love sitting with my dog on the bank among the sword ferns, under the dripping Douglas Fir trees and watching a fish inspect my attempt at insect impressions. I look so hard into the water to see beyond the ripples and foam that the backs of my eyes ache and I have to close them. I am a failure at skipping stones and when I try Maple jumps after them and ducks her head under the water just long enough to realize that she doesn't much care for swimming, and just long enough for me to get nervous that she might get swept away by the stronger current in the deeper part of the stream. For some reason Maple never learned to swim properly, and only uses three of her four appendages. Her front two paws paddle madly in the typical doggy fashion. Her rear legs however, only work at half their potential, with her right one tucked gently against her body. I wonder sometimes if Maple's lack of water prowess is a fault of my parenting, or a breed issue that I have no control over. Either way I find this trait highly endearing.

Wolverine

I am fast approaching my second month as an animal control officer. Every night I come home to my wonderful wife and dog and I feel like exploding. I am full of stories. I am full of emotion. I am brimming, but I am stuck.

This is the most serious job I have ever had. I am dealing with real tragedy daily. I haven't yet figured out how to use these stories creatively without cheapening them. There is humor too, and I can see it. If I have any gift at all it is being able to find laughter in the disheartening, but I think it will be a while before it comes to the surface.

There is real evil in the world, and it shows itself in the form of neglect, indifference, and ignorance. To quote a favorite song of mine "Evil don't look like anything." I understand that sentiment in a strange and frightening new way.

GUTS

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!

Slightly Heavier

Over a year later and it's finally finished. Thanks to Paul Foertch from old school tattoo


Here is a picture of the original:


and a link to info about the artist

Swing low

I picked up the gentleman just outside of the "world famous" UP and Up bar. Now, I don't exactly know what this particular establishment is world famous for but in my most recent experience it has been for producing incredibly drunk "I just turned 21!"s who stumble into my cab. I then have to rush the spinning sophomores to their home before they expel their "world famous," burrito (consumed earlier at "Casa Que Pasa") onto my already filthy floor mats.

So keeping my usual experience in mind I was more than happy to chauffeur this mature looking, slightly swaying fella to his home. He works for the carpenters union as an apprentice, hes done with school, wants to try living in Alaska etc etc...

We reached his home shortly and I let him know what he owed me (14.95 if I remember correctly) He then took out his credit card.
"We only take cash," I let him know.
"Oh man, well I only have like 4 dollars."
We both contemplated the situation for a few moments before he asked me
"Do you like white chicks?"
If pressed for preference I would normally say that I go for more ethnic looking women but the sake of simplicity I said, "Sure."
He then replied, "Do you wanna get down?"

At this point my mind was racing. I figured that this guy, with his little carpentry experience had a crudely made pen full of writhing white women. I figured, as I unbuckled my seat belt, that I could at the very least witness the sex den made of old pallets and plywood and then scurry to my running cab. I would then alert the authorities to the aryan sex trade happening under their very noses.

I reached for the door handle just as our friend reached into his pocket, and I backpedaled out of my splintery, pale fantasy. I saw the little bag of white powder in his hand. I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief and disappointment at the same time. I thought to myself "God, people can be so boring."

I let the guy out in his driveway still holding his little bag of boredom, and with my newly earned four dollars I made a note to myself to learn a bit more about drug slang. I don't want to get my hopes up again for no reason.