Live from Rhinelander: FROGS FROGS FROGS

This blog entry comes to you from Rhinelander Wisconsin.  You might remember this place from such stories as How My Dad Lost His Glasses and Attempted to Find Them Under Dangerous Circumstances, as well as The Great Duckling Rescue.

You'll also have to forgive the lack of photos, as I'm in the middle of the Northwoods and I don't have my photo library with me. Also, I'M ON VACATION.

But this blog entry is about the best animals in the entire world.  They are the animals I first fell in love with.  They’re cute, they’re complex, they’re texturally interesting.  They’re...

FROGS.

Oh my GOD.  I love frogs.  Seriously, like I don’t understand how anyone finds themselves in anything other than awe and wonder when they see a frog face.  Their wide mouths, cartoony-eyes and squishy, rolly-polly bellies are the epitome of adorableness.  

I first came to love frogs here in Rhinelander at Holiday Acres resort on Lake Thompson.  The lake is home to two main species of frog: the green frog and the bullfrog.  They are relatively easy to tell apart once you know what you’re looking for.  Green frogs are an olive to yellow/green with yellow bellies.  Some of their bellies are as yellow as a banana.  Their maximum size (at least out here) is just smaller than the palm of your hand.  They make a sound I can really only type as, “GULP GULP. GULP GULP.”

The bullfrog is much larger, reaching sizes that in some cases are larger than an average human hand (with the fingers).  This size is scientifically known as “Otimus squishiness”. Their skin color is a dark green, almost black when wet, and their bellies are a light brown or grey.  Their hip bones are more prominent than the green frog, and they make a sound similar to the sound of the lowest string on a cello being played.

Enough of the technicality, let’s talk about my life with frogs.

The first animal I saw up close as a child was a medium-sized bull frog my father caught right outside of our cabin here (the very cabin I’m sitting in front of right now).  My four year old mind decisively christened this First Frog, “Elizabeth.”  Elizabeth enchanted me with her glistening skin, golden eyes, and strength.  I thought there was nothing more beautiful than a frog, and when we had to let her go at the end of the week, I was very sad.   Elizabeth on the other hand, probably thought she evaded certain death and went on to become a motivational speaker for Amphibian Victims of Human Capture.  

Anyways, I thought seeing a frog up close was so awesome, I resolved that one day, I’d have frogs as pets. 

I didn't have any luck for the next couple of years.   In fact, I saw no frogs anywhere.  I was told there were leeches in the reeds where I supposed there'd be frogs.  But as any child knows, leeches can cause Instant Death Due To Massive Pain And Grossness (and a Little Bit of Blood Loss). 

But I didn't believe this lie for very long.  In fact, I used it to my advantage.  

When I was 8, I got over my fear of leeches and traipsed into the reeds with a butterfly net.  In fact, I did so with a wake of boys roughly my age waiting agape behind me, shouting out the Risks of Peril:

"You're going to get LEECHES!!" 

"You'll STEP ON A FISHING HOOK."

"YOU'LL STEP INTO A MUD HOLE AND YOU'LL START SINKING LIKE QUICKSAND AND THE MORE YOU STRUGGLE THE MORE YOU SINK UNTIL YOUR HEAD IS UNDER THE MUD AND NO ONE CAN HEAR YOUR SCREAMS."

Despite the danger, I sought the frogs out.  For hours a day, I'd research where they'd hide, how they made their sounds, what time of day they were easier to find.  Once I found them, I'd make their sounds to lure them closer to me.

Let that last sentence sink into your imagination.  Remember what I said the sounds of green and bull frogs are?  Since none of what I'm about to describe every made its way onto any video recording device, you'll have to just picture me standing as still as possible in ankle-deep bog water trying to make the sound of a cello with my 8 year old voice.   It's really amazing that I found someone to marry me, when I think about it.

Once the frogs were in proper capturing range, I honed my technique of safely and calmly coaxing them into my net.  Once they were securely inside, my excitement exploded into whooping cheers and "DAD I CAUGHT ANOTHER FROG!"*

The best part? The boys who stood in defeat as I walked past them with frog after frog after frog.  I'd bring them to my cabin, hold them, measure them (this is the frog we're talking about here, not the boys), and figure out their gender.  If the tympanic membrane behind their eye was the same size or smaller than the eye, it was a girl.  Larger, a boy.  Some of these frogs I'd take home and keep in a large aquarium system.  I had many of these frogs for almost ten years.

I even used my newfound frog-capture prowess and lack of fear of what lay beneath the muddy water to make a few extra bucks.  One year, every night I'd have a line of boys ranging from 5 to 12 line outside my cabin door paying me a quarter to go out and catch them a frog.  They'd let them go at the end of the week, but I got to keep the quarter.

I never outgrew the frog catching excitement.  Although for some reason, I don't know why, people look really freaked out when I ask them if they want me to catch a frog for them for $5 (inflation, duh).    Nowadays I know that handling frogs with my bare hands is not good for them, so I handle them with nitrile gloves.  I take photos of them and place them back where I found them.  I haven't brought a frog home to keep for a long time.  They are an animal in tremendous peril; highly sensitive to pollution in the water, air, and earth.  My visit up here is made great by a booming frog population, and sad when I find none.  I don't know what it's going to be like this year, but with the amount of bald eagles, loons, mallards, insects, and fish I've seen in the last 12 hours, I'm hoping for the best.  The better the frog population, the healthier the lake.

If I find some cuties, I'll make sure to post the pics on here.  Stay tuned!

_______________

* My mother was not the happiest about my animal collection adventures, so we just left her out of it

Funny Things Guests Say: What Dolphins Feel Like

One of the best parts of my job is the people I meet on a daily basis.  For most of my career, I've worked in an interactive facility, or I've been assigned to a department that does animal interactions.  I love it.  Not only is it fun to meet interesting people, but I get a shot at giving them some information that hopefully will benefit animals, the ocean, the world someday.  I know that a handful of marine mammal trainers, zookeepers, and ethologists are responsible for my passion for animals and the environment.  Their passion for their job (life's work, really) inspired me, so I try to pay to forward to the guests I talk to.  Talk to any of my human coworkers, and they'll tell you the same thing.

You know you're having fun when dolphin toys go flying.

Not every interaction with guests is the same, thankfully.  Most of the time, the exchanges are pleasant. They ask questions, we answer.  If they're doing an interaction program, they follow directions well and enjoy their time with the animals.  They are polite and friendly.  Occasionally, we get people who are not in a great mood for a variety of reasons.  And then, every so often, we get Guests Who Say The Funniest Things.

If I wrote here all of the hilarious stuff I've heard guests say since I started in this field in 2005, this blog entry would reach lengths rivaling a Proust novel.  So I'm going to divide it up into categories, and today's category is:


WHAT DOLPHINS FEEL LIKE

Dolphins feel like……...

I ask this question all the time.  I don't remember why I started asking it, though.  Maybe a mentor suggested it as a good conversation starter when I first started learning how to do dolphin interactions.  Sometimes it's hard to engage guests in conversation when you're first learning, so it helps to have little key phrases to get people talking.  One of the more awkward periods of time in a trainer's new career is when you're setting up for your encounter guests to touch the dolphins.   You'd think this would be the easiest scenario in which to have a chat about dolphin conservation, or physiology, or behavior.  But it's not usually like that.  Why?

Well, I want to let you all in on a little secret about dolphin interactions: most guests don't want to touch the dolphins that much.

"What???" you ask.  "You're crazy, that's crazy, you are dumb."

Okay, I'm not saying all people get bored of touching dolphins.  The people who are nuts about dolphins (and let's face it, most of you reading this blog are of that ilk) want to interact with the dolphins as much as possible.  They love the animals, and our idea of showing affection towards animals in our culture is to give them a good rubdown.  When us animal nuts meet someone's pet for the first time, we're going to want to pet them and play with them for a long time (unless, of course, they are venomous and/or are fire ants*).  

But here's the thing, while many people who come to do interactions like dolphins, I'd say at least 50% of them are not animal lovers (but most of them leave with a greater appreciation for animals that they wouldn't have had without the animal encounter). In addition to that, many of our interaction guests are kids.  Here is a short list of what kids would rather do than pet a dolphin:

1) Play in the water, as though there is no dolphin there
2) Give a couple of hand signals to see if the dolphin responds
3) Toss a toy around for a dolphin to play with
4) Tell you about their weird uncle who eats wood chips

That's not to say people aren't curious about how dolphin skin feels.  But once they've had a couple of seconds of touching the dolphin, they usually stop themselves.  Since our interactions are mostly with the animal needs in mind first, and then the guests', it can be tricky to figure out how to tailor a program to an individual person's interests.  For example, if I have a dolphin who is gaga for tactile, and a guest who would really rather just see what the dolphin can do, I have some mitigating to do to keep that dolphin's interest.  The same goes for the reverse scenario.

So anyways, because not everyone a) wants to touch a dolphin for 15 minutes and b) has an interest in animals, I began to get some interesting reactions to how the dolphins felt.  There were so many interesting reactions, that I make it a point to ask every guest I have what they think the dolphins feel like.  

And so, on this day the 4th of August, two thousand and thirteen, I present to you the Top Ten Answers To The Question "What Do Dolphins Feel Like"?

10) A wet hot dog

Indeed.

9) An eggplant 

The grossest vegetable around

8) A giant olive

Now THAT'S a giant olive!

7) "Exactly like a shark"

Ah yes, the rubber shark.  Its primary prey is the money of Florida tourists.

6) A liver (three guests who were doctors have said this)

Sure, clean it up, maybe dry it off a little.

5) "My wife's legs"

The product that can turn your skin into dolphin skin

4) A dinner plate

…..what?!

3) Ice cubes covered in vaseline

No google search could handle these keywords.  Nor do I think you want to see Ice Cube in vaseline.

2) A sink that has been drained for one hour

Try it!

1) ….. The reproductive erm, area, of the guest's girlfriend

Not even Mr. Cage could deal with this answer

Now it's your time to share, animal trainers!  What are some of the best responses you've gotten to this question (with any animal)?

_______________________
* If you know someone who has pet fire ants, please contact your nearest Psychiatric Hospital for immediate action

What Waterwork Is Like For Me

After eight years of working with dolphins, I can now officially and publicly announce that I am mediocre at best as a trainer who does waterwork in shows.

I am the clumsiest marine mammal trainer on Planet Earth (and possibly other planets, as well).  This is especially evident around dolphins, which poses a unique conundrum.  

What does everything think of when they hear the term "dolphin trainer"?  Do they imagine a thin, graceful female flying across the surface of the water via a foot push?  Launching from the water into a perfect dive, dolphin bowing behind them as if in some aquatic dream, only to resurface with perfect, Mermaid Hair and a Beautiful Smile?

That takes a lot of talent and coordination!

If you have that vision of dolphin trainers, stay away from my shows.   One look at my rat-nest hair and snotty face and you'll be forever disillusioned (and have a much greater respect for the trainers who DO look perfect!).

Now, let me toot my horn a little here.  Thanks to some great mentors, I've learned a lot about training the less intense forms of waterwork.  We're talking foot pushes, bullets (underwater foot pushes), dorsal tows, inverted tows, pec and rostrum tows, human hurdles, and the standard mimic sequence behaviors like spins, pec shakes, tail walk around trainer, fluke wave mimics, etc.  These can be difficult to train depending on the situation, but they are not nearly as flashy as the Waterwork That Would Definitely End My Life, such as roman rides, rockets/hydros, surfs, standing mans, porpoises, etc. etc. 

This is my kind of pace of waterwork.  Holding my breath a long time, swimming with the dolphins, and making sure gravity is always on my side.

It's not that I don't appreciate a good rocket ride.  I mean, wow.  The people that do them train a long time to do those behaviors safely, not to mention the amount of time and energy spent in training the animal (and hey, let's not forget the effort the animal puts in).  But let's all be honest; I can barely manage walking up, down (or stand still) on a set of stairs.  I trip over objects that only exist in alternative dimensions.  There is no reason for someone as accident prone as me to get shot out of the water by a 450 pound, muscle-laden animal.   I leave that to the real high energy waterwork experts.

But whether you're talking roman rides or dorsal tows, the way dolphins respond to waterwork, especially behaviors where they are pushing you through the water, strongly indicates they get psyched.  Most dolphins I've worked with on waterwork (training or maintaining) get really pumped to do the behaviors.   Here is an actual conversation I had* with a dolphin after a waterwork session.

Me: Wow, it's so much fun to swim along side of you underwater!

Dolphin: Yeah, it's been fun.  But I've been meaning to talk to you about that.  I like our laid-back moments and everything, but I feel we need to spice it up.  I can swim 18 miles per hour.

Me: My feelings are hurt.  It's normal for humans to only swim two miles per hour.  Except Michael Phelps who can swim like, seven.  I'll never be able to keep up with you.

Dolphin: Michael Phelps has alien arms, don't let it get you down.  I'm sure there are a lot of other things you're good at.

Me:  Thanks.  Hey, what if you helped me swim at your speed?  Push on my foot or something?

Dolphin: Okay, let's try it.

Waterwork commences.

Dolphin: OMFG YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Waterwork is equally reinforcing to the trainers.  It is a really intimate feeling to have a low-key or supercharged session or show with a dolphin with whom you have a strong relationship.   Just yesterday one  of the dolphins I interact with had an OMFG YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS moment after a great foot push approximation.  She came back to me with so much energy and focus, it was an amazing feeling.

What's not so amazing is how I look after all of this occurs.

Most dolphin trainers look like this after their waterwork:

No joke.

I look more like this:

….seven days….

First, my hair.  My hair is just your standard, run-of-the-mill white girl hair.  It's blond and it's straight, and it's kind of thick thanks to my Sicilian ancestry.  Nonetheless, when it hits water, it turns into matter not yet defined by science.  No matter how many times I try to pull my hair back nicely, once it hits water of any salinity level, it instantly turns into A Frigging Mess.  And then, after the session is over, my hair dries into what can best be described as Hardened Taffy Pulled Into Whimsical Wisps About My Face.

Please do not be distracted by the strange things happening in this photo.  The pufferfish is not important.  My puffer face impression is not important.  It's the WISPS I WANT YOU TO SEE

Some girls dive in the water and come up with perfectly slicked-back hair.  I dive in the water, and 39% of my hair volume ends up in my facial orifices.  A small amount remains trapped in my ponytail holder, and the rest spills out around me on the surface of the water like an oil spill.  I try to gracefully push the hair out of my face, throat, nose, ears, eyes, and slick it back onto the top of my skull.  Sometimes I dunk my head by tipping my body backwards, using gravity to reset my wayward coif.  But this is just an illusion.  Once my hair has 8 seconds or more to dry, the Taffy Wisps form, like some kind of geological marvel.

My hair doesn't slick back.  It forms a beard.  

True story, two days ago when I was running out onto the docks for the start of our show, I was temporarily blinded by several of these Wisps cracking at their foundation and falling into my eyes.  There was no showmanship, only pure panic as I tore at my face with both of my hands as though I was on some kind of Bad Acid Trip**.  I'm sure I really inspired the audience that day.  And I'm pretty sure I heard the dolphins laughing.

Now let's talk about ingesting saltwater. 

I work in a giant netty pot.  A saline solution created by Mother Nature that is piped in from a body of water mere feet from my place of employment.   Because I can't think of a better way to hang out with dolphins than to be in their element where they are in charge, I love to swim with them if they're in the mood for it.  I dive down and swim around, acting like a little kid.  I work on my water work behaviors.    The dolphins I work with now (and have in the past) seem to love playing with foot/basket/volley/soccer balls, so I hurl those out and around the habitats; sometimes we get more trainers and animals involved and play monkey in the middle.  Either way, I'm in the water a lot.    And I end up drinking a lot of it, like a little kid in a swimming pool.

At some point, I thought in my adulthood I'd learn the appropriate way to swim in a body of water without attempting to ingest half of its volume.  The problem is, I get so excited when I'm in the water that I can't stop laughing, smiling, or talking to the animal.  I'm sure with careful training I could learn to express this excitement in a way that has higher showmanship (like so many of my friends do…they are amazing), but I think I'll always just be a 10 year old kid trapped in an adult's body.

So I drink a lot of saltwater unintentionally.  This results in a queasy, overly-salty sensation in my digestive system that has only one cure in Western medicine: Ice cream.  No, Snickers.  Well, mega-stuff oreos can do the trick too.   Cupcakes.  Rice-Krispy Treats on occasion.

It taketh away the saltiness!

Another thing that occurs is the Great Flushing Of The Sinuses.  This doesn't occur until after I've gotten out of the water and the Universe knows I need to Talk To Guests.  So I swim around, swallowing water and my own hair, laughing with the dolphins,  sharing my life's passion with the rest of the world.  But the show or session must end and so I must get out of the water.  

And right after the Taffy Wisps harden on my skull, my sinuses suddenly pull the plug and everything inside of them attempts to blast out.

I can sniff and sniff but the only thing that can help me is, well, a tissue of some kind.  Which, this may surprise you, is not standard to have near a dolphin habitat.  So I have to kind of tilt my head back in a way that doesn't make me look like Linda Blair but also doesn't allow me to Snot Rocket any guests when I answer their questions.  

I swear, it's for your own protection from my Sinus Evacuation.

I can't IMAGINE what it'd be like to have me do a rocket ride with the problems I've just described to you.   The only thing I could hope for is when the dolphin shot me out of the water, that my Horrible Hair would be mostly plastered to my face in a way that would shield the general public from the Snot Rocket that would undeniably occur as a matter of simple physics.   But of course, it would suffocate me and I'd have to be rescued by some good looking paramedics who'd use the Jaws of Life of my hair/mucus mask that of course, would've hardened by the time they got me out of the water.  Trust me, I've thought this through.

Compare dolphin trainers' hair.  WHY DOES MINE DO THAT!!!!

So I stick with my fun swimming time in which I remain more or less in one dimensional plane (unless I'm underwater) and leave the airborne stuff to the experts.  I'm just having a good time with the animals.  And ultimately, I hope that's the message that the guests take home from the show or interaction.  Not that they had a trainer who looks like she got hit by a bus every time she takes a breath, but that we all (humans and dolphins) have a great time interacting in an environment that really lets us interface with each other.  Yes, the dolphins are a zillion times more adept, but us humans can hang to some degree.   We're all having fun, and that's ultimately what really matters, right?

_____

* In my head

** I've never been on any Acid Trips.  I shudder to think what I'd be like if I ever did any illegal substances.

The Middle Flipper Is (Part 7)…..

…a praying mantis who can't handle being photographed.

"Waitwaitwait," you say.  "A praying mantis?  Like as in the insect? You're seriously going to write a Middle Flipper blog about a bug?"

Yes, you incredulous readers!  I realize bugs have tiny brains, and we think of them as small robots made of organic matter.  I'm no entomologist.  I have a handful of fun biofacts about arthropods and their behavior, and a passionate interest in ethology and the scientific method.  That is why I'd like to share with you my hypothesis that insects of the same species have different temperaments.  My entire sample study is a whopping three individual praying mantises. Mantisi.  Mantisouses? Manticies?

Where the mantiseseses live

About a year ago, I visited Ocklawaha prairie for the first time.  This is one of a handful of prairies found in Florida.  It's gorgeous, and kind of in the middle of nowhere.  There are two ways to view the prairie: from a lookout on a bluff overlooking the entire thing, or by walking across the prairie on a boardwalk.

Well, I had to experience it all.  I wanted to see alligators, wood ducks, wading birds of all kinds, snakes, birds of prey, you name it.  Armed with my camera, Russ and I set off to explore the prairie at the ground level.

Ocklawaha Prairie!

When we approached the boardwalk, there were several hypotheses (hypothesises?) my highly scientific mind made in quick succession.  First, the boardwalk had not been maintained by human beings in a long time, because it was overgrown by Some Really Cool Grassy Plants.  

Really Cool Grassy Plants (Reallius coolius grassius planticus)

Second, the most common pedestrian upon the boardwalk was the coyote.  These coyotes must be from New York City, because a) they walked on the only "sidewalk" in a gigantic natural prairie, and b) they used the sidewalk as a bathroom.  


But I digress.  My third observation was that due to government downsizing, the state of Florida could only afford to hire Writing Spiders (yes, they are real) to monitor activity along the boardwalk and ensure that everyone was behaving themselves.

A writing spider hiding behind her work

So we ambled along the boardwalk, taking care not to disturb any writing spiders, break off any parts of plants, or step in large piles of coyote leavings.  It was actually pretty awesome, and the view was amazing.  I checked every nook and cranny of the boardwalk to find little critters skittering around it.  I was especially impressed by the writing spiders though.  They spin a web and in it create what is called a stabilimentum, which looks like they scribbled a zig-zag or some kind of alien lettering through the center.  I've heard they use it to attract predators to their web (such as bees, wasps, politicians, etc.), but I'm pretty sure they just do it because they're all like, "Look, we all read Charlotte's Web as Required Reading For All Spiders Everywhere.  Everyday we're writing stuff in our web, but where's the media coverage? No where.  Why? Because the system is corrupt."  It's hard being a writing spider.

"WE DEMAND EQUALITY"

Then, just when I thought I'd seen everything I could see at the prairie, I see a large praying mantis perched on the railing of the boardwalk.  I walked over to her so I could take a couple of photos.  She immediately ran for cover.  Being the paparazzi I am, and assuming this little creature didn't know any better (you know, the Hairless Ape Hubris we all embody), I pursued her like she was the insect-version of a quasi-celebrity.   Nonetheless, she evaded me at every turn.  

I felt bad.  She probably saw this giant camera with a reflective lens come at her and thought one (or more) of the following things:

1) "OMG I'M GOING TO GET EATEN BY THAT GIANT BLACK SHINY BIRD WITH THE LONG HAIR"

2) "OMG LOOK AT THAT OTHER PRAYING MANTIS LOOKING BACK AT ME DOING THE EXACT SAME THING I AM DOING.  SHE IS PROBABLY GOING TO EAT ME."

3) "Wow, I never knew I had bug eyes."

The scared mantis, hiding from me (she is actually upside down under the railing handle)

My guilt overcame me and I left the little insect alone.  Russ and I had come to the end of the boardwalk, so we turned around to head back.   Much to my surprise, I saw another little praying mantis.  I approached her more cautiously, but noticed right away that she had no fear of me at all.  In fact, she didn't seem bothered by anything.  When I got the camera right up next to her head, she turned her head, but didn't react in any other way.  I moved around her, wondering why she was so chill and the other mantis had been so eager to get away from me.  I chalked it up to my more careful approach, and left the brave little mantis.

The brave mantis, looking cute with her compound eyes.

Gorgeous! Work it, girl!

Then, just as we were about to exit the prairie, I saw the Last Mantis.  She too stood on top of the railing, looking at me like she just was dying for a photo session.  As I walked slowly towards her, she immediately locked eyes (all 3458907345 of them) on me and tracked me wherever I went.  

"Wow!" I thought.  "Look at how attentive this bug is!"

I got my camera close to her.  She stared back at me.  She reared her giant ninja scimitar death arms up at me and ATTACKED THE LENS.  I jumped backwards and may or may not have screamed a little/a lot.  Some expletives came out of my mouth.

This crazy chick (referring to the mantis, duh) wasn't finished with me.  She wasn't all bite-and-run.  She continued to track me like a jaguar stalks its prey.  I stupidly tried to take another photo, and she tried to decapitate me again with her crazy arms.

"Ima bout to kill you"

Once again my Scientific Mind formulated the most parsimonious of explanations.  

My explanation:
The praying mantis (species as yet unidentified by observer) reacts to visual, reflective stimuli in a camera lens.  The reflection appears as a conspecific and therefore elicits a territorial reflexive response.

Reality:
Girlfriend be crazy.

I set the camera down, because I thought it was obvious this insect was responding to my camera lens.  I put it down and started walking away (backwards, you know, to keep my eye on this gangster)…AND SHE FOLLOWED ME.  I started to job backwards slightly, to which she responded by running faster and then LEAPING from the railing onto the camera bag that was by my hip.  I can only describe the reaction I had as "I'm On Fire" and I tried to take the camera bag off of me without killing the mantis but also without letting her saw my head off.

When I took the bag off, she kept turning to face me, no matter how many times I spun her around to face the Wilderness from which she came.  I finally shook her off a few inches from the ground, which still didn't stop the madness.  She ran down the boardwalk towards me on her skinny little legs and chased my ass off.

As I ran up the stairs, I heard a small voice yell, "YEAH THAS RIGHT". 

"DON'T LET THE DOOR HIT YOU ON THE WAY OUT"

I couldn't believe it.  After experiencing a terrified and a docile mantis, I never expected to be ran down by one.  When my heart stopped racing and my mind exited FIGHT OR FLIGHT I'M GOING TO BE MURDERED mode*, I felt humbled and awe-inspired.   In one half-hour period, I got to see three completely different reactions from three individuals of the same species.  I assumed they didn't really "know" I was there, beyond whatever it is they do to survive.  But what I'd actually done is terrorize one, who knows what effect I had on the other (boost her self esteem with my photo session?), and definitely pissed off the last one.  The last one taught me the most, though.  She taught me that she had a right to be on that boardwalk as much as I did.  She taught me that it's pretty rude to stick a giant camera lens in the face of any non-consenting subject, especially if the subject is 89 times smaller than the camera lens itself.   And she taught me that I can't just get away with being rude because I'm a giant animal.  She took the gloves off and told me what's up.  She took my human pride and tossed it onto the boardwalk among the piles of dried up coyote crap, where it belongs.

Not pictured: My pride.

And I'm pretty sure she told all the writing spiders to scribble a picture of my face in their web, with phrases such as "KEEP THIS MORON OUT" underneath it.   Eat your heart out, Charlotte. 

_______
* This mode is most commonly experienced by humans when they encounter insects, spiders, scorpions, or strange noises made by inanimate objects but sound like they are a serial killer entering the house.

Tails From The Heart (Part 3): On Tuesday I Got Adopted By A Dog

So I got adopted by a dog.  

For fellow animal lovers, I accept your understanding of the aforementioned statement.  For those of you who read this blog but aren't gaga for critters, I understand that you probably think this is further evidence of my slow trend towards insanity and/or animal hoarding.

"Cat," you say.  "Animals don't CHOOSE you.  You're in the right place at the right time.  Or you anthropomorphically assume that an animal is reaching out to you.  Or you've suffered long term brain damage from all those head injuries you had as a kid."

Well, I'm not here to argue.  I'm here to tell you that this dog was all like, "HUMAN, YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.  ADOPT ME AS ONE OF YOUR OWN OR LIVE FOREVER IN GUILT AND SHAME."

I HAVE BEEN CHOSEN

Let me also say that I have a lot of animal family members.  I've got four parrots, a bunny, a gerbil (because I'm still 10 years old inside), and a lot of fish, snails, shrimp (more on that in later post).  So the last thing in the world I wanted was a) another pet and b) a pet that can eat all of my other pets.

Think about it.  Up until three days ago, the only predators I had in the house that weren't Homo sapiens were the panfish I have in my Florida native tank.  Otherwise, everybody else was of the OMG I'm Going To Get Eaten At Any Moment ilk.  

Two of my extremely intelligent, socially complex animals whose sole nature purpose in life is to be eaten by something with sharp teeth.

So on Tuesday, my husband and I were on our way to a delicious taco place for, you know, Taco Tuesday.*  Not two blocks from my house, I see a little dachshund lying on the street like it was the most comfortable place to hang out.  

Instantly, my animal-loving mind snapped into Caution-Animal-In-Road mode.  I slowed down, checked my rear view mirror to make sure no one was behind me should I need to suddenly brake.  The little dog looked directly at my vehicle, and made a series of Very Poor Choices.  First, he ran towards my moving car.   I veered off to the other side of the road with this dog still in pursuit.  By the time I came to a full stop, I couldn't see the pup anywhere.

His second bad decision involved running under my back wheels.  I didn't have my foot off the brake yet, and my car rocks backwards when I park and lift my foot off the brake.  I started to panic.  A scene inspired from Speed transpired.

There's a dog in the road running right at us.  Keep this vehicle at exactly 0mph.

"Dude," (this is of course referring to my spouse).  "I'm going to squash this dog if he doesn't get out from under my car.  I can't get out.  I can't lift my foot off the brake.  I have to keep this car in its exact geographical and spatial location.  I need you to exit this vehicle expeditiously but with great caution so that we may save a life."

"What?"

"Can you get out of the car and pick up the dog?"

So he did.  I took a deep breath and parked the car in the middle of the road because, well, this was an emergency.

We tried to find this dog's home.  We went door-to-door, asking if anyone knew where the dog lived.  It was a little weird that no one in the neighborhood had ever seen the dog.  Meanwhile, the little guy was just hanging out, wagging his tail and looking at each of our faces like, "Hey! Hey! Hey! This is neat! I'm having a great time!"

Finally, I see someone walk outside of a house whose door had been wide open.

Hang on, let me address that a second.  This house was the first place we looked.  But being the door was wide open, and the fact that I've to date watched every episode of 9 seasons of Law and Order SVU, I am convinced that I'm going to be murdered, kidnapped, or worse, embarrassed by a total stranger.   It's terrifying to go up to a house whose door is wide open but no one's around, because obviously, a Class A felony is being/has been committed.  So we stood on the edge of the door frame and knocked loudly, hoping if something went wrong, Elliot Stabler would save us (and ruin my marriage, but oh well).

Christopher Meloni, if you're reading this,  I'm available.

I digress.  We could not rouse the residents initially.  But after a few minutes of asking neighbors about our little car-chasing friend, someone emerged from the Open Door House.  I asked him if he had a dog.  He said yes, thanked us for finding him, and took him into his arms.  I asked him what the dog's name was, to which he replied, "I don't know.  It's not my dog.  He just lives in this house."

Uh.

A woman walked out of the house, saw the dog, and thanked us.  She proceeded to inform us that it wasn't really their dog; the previous tenant of the house left him there (?!?!).  Then she told us that the dog's name was Dusty Bottoms, and he was 13 years old.

Hey, any animal named after a Chevy Chase character has got to be awesome.  Although our Dusty has way more than three amigos.

"How could someone just abandon a dog like that?" I asked her.

"I don't know.  We're not really animal people though, and I'm moving out today.  We've been taking care of him but now I don't know what's going to happen to him."

Dusty Bottoms was set back down on the grass.  He ran straight towards me.  I looked in his little, cloudy eyes and felt sick to my stomach that his life was so meaningless to someone that they just left him in this pickle.   This is when Dusty made his third Poor Choice.  He started wagging his tail, which forced my neurological system to form a sudden, fierce attachment to the little guy. 

How can you say no to that face?

I looked back at my husband, not for approval, but for a, "You'll do as I say" look.  He loves all of our non-human children, but let's just say he isn't the first to high-five me when I bring home another animal in dire need.   Then the words rolled out of my mouth like hot lava** (or, no, soft serve ice cream. No no wait, hot fudge.  Oh god I'm hungry), "Well we can take him if that makes it easier on you guys."

The woman said she didn't mind that, but it wasn't technically her call, because Dusty's original owner said she might come back and get him.  Might? 

We gave the woman our number and hoped that we'd get a call.

For the next day, I felt sick with worry.  When I drove past the empty house, I thought of Dusty inside with a little bowl of food and water, wondering where everyone who had ever loved him disappeared to.  

Luckily, we got the call.  The owner was happy to let us take Dusty Bottoms, and said she'd give him to us the following day.  I was simultaneously ecstatic and terrified, because of the whole I Have Prey As Animal Children problem.

What did I do the night I picked up Dusty? When to get a burrito of course.  Here he is at the burrito place.

But, I'm happy to say, Dusty Bottoms has made himself a home here.  And it turns out he's 10, not 13.  He is missing some fur on his butt, he's a little skinny, and I don't know when the last time he's been to the vet was, but he's a happy little wiener dog.  He's great with people and loves other dogs.   He is desperate to befriend my bunny, Balls (yes, seriously).  Balls isn't so sure about the dog, but I think he'll warm up to him eventually.   Stay tuned for a Balls and Bottoms BFF post in the near future.

See? Balls already loves wieners!

So could I have dropped Dusty Bottoms off at a shelter somewhere?  Tried to find him a home?  Yeah. I could've.  And if I thought I really in no way could give all of the loves of my life at home the best possible life by adding a little red-haired senior, I would've fostered Dusty and found someone who wouldn't mind taking in an old dog.  But the fact of the matter is there was a reason this dude ran into my life, and he needs consistency.   He's got a big yard to play in, lots of good napping spots, and he can't ever be bored because he's got lots of stimuli in the form of parrots screaming, "HI!! HI? HELLO? COM'ERE! LOVE YOU!" all day long.  

So thanks for choosing me, Dusty Bottoms.  Welcome to the family!

:)

____________________
* I love this place so much, I don't need a cute alliteration to give me an excuse to go eat there.  I've been there three times this week.  I LOVE BURRITOS

** Don't you find this term "flow like hot lava" really redundant?  Have you ever seen cold lava flow? No.  That's because IT'S JUST SOLID ROCK BY THEN.