Transplants

The area I was covering at this time consisted of lush farm land, rolling hills and corn fields. Up until the 1960's, my county had consisted mostly of farms and farmland. However it's close proximity to Washington DC and Dulles Airport made for a popular place for government workers to settle with their families. In the 1960s the eastern portion of the county, the farms of old, began disappearing and were replaced by sprawling planned communities. The western portion of the county, however, has seen slower growth over the years than that area closest to DC. The western area is still more sparsely populated, and continues to have the feel of a farm based community. It's therefore not unusual for the officers assigned to "The West" to get calls about livestock and wildlife.  Even so, there is a lot of new construction going on within these few remaining farming communities, as suburbia tries to close the gab between urban and rural. New upscale subdivisions, “McMansions” as we Natives call them, spring up in a matter of weeks. One day horses and cattle graze in pastures, and the next the land is surveyed, subdivided, and under construction; farm animals are replaced by heavy equipment ready to move the earth. A sort of sadness overtakes the land when what was once farmland is no more. The area is changing faster than I can keep up.

When the newly transplanted Mcmansion owners, (people who are usually from the "city"), move into the new country homes, they are, without exception, unprepared to coexist with the wildlife who still live in and call  "home", the front yard of the proud, yet unsuspecting, new homeowner. Eager to start their new lives on their 1-5 acre lots the new residents are filled with excitement to be living in the country. How quickly reality does set in!  You watch as they militarize their homes against invading wildlife. Six foot deer fencing is erected. Strategically placed circles of moth balls are deployed to ward off snakes. Bat houses line the back yard, flood lights capable of guiding an incoming 747 are installed, with a surveillance camera added for good measure, to oversee the entire operation.

Even with all their hard work they are still worried about the local wildlife. The calls pour into dispatch: "I have kids and they are most certainly going to be attacked by the wildlife. Come quickly and remove everything! Johnny could be eaten by a rabid raccoon and little Fluffy will certainly be carried away by a rouge hawk."

Often time the newer and less knowledgeable people will call about livestock. It can go from one extreme to the other.  The most frequent of questions comes in the spring time. The complainant is perplexed because someone has gone onto the neighbor’s horse farm and blind folded all of the horses. We kindly explain the practice of using fly masks and reassure them that no one is mistreating the horses, and to please climb back over the fence and kindly stop removing the “blindfolds” from the horses as they are a necessity this time of year.

 A call came in for an injured cow. The way the complaint came in is memorable. It was explained that the cow was standing but that something was very wrong.  She was deformed! According to the complaint, there was a lot of tissue near the rear of the animal and an extra set of feet. I immediately recognized that the cow was laboring and trying to deliver a calf. When I arrived on scene the birthing was finished. A large still-born bull calf had been delivered. The mother was down on the ground and in a bad way. Trailing behind her was her uterus. This is called a prolapse, and for all of you who don’t have a good imagination the cow uterus is enormous, so think about that for a minute. The cow had continued to strain in labor, even after the calf was born, until she expelled her uterus. A disturbing sight for the uninitiated newcomer, to say the least.

 Unable to locate the farm owner I called a local veterinarian who was on the road and able to come assist. This veterinarian is your typical old time cow veterinarian. Everything is taken very literally and without fuss. He jumps right in grabbing, tugging and pushing things to and fro. His bed side manner is that of an alligator that just swallowed razor blades but his technique and skills are the best I have ever seen.

The uterus is a large organ, and so you can imagine that once it’s been on the ground it’s, well a little bit dirty. The day was cold and so on top of dirty it was starting to freeze. The entire scene looked like it belonged in a cheaply made horror movie. What it must have looked like as he and I lugged around a giant uterus, all the time trying to keep the cow sternal. Picking off large pieces of debris and cleaning the  carunculas (cool word had to use it). Then it was time, to put it all back in.

The cow was hobbled to prevent her from leaving and gloves where donned. The procedure was comparable to stuffing a turkey, but on a larger scale. You weren't allowed to have any leftovers- it all had to go back in. The cow, however didn't want the large protuberance to be shoved back in. She had a much different idea, of pushing it all back out. Time after time the vet and I struggled, pushing on this fleshy monstrosity, trying to get the uterus back inside, past and over the anatomical cliff of the pelvis, and settle back into place. Each time we thought we'd succeeded, the cow would give a mighty push, and out would plop the uterus once again. Eventually we did managed to push it in one final time and have it stay. That was when the veterinarian said these words:  "Emergency, temporary and shoe lace"… So like any good assistant, I removed my shoe lace and watched in uncertainty and fascination, as he set forth sterilizing the lace and stitched it into the cows vulva. An image that cannot be removed from my mind. At the end of the procedure, following a large dose of antibiotics, the veterinarian packed up and without saying a word walked away. I sat with cow for a while, like she was a victim of some sort of personal violation. She appeared to be recovering from this traumatic event. I gently covered her baby with a blanket, the least I could do and I too walked away.

Three legs and a wiffle ball bat.

My hands are shaking. Why? Expectations. Who am I writing for? For myself mostly. But also for my friends and family, who often request  of me,  "You've got to write about your experiences at work! Your stories are hilarious!"  

In all honesty I have always  longed to write, but let's face it, I’m not a good writer. My grammar is terrible, my spelling even worse. If this was just you and me, standing in my kitchen and I was telling you a story, I could make it great. Filled with laughter and seriousness, hand gestures and funny noises. I may even get up a run around the room as I act out some parts. You would laugh, I would laugh and it would be great fun. I want to share my stories with more than just the occasional friend in my kitchen. But stories are so much more than words. How do I  convey the actions too, that when put together with the words, give you an image.  I want to share my stories with the world. I hope my written words can put you there into story with me, seeing it, feeling it and maybe even loving it as much as I did. 

My first story dates back to 2005, the year I first started working  as an Animal Control Officer. 

 As an animal control officer I run a lot of “Check the Welfare” type calls. These are the calls where a person reports to us that they have seen something they think is suspicious or perhaps even inhumane, in the way their neighbor is caring for their animals. Sometimes these calls are legitimate and other times unfounded. The situation will go something like this: The neighbor reporting is over reacting, nosy and hates the animal owner (because really his dog barks all night, which is not the complaint he is actually making) and therefore reports some crazy complaint to us, so that we will go over and make the animal owners life a little harder. OR the neighbor reporting is 100% right and the animals owner, who is nuts, is not providing the animals with proper care and now the animals are suffering. To someone is bat shit crazy, the reporting party or the animal owner. It’s up to me to determine the truth. Sometimes this job has nothing to do with the welfare of animals, but everything to do with being a mediator between two people who have nothing better to do than snoop and do everything in their power to make misery for others. 

Mediation and patience can make all the difference. 

The call brings me around to a farm that is home to a number of backyard ponies.  My first glance around reveals nothing unusual. The horses seem well cared for. There is water in the trough and the horses are happily munching clover in the pasture. But then my eye catches on a short, squat little palomino pony who seems to have a, well, rather unusual accoutrement attached to his back leg. I can't quite put my finger on it, but from a distance it appears that the fellow has a prosthetic leg. How unusual, I thought. In my experience, horses with severe leg injuries are humanely euthanized as a matter of course. To recuperate a horse with a severe leg injury can be a monumental task. To successfully attach a prosthetic leg would be nothing short of a miracle. This was truly a work a veterinary genius! How could I not have read about this case in the veterinary literature? 
Eager to examine the prosthesis up close, I gently whistled to get the pony's attention. Up goes his head, ears pricked and nostrils flaring slightly as he sized me up, trying to work out who I was and whether I had a carrot to offer him for the trouble of crossing the pasture to greet me.  Curiosity getting the better of him, he leaves his grazing and starts ambling towards me. I patiently await his approach, all the while admiring the ease with which he uses the prosthesis. Amazing work of veterinary surgery, I muse, as the pony draws nearer. I'm getting a better look now. The prosthesis appears to be orange in color. Obviously an attempt to match the color of the animal's coat! A thoughtful touch. And fascinating! Finally the little guy  halts in front of me. I ease up next to him, gently laying my hand on his back and, stooping low I run my hand across his rump, over his flank and then down along the prosthetic leg.  For a moment my mind couldn't quite grasp what I was seeing. It looks like..., but no, it can't be... A wiffle ball bat? An orange, plastic whiffle ball bat. The type that children play ball with! This miracle of veterinary science was actually made by Mattel! 
There is nothing quite so amazing than to see a pony that can live with three legs and a wiffle ball bat.The bat was carefully lined with cotton and crafted fit over the stump of the leg. This was no profound feat of veterinary surgery, but merely the creative genius of the imaginative owner of Prince. Prince, whose mother rolled over on him, breaking his leg when he was just days old. Prince, a pony so beloved by his owner, that she was willing to go thru extraordinary lengths to give a three legged colt a chance at life. 

It’s been 8 years since I first met the three legged pony named Prince. Last month I went back to the property where the he lives. 

Prince 2014

I half expected the owners to no longer live there, remember me or perhaps the pony had died. Let’s face it Prince has already astonished everyone who had known him. Exceeding everyone expectations of survival and the ability to thrive in his situation. I pulled up the drive way and there he was. Sporting a shiny new prosthetic limb! I literally gasped. He was alive, and looked fantastic and was still standing on all 3 I mean 4 feet. I spent a while talking to the owner, reminiscing, sharing stories that have lead me full circle back to her door. I walked into the field and prince followed me around, no dramatic running or beams of light shining down on me and him. But a quiet moment shared by two. For me a moment of inspiration. 

wiffle ball bat

Prince 2006

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Step One: Try

Let me first say that this Blog if mine is an experiment. And as experiments sometimes go, this one may produce an amazing work of literature, or a giant, sulfurous belch.  It's my attempt to share a small piece of my life with you, dear readers. I imagine that I'm not the first person to desire to, and yet to hesitate to, write down my thoughts. After all, I know that this could be a disaster, because, I forewarn all of you, my writing will be full of run on sentences, grammatical errors and topics that you might not like to hear about. But what I hope I can portray to you is.... an image of me. My perspective on the world. A glimpse into what my life is like, and of how all the animals and people I have encountered along life's path have taught me how to listen, humbled and amazed me, and in the end, molded me into the person I am. 

Now that's not to say that some of these encounters haven't left me scratching my head, or quite often skeedattling like hell, in a zig - zag formation, right back to the safety of my truck!  You see, no matter how helpful, no matter how generous, kind hearted or willing to risk my own neck I try to be, some animals, and most people, just don't want to be assisted, helped, saved, or rescued.   As a matter of fact, I would say more often then not, I get bit, scratched, run over, knocked down, knocked out, sprayed or shat upon for my troubles. And that's just by the citizens! Often the animals are even ruder!
 So here we go. I'll write when I can. Which hopefully will be once a week. Ill post photos. I wont be able to put anything up that is an open investigation. But I have enough to say that I think and hope I can entertain you with my experiences. 

Thank you, 

Running At Large

At large

The dictionary definitions of "at large" are broad and inclusive:

• Miriam‑ Webster's Collegiate Dictionary 654 (10th ed.2001) defines "at large" as "free of restraint or confinement."
• Black's Law Dictionary 122 (7th ed.1999) defines "at large" as "[f]ree; unrestrained; not under control."
• Furthermore, American Jurisprudence defines "running at large" as "strolling, without restraint or confinement, as wandering, roving and rambling at will without restraint." 4 Am.Jur.2d Animals § 50 at 390 (1995)

As an Animal Control Officer, I have always related to the term Running At Large. Perhaps some small part of me has always been running. Not in a bad way, and not running AWAY certainly. The words “Free of restraint or confinement” and “Strolling”, invoke a feeling of freedom and the ability to do something without limits and that is truly satisfying. That there is something out there-for me-and I’m determined to keep running towards it.   So I'm going to keep running at large and maybe I'll find something--GREAT!

The literal interpretation of running at large, where it pertains to animals, isn't nearly as romantic as the definition makes it sound,  at least in the county I live and work in. The idea  of  pets being prevented from  "wandering, roving and rambling" and  being  "free of confinement ",  brings to mind a sad eyed black lab standing behind a chain link kennel, longing for a lost and beloved master,  a sad song by Sarah McLachlan playing in the back ground. But laws are written to give people a standard of what is to be expected, and it is my job to make sure that those rules, however restrictive, are obeyed for the well being  of our four legged friends.

RUNNING AT LARGE.

It shall be unlawful for any owner or custodian to allow any dog to run at large. The Animal Control Officer shall enforce the provisions of this chapter. Any person, who permits his dog to run at large, or remain unconfined, unrestricted or not penned up and off the property of the owner or custodian, shall be deemed in violation of this section.

I have worked as an animal control officer for 8 years. I don’t claim to know it all. Far from it. I learn something new every day. My interpretation of the law and of humane handling of animals is taken very seriously.  Over the years officer discretion makes the job, well, more bearable and less disheartening, and fun. This job isn't the hardest and certainly not the easiest. But on a good day it is the most rewarding thing I have ever done. I hope to share some of this with you.