Free Bird (and Mouse, and Snakes...)

My family has always been into animals. If you've read my posts before you know I have dogs and cats. My family has had, over the years, dogs, cats, parrots, bunnies, geckos, rats, mice, hamsters, fish, horses, chickens, ducks, goats, a tarantula (not the cuddliest of creatures, but whatever), raccoon, snakes, and the list goes on. As long as I can remember, I have loved and been fascinated by animals. As I have gotten older I am more content to see them from afar, but when I was young, I wanted everything for a pet.

When I was little, I spent lots of weekend days at my grandparents while my Mom worked. At times I would play in my grandmother's button drawer or "help" my grandfather in his shop, but mostly I was left to my own devices. One day, after watching the busy and very vocal blue jays going about their daily duties I decided I wanted to catch one. These birds were not tame but they were used to us as my grandparents often left bird seed and peanuts about for the locals. And blue jays, it always seemed to me growing up, were bold, brave, and "in your face" kind of birds, to each other, cats, other birds, etc.

I asked my grandfather for a cardboard box and some string (bear in mind, I was young-maybe six or seven). He asked, "What for?" and I told him I was out to capture a Blue Jay. He chuckled and provided me with my requested materials. I found a stick in the  yard that would hold up the box and also be the mechanism for capture when I yanked the string. I then asked Gramma for some peanuts, and she too asked me what I was doing with them, She feigned enthusiasm for my hunt but asked what I was going to do with the bird once I caught it. "Let it go, I guess." She gave me a handful of peanuts with which I could bait my trap.

My grandparents, at that time, lived in a large house in South Pasadena, California. It sat across the field from the Junior High School and had an amazing yard for kids. Lots of large trees in which to play hide and seek and a good-sized front lawn. The property ran up against an alley that had once been railroad tracks but that were long gone. The back yard was smaller, but had plenty of trees (the first figs I ate where from that yard) and plants and flowers growing all year as only southern California could inspire. The first floor of the back of the house was mostly glass; floor-to-ceiling windows and a sliding glass door. It was from the kitchen table or the rocking chair we would often watch the birds. On this day, the back yard would be my stalking grounds.

I set the box up just outside the sliding back door. I trailed a few peanuts from the table, down to the ground and leading to the box. I then put the peanuts just in from the stick at the entrance to the box, and let the string out as I backed up. I hid behind a slight corner that demarcated where the kitchen ended and the small back porch entrance started. Then I waited. My grandfather came by once and asked how it was going. I lectured him that it would be impossible to catch a bird with him just walking up and talking to me like that! He chuckled again, asked if I needed anything and went back to whatever he was doing. I am not sure how long I sat there. The Jays were not so easily tempted it seemed. Then one decided to grab the peanuts from the trail I left. And still I waited...

If you think this is a story about a child learning that, just because she saw such a trap on Wonderful World of Disney, doesn't mean she could spring such a trap in real life...

You'd be wrong. A few minutes later, the Jay entered the box and I yanked the string! I got him. Let me tell you, he was PISSED. He was flopping against the box determined to get the hell out of there. Meanwhile I called to my grandfather and for the first time all day, he was not around. I then called to my grandmother who was, for the moment, out of earshot. So, I walked casually up to the box....and sat on it. By now the bird had calmed down and was only making a few pecking noises. A couple of minutes later (it seems to me now), my grandmother came out and asked what I was doing. "Remember, I was going to catch the Blue Jay?" "Oh yes, well honey, they are very fast and smart, it wasn't likely that you would catch one." (She thought I was sitting their in despair! Ha!). I wish I

From the National Geographic book,
Complete Birds of North America, 2006

could say that I said something sassy like, "Well this one must be dumber and slower than the others because I caught him." But my smart-ass sensibilities didn't develop until later. With huge pride and excitement I said that I had caught one. My grandmother leaned in and heard the slight noises emanating from teh box and stood suddenly and said (in her, I-can't-believe-you-did-this-voice), "Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayy, come here please! Hehehe. Grampa showed up and Gramma told him what I "had done." "Did you really catch one?!" My grandfather was trying to hide his proud surprise. "You MUST let him go!" Frankly, I didn't get why my grandmother was so upset, after all, she TOLD me I could and she GAVE me the bait! So I stood from the box and lifted it on one side. The bird stood there a second, squawked loudly (at me, I thought) and took off. Interestingly, the rest of the peanuts were gone from inside the box. Clearly he wasn't THAT traumatized. For some reason, my grandparents would not let me use the box trap anymore after that...

Norway Rat

When we were young, my cousins went through a rodent phase in their pets.  They had mice and they had RATS. Napoleon was the rat I adored. He was a big Norwegian Brown rat, the kind you see as extras in movies where the hero is walking in abandoned houses, or by dumpsters in an alley, or, more famously when Indiana Jones was navigating the catacombs that intersected the sewers of pre-World War II Venice. Napoleon should have been a movie star, he was big and smart, but with his brindled brown coat, thick grey tail, and alert eyes he could freak people out if they weren't expecting him. I remember one day my cousins and I were sitting in the TV room at their house. We were watching ON cable or maybe we were playing Pong (yes, it was that long ago). I had Napoleon on my shoulder, behind my hair where he was snuggled up against my neck, behind my ear. He was usually there on one of us if he wasn't wandering around the room. Anyway, one of my Uncle's tennis-playing friends (who didn't know this rat) came over and there was conversation back and forth between my Uncle and his visitor. Stealthily, because he was a rat, Napoleon peeked his head out from behind my ear and the visitor suddenly saw him and I swear he jumped two feet into the air while letting out a yelp. Napoleon was so startled that he went back behind my ear. The three of us just looked at the guy like he was a moron. "But it's a rrrrrat!" Yes, he was, and he was clean and sweet and a great pet. A couple years later, I went to that house to feed Napoleon and his mate, Desiree. Poor Napoleon had died in his sleep. Not knowing what else to do, I left a note that said,    
                              "Anybody, Napoleon is as DEAD as a door nail,
                               please take care of him. PS -he is stiff as cardboard"

My Aunt still has the note :)

Common garter snakes - photo by http://wdfw.wa.gov/

In 1974 my aunt, cousins and I took the train to Oregon to see my other aunt, uncle and younger cousins. They lived in Rainier and what I remember most about the place was that it rained alot, the grass was tall and it was teeming with garter snakes. I was nine, my older cousin was ten and my younger was seven. The little ones we were visiting were really young and didn't scour the yard for snakes with us. One day, I remember the three of us caught so many that our hands were full and we weren't quite sure what to do with them. So, in order to make room for more in our hands, we stuck bunches of the little snakes in our raincoat pockets. Then we tried to go in the house to show everyone what we found. We didn't make it far. My uncle intercepted us before we hit the back door and we had to let the little wrigglers go. Looking back I have no idea what we thought we would do with them, but the excitement of catching so many just completely overwhelmed whatever good judgment we might have otherwise shown. Funny, I don't remember much else about that visit.

By the time I was a teenager my love of animals had made me a zealous rescuer of all things deemed "in distress." During my short career, I found injured and stranded birds, bunnies and domestic animals of all types. During EMT school, I even ran over a squirrel with my truck (no tires, just the wind from the truck knocked his wind out) and I was so upset that I gave him a head-to-toe exam. When he awoke, he shook it off and scurried into the woods. The oddest part of that moment was when a guy stopped to see if I was OK (on the side of the road) and he was met with a rather upset ME, cradling what he assumed to be a dead squirrel. But it seemed that no matter how good my intentions, my poor grandmother got the brunt of my single-mindedness. One day her cat brought in a mouse she caught in the field across the river. The feline was doing what felines do; playing with her prey before she ate the hapless little thing. Not on my watch. I shooed Alice away and grabbed the mouse. I took it in the house and asked Gramma for an eye-dropper and some water because I found an injured animal. Now, to her credit, my grandmother had been more than patient when we brought kittens, dogs and even birds into the house to be treated. So when she asked what I had, I offered to show her. I opened my hand... There was a lot of yelling after that. Something about getting vermin out of her house, what could I have been thinking, making sure to wash my hands, and did I touch anything, etc. It was all a blur as I ran outside. Later, my grandfather had to give me the requisite lecture as to just why field mice, injured or otherwise, do not make appropriate pets.

I suppose, reading some of this context, it helps to understand why I take in so many dogs who need help, why I let the mouse we caught in our (humane) trap go at the park, and why I ask my husband to take spiders outside. My eight year-old daughter has the same leanings and today she asked me for a cardboard box and some string...