When I left you last, we’d finally caught Brownie. But little Gracie is another story. That gal’s quite the survivor — smart and stubborn, refusing to enter any type of trap.
I disguised our remote control drop trap with clippings from my garden…no luck.
I made a taller prop to hold up another drop trap for her easy access…no go.
We tried using nets, walk-in traps and fat-cat traps. We followed on foot and by car hoping she’d tire so we could net her…still nothing.
If you haven’t read Holy Crap and Holy Crap, Part 2, you’ll want to do that now. (Holy Crap) (Holy Crap, Part 2)
As you know, an Animal Control Officer informed me he’d received word that 2 small dogs had been run over and killed on Mare Island the night before. Refusing to believe it, yet feeling sick to my stomach, I walked every foot of the reported area, thankfully encountering no dead dogs.
Then, while heading back to my car, I spotted the little gray dog, aka Gracie. What a relief! I immediately texted Loretta and Toni, alerting them she was heading their way, toward a palm tree where she and her buddy, aka Brownie, nap. 
By now unsuccessful with traps, we resorted to nets.
Holy crap doesn’t begin to describe the day we had last week.
Actually, how it all started may have been an omen. Loretta and I were driving to Mare Island to trap Spot, the last of many feral cats we relocated from under a condemned building, when we heard a strange sound. Seems a screw was embedded in my tire. Now don’t get me wrong; that didn’t stop us.
Mare Island
Don’t worry, we reached our destination without a flat and quickly caught Spot, who’ll be happy to join his buddies at their new outdoor home. 
Spot’s feeder monitored the trap while we headed elsewhere on the island to check on other ferals. So far so good. That all changed when Loretta’s eagle eyes spotted some distressed dogs in front of one of the island’s many abandoned military buildings. Continue reading
Last week I wrote about how I try to accept scary or creepy looking things for what they are even though they often give me the willies. And for the most part I can do that. Except when it comes to one particular species: snakes.
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I hate snakes; I just don’t like ‘em. They sorta make my skin crawl, the hair stand up on the back of my neck. You get the picture. And try as I might to accept them, I freak out whenever I encounter one. So I’m failing miserably in the acceptance department where snakes are concerned.
What brought this up, you ask? I read an article last week about a man who found a snake hiding in his sofa. Since you’re probably in shock, let me repeat that. A ginormous snake was curled up behind a cushion in this man’s sofa!
So here’s the deal in case you didn’t know…
Continue reading
I don’t know about you but daylight saving time always throws me for a loop. As you already know, I’m a night owl. I don’t do mornings well but I’m sorta forced to by my animal menagerie. They see to it I don’t reach the recommended 8 hours of sleep per night. In fact, they are quite adept at it.
I ask you, does any woman over age 60 get 8 hours of sleep? If so, I have yet to meet her. And if I ever do, I’m pretty sure I’d hate her. Wait, hate is too strong. Let’s say dislike immensely. But that’s only because I’d envy her. Then I’d dislike her because I envy her. Confused? Me too…
Now don’t get me wrong; I was unaware of the time change last Sunday. Can you believe it? (That was rhetorical.) Only caught my mistake when I glanced at my phone early that morning. Talk about being oblivious…
Now Don't Get Me Wrong 