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 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.
If you didn’t read last Sunday’s post, you might want to do so before embarking on this one or you’ll wonder what’s up. Don’t worry, I’ll wait while you do. (Click on Holy Crap.) Okay, ready?
When I last left you, Loretta and I emerged from the marsh only to find 4 policemen with their guns drawn. Here’s the thing. I may have slightly misled you into believing we were the subjects of their intended apprehension. But that, my friends, is what you call a cliffhanger. Now don’t get me wrong; I wasn’t lying to you; their guns were just pointed in a different direction from us.
I bet you think it’s the guy with the rifle. So did we. But no. It was a man a few yards from us. What had he done to instigate police action? Who knows. But he ignored their command to put his hands on the hood of his car, which is just plain stupid. I was expecting to hear gunshots, but he finally complied and was handcuffed.
On with the pup pursuit! Continue reading
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.
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 readingI never swore until I was out of my teens. Pretty shocking, huh? Let’s just say I was a good girl with my verbiage for most of my early years. As a kid, I never had to suck on a bar of soap like my sister did after being busted for swearing. I did, however, thoroughly enjoy watching her do so. Actually, I shocked myself the first time the word shit slipped from my lips. It felt wrong while at the same time strangely satisfying.
Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not some potty-mouthed person who is addicted to swearing. Please! I’m a nice Catholic girl who attended Church twice a year (Christmas and Easter) and now only for weddings and funerals. Hey, I never said I was perfect.
Having said that, there’s something satisfying about cursing. When someone cuts me off on the freeway, darn it! just doesn’t cut it, you know? In the privacy of my vehicle, where nobody can hear me, I say what I imagine a truck driver might exclaim under similar circumstances. I’m guessing it’s pretty much a regular occurrence in that occupation.
Now Don't Get Me Wrong 