6.28.07

It’s been about 5 years since I’ve rescued an animal, and twice today I realized how lacking my truck is in supplies.  The animal kennel, fish net, and leather gloves have all given way to beach blankets, sun block, and sand toys.  The absence of animal gear was glaring today

First, the baby weasel. On the way home from a playdate I this tiny ermine or martin running along the center line of the row being pecked at and harassed by a crow.  It was so small that at first I thought it was some kind of lizard.  Adorable like a miniature ferret, it was, but I expect a lot more vicious.

And yet - what do I do but pull the car over and stop, much to the confusion of my daughter.  The little weasel was in a panic.  So was I, because without gloves or a net there was not much I could do.  I settled for rousting the crow long enough for the li'l thing to escape.  Just call me Diego… We’re animal adventurers!

Animal #2 on the very same day was a dachshund who’d got himself in a very bad place, trapped on a freeway median in the dark with rushing traffic on both sides.  “It’s a little dog,” I said to my husband, “STOP THE CAR!”

The mini-dog ran yapping from one lane of traffic to another, and my heart was in my throat as I crooned and clapped my hands, and begged and called it "Baby" and "Oscar." (Well what would YOU call a weiner dog?)

For five minutes we were at a standstill.  Me crouched on a grassy median between two directions of traffic, mini-dog about 20 feet from me barking and clearly indecisive.  My wild heart was bruising my ribs because my imagination kept inserting, "SPLAT." 

My husband, who I imagined at this point truly regretted pulling over in the first place, now approached the standoff and tossed something at the little dog, and I remembered the bizarre fact that we had hot dogs in the car tonight.  Yay!

I backed away slowly as my husband advanced.  A few throws later he had one very small and very angry dog by the collar.  It squealed and snarled and twisted and seemed quite determined to bite his fingers off.  I shrugged out of my sweatshirt and somehow we managed to blanket roll the pup. 

I held the snarling mini-beast on my lap for the next 5 miles, glad that I knew exactly where our old dog kennel was because I saw it just yesterday.  It was in the garage attic -  and could be reached only after a grimy, spidery climb through the labyrinth of junk that we own.  Haha.  Well, I know just who gets to go up there.  Mr. I'm-Not-Afraid-of-Spiders-Hot-Dog-Man, that's who.

Good thing, too, because when our boxer saw the weiner dog her eyes said to her brain, "Rabbit!  Rabbit rabbit rabbit.  Rabbit, right here in my kitchen.  Ooooh, yum-yum-yummy rabbit."  Apparently her ears are defective because those mini-barks didn’t manage to translate dog-speak to her over-stupified boxer brain.

Happy ending.  I called the police to tell them I’d picked a mean, stubborn little dog up off the freeway, and the little pup’s family had already reported him missing.  The little fellow was home by midnight.

We bonded with the mini-beast while we waited for the owners to come for him.  He was a whole lot cuter now that he wasn't snarling.  He was rather likeable.  and this made me like him more.  He seemed very suspicious of strangers, paranoid, even, but a few more hot dog pieces broke the ice and were quite good chums in the end.

He was happy to see his mommy and the tear-stained face of his little girl. The little girl would finally be able to sleep now that her bed-buddy was un-lost.

They said they were surprised he came to us because he's very suspicious of strangers.  We said, "Haha - yeah, we noticed that.  We had hot dogs."

They said, "Well that explains it - hot dogs are his favorite.  In fact, his name is Oscar."

Am I good, or what?