A Second Hit

Early in June I wrote about my indecision concerning a unique internship opportunity that had presented itself. The position sounded incredible, and involved tracking and handling some pretty cool wild predators. But it the end I couldn't justify the expense I would have incurred moving to the location and supporting myself, unpaid, for six months.

It's been nearly two months since then, and I've just now received another potential job opportunity. I had a phone interview this afternoon regarding a job for which I applied in mid-June. The position begins at the end of August and runs through the early summer next year. So far it seems as if the job has just about everything I need-- a lot of field experience, the possibility to learn some new field techniques, work with species that don't completely bore me, and money. Yes, the position is paid. Not a lot of money, but housing is provided, and between provided housing/utilities and a monthly stipend, I can make do.

I also made it a point during my interview to ask some additional, very-important-to-me-but-potentially-off-putting-to-the-interviewers questions concerning time off and pets in provided housing. First, I've made the decision that the single best way for me to get accepted to grad school next year is to really make sure I'm on potential advisers' radars. And the only single, surefire way to do so is to visit schools and meet professors in person. So sometime this fall I'm going to make a trip to visit as many schools on my list as I can possibly afford. The interviewers' response? We can probably work something out.

Good.

Now, for question number two: pets in provided housing. I always feel weird telling people I have pet rats. It creeps a lot of people out. Most people don't realize what fantastic pets they make, and a lot of people have squeamish, giant, slimy, sewer monster images pop into their heads when they hear the word 'rat.' But for me, the rats are almost a deal-breaker. They bring me a lot of happiness, and I would feel terrible having to re-home them at this point. For them and whoever ended up having to care for them. And me. I'd feel bad for me, too, because I really love the little guys. The interviewers' response? We'd have to check with the property owner, but they'd probably be okay.

Also good.

What about the housing itself? A rented house in a very, very, very small town. I'm talking small. As in, "smaller than Newcastle, WY" small. But chances are I'd have my own bedroom, so that's good, because, honestly, I really dislike sharing.

The negative aspects? Well, aside from the tiny community, it seems there might be a hunting-friendly culture firmly in place, and I vehemently despise hunting. I'd also be doing some live-trapping to put VHF radio telemetry collars on study animals, and I was asked during my interview if I'd be willing to kill an animal should something go awry during capture. The thought literally makes me sick at my stomach, but I suppose I wouldn't have any other choice, would I? That bothered me, as did several questions posed about my attitudes towards hunting and whether or not I enjoyed hunting myself.

I gave honest answers to all their questions, so I suppose my opinions on hunting, if anything, may make the hiring personnel look less favorably upon my candidacy. They also posed a couple strange, "What would you do if..." scenarios to which I was unsure how to respond. One example was on the order of, "What would you do if you were working with another technician without a supervisor present and you disagreed on whether or not to perform a certain task?"

Er..... Okay. Um....? Yeah, I see how that could happen, but really? How do I answer that? "I punch the other technician in the face and do whatever I want." Or, perhaps, "We do whatever I say we should because I clearly would have better sense." Or maybe there were looking for, "We yell and scream at each other until one of us is driven to tears, relents to what the other says we should do, and then hug it out later on."

?????

Anyway, it was an interesting interview, and not entirely what I was expecting. I'm feeling a little ambivalent about the whole thing, but I suppose I should feel reassured by the fact that it's paid work and I'll likely get to bring the rats along. My biggest concerns now are, aside from the hunting, whether I could really do such intense, tedious fieldwork for an entire year without going crazy at the lack of variety, and the fact that the position is in Northeastern State.

Northeastern State, by the way, happens to be very, very far from here. As in days and days-worth of driving far from here. As in very expensive plane ticket far from here. As in, leave from here and probably not come back until Christmas unless I'm really lucky at Thanksgiving, far from here.

It's a little strange, because had I been accepted to graduate school, I'd likely have been getting ready to move somewhere very far from here, and not for a year, but for five or more, with similar stipulations about returning to visit home. But somehow this feels different. Perhaps because I didn't choose the location, and it's not ideal.

Or maybe I've just become too comfortable with my current state of affairs-- my living situation, the familiarity of my hometown and all the amenities it provides, my job on the ranch, the proximity of family and certain friends, the enjoyment of my new-found equestrian hobbies. Maybe I've become content enough with the here and now to make the thought of moving somewhere very far from here, to a location, job, and impending year filled with uncertainties and insecurity, seem a daunting task.

Hey, though, who knows? I might not even be offered the position. Regardless, though, I think I may just need to start mentally preparing myself for a radical change.

How they've grown

Any long-time follower of my blog (and I know, there are very few of you out there) will remember that towards the end of last summer I wrote frequently about my three little Masters of Mischief. Their appearances in my blog since August, however, have been few and far between. Not because they've become boring-- on the contrary, they try one new scheme or another just about every day. Rather, they've become less frustrating. All of the things that really worried me, bothered me about their early growth (particularly their socialization) gradually faded away.

It's been an entire year now since I brought the boys home, and although I doubt they'll ever be cuddle bugs or be immediately comfortable around strangers, they've grown into the handsome bucks I'd always hoped they'd be. Apart from having chronic Mycoplasma pulmonis, a legacy of their pet store upbringing and feeder genetics, they've more or less come into their own. They come when they're called, they allow me to handle them in any and every way, and even tolerate the occasional snuggle. In short, they've ceased to become a worry and have become just as much an integral part of my life as the girls that came before them.

Archer is my little mink-- crafty, quick, and easily offended. He squeaks. A lot. He squeaks when he doesn't want to be touched, when I remove him from something he finds particularly interesting, when someone tries to steal his food, when one of his brothers looks at him the wrong way. Of the brothers, he is the least sociable. He picks fights and power grooms. A snuggle with him must be obtained through ambush, easiest when he's sleepy or has just finished eating a particularly tasty treat. That's a piece of dried papaya (AKA "rat crack") he's holding.

Bokeh is my squishy bear, the sweetheart of the bunch. He's mellow, easy-going, and always seems to be smiling. He's the biggest of the three, but like the gentle giant, he rarely fights. He's most content curled up somewhere soft and warm, sleeping. He never fails to come when called, and rarely causes trouble. He's also adorable.

Rizado is my little right-hand man. He's always curious about what I'm up to, and has taken to stretching out next to me in the evenings for lengthy stroking sessions. He's the most cuddly of the three, and tolerates handling best. His brothers pick on him a lot, which may have contributed to his primary talent: He's an escape artist-- a tiny, cunning ninja. He's foiled just about every one of my attempts to keep him contained. It started with him pushing the food bowls out of the cage, popping the wire latches, and has progressed from there. He has a 3'4" vertical and can climb just about anything. 

There really isn't any way for me to determine their age. I imagine they were somewhere between eight and ten weeks old when I got them, which would make them somewhere around a year and a quarter now. They're at or nearing middle-age! The worst part about having rats is their short life span. Luckily, there are plenty of best parts to make it all worth it.

Jax Z. Wolf: Professional Barrel Racer

Okay, okay, okay... so I'm not really a professional, and I probably won't ever be. But MONEY-WINNING competitive barrel racer just doesn't have the same ring.

That's right! Last night, at a jackpot barrel race Belle and I went to, we placed high enough to win money! I had a decent (though far from perfect) run, and brought home a nifty little check. It was a lot of fun, and even if I never race again after this point in my life, I'll still be able to look back and say I used to win money "chasing cans." In my opinion, that's pretty cool.

Belle and I are still getting along, but my perception of her has slowly been changing, as a result of my ever-improving riding abilities. A month ago I would have given anything to be able to buy Belle off of Debbie and Trina. Now I'm starting to realize that it won't be too much longer before I "outgrow" her. In other words, my riding skills and drive will surpass her abilities. During my barrel runs, I'm already finding I'm wanting to go faster and harder than she can run, and some of the habits that make her a great horse for beginners are starting to frustrate me.

There are several better, faster horses on the ranch that I could potentially step-up to, but I'm not sure if Debbie (or, more likely, Trina) would allow me to use them. Perhaps in August, when their young friend Maya comes for the month and has to use Belle, they'll let me start running one of the better horses.

Until then, I suppose I'll just have to be content to rest on my laurels as an earning barrel racer. :)

The Unrelenting Quest

As you might have guessed, I decided not to take the unpaid internship I interviewed for a few weeks ago. After a lot of thought (although not nearly as much as I'd originally anticipated) it was clear that I just couldn't afford to be spending money instead of making it. An incredible experience? Probably. Worth the financial hardship? Unlikely. So for me, it's back to the job boards, to troll for just about anything that will a.) get me some good field experience, b.) increase my potential for graduate school, c.) pay money, and d.) hold my interest for more than three seconds. Or, you know, ideally, several months.

But it's getting harder. Now that we're well into summer in the northern hemisphere, most field projects are already underway, with field technicians having already been hired for the duration of studies. There are a few short-term projects (four to six weeks) looking for help, but for me, right now, it's not worth the effort moving somewhere to find myself jobless again in a month. Every week, one or two jobs looking to hire for the fall or winter pop up, but these are few and far between. I've gone from two or three job applications a day to, at most, one or two every week.

To be perfectly honest, apart from the fact that my current job has little to no relevance to my intended course of study (it'd be a bit of a stretch to link ranch labor to ecology), I'm happy where I'm at right now. I like working with the horses every day. I enjoy making little goals for myself, and seeing my riding and training abilities improve. I like playing, too-- taking Belle to barrel races and gymkhanas, or going out on day-long trail rides. It's not something I think I'd want to do forever (perhaps as a hobby, but not a job), but for right now, I'm not going to be fussed if I have to keep doing it for a while. 

Really the only thing that concerns me is the upcoming application season. Will potential graduate advisers frown on the dearth of fieldwork showing up on my CV over the past few months? Will a presentation at a national meeting and (hopefully) a publication in the works be enough to convince them that I'm serious about a PhD program, or do I really need another stint in the field to help secure the deal?

Sometimes, when I'm scrubbing the toilet in the barn or scraping horse poop off the floor, I think to myself, Gee... this is what my bachelor's degree is worth. But other times, going that bit farther into the realm of grad school seems like a monumental effort. Contact advisers, get good GRE scores, start making a name for yourself, apply to school, get rejected, ask questions, re-write application essays, present at a national meeting, try to get a publication, contact professors again, visit schools, apply again, and on, and on, and on.

I really do want to get my PhD. The sciences, and the types of projects I might work on for my dissertation, really excite me. I enjoy fieldwork, and I miss going to school. I want to work in conservation, and try to do what I can to help protect the few remaining vestiges of wilderness and wildlife the planet still has. But sometimes, thinking about applying to grad school again in the fall, and (assuming I'm accepted this time round) the five to seven years of hard work that will follow, really just makes me want to chuck the whole idea and go in for something simpler. Take out a loan, buy a little land, a horse, and a couple hundred goats, and start my own invasive weed removal business. Herd my goats out to other peoples' properties as an eco-friendly way to get rid of noxious and nonnative plant species. Maybe train and sell herding dogs as a sideline business. Simple, effective, profitable, and enjoyable, right?

Not a PhD, no grandiose visions of making a difference, of helping save the world, but some days it almost seems like it'd be worth the trade-off.