In life, I've always appreciated having something to care for. I loved my pets growing up, and was thrilled to keep pet rats through college and the years afterward. My life has just never seemed complete without a small, furry companion along for the ride.
When the last of my male rats, Rizado, died at the end of January, I planned to hold off on getting new pets for the foreseeable future. At that point, I wasn't sure where I was going to do my fieldwork, or even, as a new TA, whether my schedule could handle a full course load, teaching, grading, and the enormous responsibility of caring for an animal.
So I let it sit. For a while, I was perfectly content with it. I missed the rats, and having a companion, but it was nice in some ways to be able to stay out late or have the freedom to travel for a few days without worrying about the pets needing attention. I live in a small apartment. I work a lot. I'm busy.
Several weeks went by. Winter turned to spring. The weather improved. I was busy, but my TA schedule did leave enough time for other things, when I planned correctly. I missed exercising-- running and being outside, and tried to convince myself to get out more. I made my decisions about fieldwork. I planned for the summer.
One day in early spring, a few weeks before spring break, I was riding the bus to campus. The weather was nice. Trees were starting to bloom. I was thinking about school. And suddenly, as if from nowhere, I was overcome with the sense that something was missing, and thought, I want a dog.
I've wanted a dog for years. Possibly decades. I loved the dog my family had when I was growing up. I was an in-home pet sitter for tens of people from the time I turned 10 until I had a fully-fledged, year-round business as a teenager. I worked at a dog boarding kennel. I volunteered at the animal shelter. I trained my friends' dogs basic commands, and later, the sport of dog agility.
I wanted a dog.
I dismissed the idea, as I had hundreds of times before. Too busy. Not enough space. Not the right time. Too expensive. What a silly idea. Maybe in a couple years, after I've finished classes.
But I couldn't shake it.
I gradually shifted from thinking, wouldn't it be nice to have a dog? to I need one. Turns out the site where I'd chosen to do my fieldwork was more or less dog-friendly. Students working in the area in previous years had brought their own dogs along. My apartment was dog-friendly. It would be safer for me to hike, camp, and travel with a dog. There will never be a 'right time.'
I started looking. Casually at first, and then with increasing seriousness. I looked a hundreds of dogs online. I visited 10 or 20 in person at local shelters. I wanted something active but mellow. I wanted an adult dog, on the smaller side of large. I liked things about them all, but each time, something held me back. Spring break came and went. I visited more dogs, but never made the decision to take one home. This one was nice, but too fearful. This one was confident, but too small. This one probably wouldn't be great with kids. This one wasn't good with other dogs. This one fixated on other animals. This one seemed great, but... not quite right, somehow. Better move on and look at something else.
I got to the point where I started wondering if I really did want a dog, since I couldn't seem to be able to actually pick one. Maybe it wasn't a great idea after all, and my subconscious was telling me so by keeping me from bringing one home. I sent out feeler emails to local shelters. One night, I spotted a particularly cute herding mix nearby. I emailed the organization about him. Could I meet him?
Nope. Sorry-- he'd already been adopted. But if I was interested in a herding mix, what about this guy? A puppy, teenager, really, recently saved from euthanasia at a high-kill county shelter nearby. Picked up as a stray, not claimed or adopted after two weeks. Fearful of some people, loud noises, other dogs. Just neutered. Probably not ready to go to a home yet, but you look like you have a lot of experience so maybe you'll foster him and try him out?
I went to meet him. I don't know what I was thinking. A puppy? Fearful? Not adopted after two weeks? I'd love to say that when I did meet him the skies opened up and sunshine rained down while angel choirs sung beautiful melodies because I'd found the perfect dog. In truth, I liked him, and he looked like he might work, but he was still clearly a puppy. Clumsy, excitable, goofy, still mouthy. However, unlike all the other dogs I'd met with, this time I didn't feel the uncertainty, the sense that something wasn't right, when I met him. Call it intuition, perhaps. I agreed to foster him for a week.
I brought him home. In the car, he fell asleep with his head in my lap. I introduced him to my landlord's dog. He licked her all over, fell into a play bow, and danced around. I brought him to my friend's house, and introduced him to their lab. Same thing. They ran and chased and wrestled for hours. He met people on the street, in my program, at my house. He greeted everyone like a long-lost best friend. He rode in my car. He learned to heel within 15 minutes. He came when I whistled. He laid down underneath the table at a dog-friendly bar with 50 other people and dogs and kids running around at happy hour on the fifth day I had him, like he'd been doing it for years. He relaxed while I was working, went running and hiking and to the dog park, stayed quiet and slept while I was away from the apartment, stayed nearby when let off-leash.
At the end of the week, I emailed the rescue organization. "I would be a fool to give this dog up."
In the weeks since I've had him, he's made friends with everyone I know, and all of their pets. He chases cats, but obeys when told to stay away. He goes nearly everywhere with me. He's crate-trained, and now knows sit, down, stay, come, shake, wave, sit pretty, spin, roll over, play dead, touch, crawl, jump, leave it, quiet, quit, and drop, and is getting ready for basic agility. He's learning to chase a frisbee and retrieve a ball. He'll wait patiently in the car or tied outside while I run errands. He follows me like a shadow.
Best. Decision. Ever.
Showing posts with label Dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dogs. Show all posts
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Friday, July 6, 2012
Catching Up
It's funny how things that used to seem so simple and trivial (like writing a blog post) become monumental tasks in graduate school. Most of the problem lies in lack of motivation, time constraints, and... well, lack of motivation. I'm busy! I have other, more pressing things going on! I swear I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. But there are many things that have happened this semester that I feel will likely pull me away from blogging anonymously until I can figure out a way to limit my posts to a short, reasonable length that can be written quickly for more frequent updates.
When I write, I like to write a lot, and I do so sporadically. What results are infrequent, lengthy posts that take a long time to compose. Since they take a long time to write, I need a bit of time set aside to write them. Time that, for various reasons, I no longer have. I'm going to do my best to update more frequently this summer and fall, but that might not happen. For now, I'm going to say thank-you to those of you that have stuck with me this far, and promise that, although I may not write anything new for weeks (or months...) at a time, I won't fully abandon this, and I'll do my best to learn to write smaller, more regular posts.
So, what's been keeping me from updating? Well, graduate school is one thing. I finished my first year of graduate school, and if that hasn't kept me busy nothing in life ever will. (In case you were wondering, it has.) Then, the house in which I was renting an apartment was sold unexpectedly, and the buyers decided they no longer wanted tenants. I was forced to move out given short notice, which was made more complicated by the fact that I'm gearing up for a four month-long field trip, and couldn't find short-term housing between moving out a couple weeks ago and leaving a couple weeks from now.
Preparing for the field trip has eaten up a lot of my time. Getting my supplies and plans together hasn't been easy. I've been applying for grants to cover my travel and field expenses, and just recently was successful enough to secure my first decent grant. That's gone far more smoothly than I imagined, but it was close for a while-- I wasn't sure I was even going to be able to go. And making contacts, trying to put together methods, gathering equipment, and trying to find someone to help me out in the field has been far from easy, especially where my 'hands-off' graduate adviser is concerned. I still have no idea if Paul feels this trip is worthwhile or if any of my goals are feasible or research questions interesting. Since he's out of the country now for several months and isn't answering emails, I still don't know, and evidently won't find out. I'll leave before he gets back, and won't see him again until- yikes!- December.
I'm finally at a place where I have a little bit of free time, so I decided I had to sit down and catch up on blog posts. I'm going to do my best today to write several entries which I'll post intermittently over the next several weeks. I'm hoping to write at least three, in addition to this. That is, if my dog will ever leave me alone.
Oh, right. I got a dog, too.
Yeah. Busy. :)
When I write, I like to write a lot, and I do so sporadically. What results are infrequent, lengthy posts that take a long time to compose. Since they take a long time to write, I need a bit of time set aside to write them. Time that, for various reasons, I no longer have. I'm going to do my best to update more frequently this summer and fall, but that might not happen. For now, I'm going to say thank-you to those of you that have stuck with me this far, and promise that, although I may not write anything new for weeks (or months...) at a time, I won't fully abandon this, and I'll do my best to learn to write smaller, more regular posts.
So, what's been keeping me from updating? Well, graduate school is one thing. I finished my first year of graduate school, and if that hasn't kept me busy nothing in life ever will. (In case you were wondering, it has.) Then, the house in which I was renting an apartment was sold unexpectedly, and the buyers decided they no longer wanted tenants. I was forced to move out given short notice, which was made more complicated by the fact that I'm gearing up for a four month-long field trip, and couldn't find short-term housing between moving out a couple weeks ago and leaving a couple weeks from now.
Preparing for the field trip has eaten up a lot of my time. Getting my supplies and plans together hasn't been easy. I've been applying for grants to cover my travel and field expenses, and just recently was successful enough to secure my first decent grant. That's gone far more smoothly than I imagined, but it was close for a while-- I wasn't sure I was even going to be able to go. And making contacts, trying to put together methods, gathering equipment, and trying to find someone to help me out in the field has been far from easy, especially where my 'hands-off' graduate adviser is concerned. I still have no idea if Paul feels this trip is worthwhile or if any of my goals are feasible or research questions interesting. Since he's out of the country now for several months and isn't answering emails, I still don't know, and evidently won't find out. I'll leave before he gets back, and won't see him again until- yikes!- December.
I'm finally at a place where I have a little bit of free time, so I decided I had to sit down and catch up on blog posts. I'm going to do my best today to write several entries which I'll post intermittently over the next several weeks. I'm hoping to write at least three, in addition to this. That is, if my dog will ever leave me alone.
Oh, right. I got a dog, too.
Yeah. Busy. :)
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Note to Self: Invent Fake Boyfriend
Whoo boy. Do I have a story for you all. Here I am, on Wednesday evening, as I intended (for once) posting! Really something, eh?
Despite the fact that only a few days have passed, it seems like a lot has happened. First, Dwayne reconsidered his awful request for an additional 30-60 goshawk survey points, and as a result, I am officially finished with my goshawk surveys! This turns out to be An Even Better Thing than I initially thought, because Monday morning while I was out surveying I slipped climbing down a canyon and dropped (and shattered) our GPS unit. I was very glad not to have fallen myself, but without the GPS it would be extremely difficult to call for goshawks with adequate accuracy.
Luckily, Dwayne was (at least outwardly) phlegmatic about the incident, chalked it up to the rigors of fieldwork, and ordered a replacement. In the interim, I'll be making-do with a smaller, less fancy, borrowed unit. I feel like I murdered a good friend. Not to mention the fact that I just knocked down Dwayne's yearly budget by around $700. At least I'm no longer going after goshawk, and won't be out traversing canyons for a while.
The final count? 100 surveys, and one (that's right... 1, single) goshawk. Dwayne was thrilled. Go figure.
The relief of having finished the surveys is huge. Now I can move on to checking raptor nests, collecting vegetation data in key sage-grouse habitat, surveying prairie dog colonies for several threatened bird species, and setting up our bat detectors across the field office.
This week is the last week of the Upton project. Last night our active bat surveys went off without a hitch, but around midnight it started pouring down rain and didn't stop. Middle school students aren't quite mature enough to handle a day out hiking in the rain, so the teachers decided to shift the schedule and visit museums in Hill City today, leaving the wildlife hike until tomorrow morning. No skin off my nose... I'll gain credibility for being flexible. I had plenty to entertain myself for the remainder of the day.
This afternoon I returned home from a night of camping far less tired than I have been in the previous two weeks. I've been working a more 'normal' schedule lately, and without goshawk surveys on top of camping and the wildlife hike, I not tired at all. Fantastic!
Capone pitched a fit as soon as he saw me pull up to the apartment. The evenings I camp he doesn't get his walk, and cries all the louder the following day. I put my camping stuff away quickly and got out the leash to take him along our normal stretch before he tore a hole in the siding of the apartment.
About halfway through our walk a little hound mix puppy ran up to us and then took off as soon as Capone started sniffing his direction. As the puppy tore off, a guy appeared from behind an unkempt pickup, took one look at Capone, and swooned. Most guys drool over Capone, his beefy build, his block head, and, perhaps, his 'intact' nature. The guy laughed at his puppy running from Capone, and introduced himself as "Steve." It's not unnatural for people to introduce themselves in Newcastle. Perhaps it's a small town thing.
Steve admired Capone and asked if he always pulled. I explained that he only pulled that hard when he was really interested in something (in this case, the puppy). He suggested I use the leash as a harness, and I told him that I'd tried that several times and found the slip-lead method to be most effective. Then Steve asked what I did in Newcastle, and where I was from. I assumed he was making polite conversation.
Oh how wrong I was.
(Please note: the following text should likely be rated PG-13).
He laughed when I told him I worked for the BLM, saying I had a "real job." He asked what I did for fun, and I told him I spent most of my free time in South Dakota. Then he asked if I was available for dating.
I almost choked.
Steve, a guy who must be in his late thirties, wearing a cutoff t-shirt, balding, with cigarette stains covering his teeth, and toting a dirty puppy and a border collie who has had puppies of her own at least once, asked me if I was available for dating. Perhaps on some level I should have been flattered, but I was mortified.
I didn't choke, but I did freeze, and wasn't quick enough on my feet to adequately convince him that he was sniffing up the wrong tree. I danced around an outright rejection, but he kept trying- hard. He pulled the "we already have something in common" card, pointing to the dogs. He noted that he lived in South Dakota, a place I'd already said I spend a lot of my free time. He asked me if I liked riding horses, and if I enjoyed dancing.
(I do enjoy riding horses. Very much in fact. No! Don't lead him on! No!)
I jumped on the suggestion of dancing.
"No, I don't dance."
"Really? Do you know how?"
"Nope."
"Well, do you want to learn?"
"No."
"No?"
"No. Not something I'm interested in."
"Really? You don't want to learn? It's fun."
"Seriously. No. It doesn't do anything for me."
At this point I stared slowly edging my way down the street, away from him, letting Capone pull to his heart's content.
"We should do something sometime. You need someone to hang out with?"
"Um... I have friends in Buffalo." (Not necessarily a lie.)
"Well we should get together sometime."
(Well, gosh, Steve, I might really like that, if you were fifteen or so years younger, didn't chain smoke, and were ANYTHING like me.)
"Okay, well... I think Capone and I need to finish our walk. He's going to pull my arm off." (Hahahahaha... oh god get me out of here!)
"Well, I'll be around here for the next few weeks. Keep me in mind!"
(No chance in hell, buddy.)
"Well, it was nice to meet you, Steve." (Not so much, really.)
"You're lookin' good, Jax."
(Oh jesus... don't think about what he really means, don't think about what he really means, don't think about what he really means...)
I led Capone down the street, thinking I'd avoided a near disaster, only to have my hackles raised in alarm a few minutes later when I smelled diesel and heard his F-350 pull up alongside me.
"Can I call you sometime?"
"What?" (WHAT?)
"Can I call you sometime?"
"Uh... I don't have a phone."
"Seriously? You don't have a phone?"
"No. I get by with my phone at the office." (Oh man. Oh hell. Why can't I just tell him he's creepy and I'm not interested!?)
"Do you want one? I have an extra one." At this point, he reached into his pocket; evidently, to grab his extra cell phone and give it to me.
Who ARE you? What kind of person carries around an extra phone and offers it up to a complete stranger? Are you desperate?
"Oh, no, that's okay. I don't really need one."
"Well, here, then. Let me give you my number!"
"Uh... Um... Er....Sure."
Steve then proceeded to tear the back off a pack of Marlboros, write down his number, and hand it to me through the window of his trash-ridden pickup. Perhaps my repulsion showed on my face, because he then said, "I need to clean up a bit. You know- work an' all that."
"Um yeah. Heheheh..."
Thankfully, a cement truck pulled up alongside him, he was forced to return to work, and I was able to make my escape (relatively) unscathed.
I have to wonder, though. How old did I look to him? Or did it even matter? Why couldn't I just tell him to look elsewhere? Why can't a cute, twenty-something, well-educated guy take some interest? Do they even exist in this part of the country? Or anywhere?
I'm sure Steve may be a perfectly nice guy, but I was glad I at least had the sense to tell him I didn't have a phone. His intentions may have been innocent. Perhaps he's just as lonely as I've been out here and is just looking for a friend... someone to spend time with.
Yeah.
Right.
Now I suppose Capone and I will have to find a different route to walk... at least for a while.
Note to self: invent fake boyfriend. Convince the creepy older guys that hit on you that you're in a serious relationship. His name is.... Matt. Or Andrew. Or Patrick. Or.... Jack. Name doesn't matter. Just remember the name and don't get mixed up under pressure. He lives in Colorado. Or California. Or Oregon. Or Canada. Let's go with California... more liberal. Lots of schools there. He's my age. Or a couple years older. Going to school, for a PhD, just like I'm planning on doing. Soon. It's hard to be away from him, but this gig is temporary. Yeah. We're serious. Too serious for me to be messing around with a random guy in Wyoming. Right? Right!?
Next time, I'll be more prepared.
I made it back to the apartment, shut and locked the door, and said hi to my real boyfriends. Or at least the only boyfriends I plan on having here, lest some sort of miracle occurs.
I've finally given them names. So have a good laugh over my misfortune, and then say hello to:
Archer
Bokeh
and Rizzo!
Despite the fact that only a few days have passed, it seems like a lot has happened. First, Dwayne reconsidered his awful request for an additional 30-60 goshawk survey points, and as a result, I am officially finished with my goshawk surveys! This turns out to be An Even Better Thing than I initially thought, because Monday morning while I was out surveying I slipped climbing down a canyon and dropped (and shattered) our GPS unit. I was very glad not to have fallen myself, but without the GPS it would be extremely difficult to call for goshawks with adequate accuracy.
Luckily, Dwayne was (at least outwardly) phlegmatic about the incident, chalked it up to the rigors of fieldwork, and ordered a replacement. In the interim, I'll be making-do with a smaller, less fancy, borrowed unit. I feel like I murdered a good friend. Not to mention the fact that I just knocked down Dwayne's yearly budget by around $700. At least I'm no longer going after goshawk, and won't be out traversing canyons for a while.
The final count? 100 surveys, and one (that's right... 1, single) goshawk. Dwayne was thrilled. Go figure.
The relief of having finished the surveys is huge. Now I can move on to checking raptor nests, collecting vegetation data in key sage-grouse habitat, surveying prairie dog colonies for several threatened bird species, and setting up our bat detectors across the field office.
This week is the last week of the Upton project. Last night our active bat surveys went off without a hitch, but around midnight it started pouring down rain and didn't stop. Middle school students aren't quite mature enough to handle a day out hiking in the rain, so the teachers decided to shift the schedule and visit museums in Hill City today, leaving the wildlife hike until tomorrow morning. No skin off my nose... I'll gain credibility for being flexible. I had plenty to entertain myself for the remainder of the day.
This afternoon I returned home from a night of camping far less tired than I have been in the previous two weeks. I've been working a more 'normal' schedule lately, and without goshawk surveys on top of camping and the wildlife hike, I not tired at all. Fantastic!
Capone pitched a fit as soon as he saw me pull up to the apartment. The evenings I camp he doesn't get his walk, and cries all the louder the following day. I put my camping stuff away quickly and got out the leash to take him along our normal stretch before he tore a hole in the siding of the apartment.
About halfway through our walk a little hound mix puppy ran up to us and then took off as soon as Capone started sniffing his direction. As the puppy tore off, a guy appeared from behind an unkempt pickup, took one look at Capone, and swooned. Most guys drool over Capone, his beefy build, his block head, and, perhaps, his 'intact' nature. The guy laughed at his puppy running from Capone, and introduced himself as "Steve." It's not unnatural for people to introduce themselves in Newcastle. Perhaps it's a small town thing.
Steve admired Capone and asked if he always pulled. I explained that he only pulled that hard when he was really interested in something (in this case, the puppy). He suggested I use the leash as a harness, and I told him that I'd tried that several times and found the slip-lead method to be most effective. Then Steve asked what I did in Newcastle, and where I was from. I assumed he was making polite conversation.
Oh how wrong I was.
(Please note: the following text should likely be rated PG-13).
He laughed when I told him I worked for the BLM, saying I had a "real job." He asked what I did for fun, and I told him I spent most of my free time in South Dakota. Then he asked if I was available for dating.
I almost choked.
Steve, a guy who must be in his late thirties, wearing a cutoff t-shirt, balding, with cigarette stains covering his teeth, and toting a dirty puppy and a border collie who has had puppies of her own at least once, asked me if I was available for dating. Perhaps on some level I should have been flattered, but I was mortified.
I didn't choke, but I did freeze, and wasn't quick enough on my feet to adequately convince him that he was sniffing up the wrong tree. I danced around an outright rejection, but he kept trying- hard. He pulled the "we already have something in common" card, pointing to the dogs. He noted that he lived in South Dakota, a place I'd already said I spend a lot of my free time. He asked me if I liked riding horses, and if I enjoyed dancing.
(I do enjoy riding horses. Very much in fact. No! Don't lead him on! No!)
I jumped on the suggestion of dancing.
"No, I don't dance."
"Really? Do you know how?"
"Nope."
"Well, do you want to learn?"
"No."
"No?"
"No. Not something I'm interested in."
"Really? You don't want to learn? It's fun."
"Seriously. No. It doesn't do anything for me."
At this point I stared slowly edging my way down the street, away from him, letting Capone pull to his heart's content.
"We should do something sometime. You need someone to hang out with?"
"Um... I have friends in Buffalo." (Not necessarily a lie.)
"Well we should get together sometime."
(Well, gosh, Steve, I might really like that, if you were fifteen or so years younger, didn't chain smoke, and were ANYTHING like me.)
"Okay, well... I think Capone and I need to finish our walk. He's going to pull my arm off." (Hahahahaha... oh god get me out of here!)
"Well, I'll be around here for the next few weeks. Keep me in mind!"
(No chance in hell, buddy.)
"Well, it was nice to meet you, Steve." (Not so much, really.)
"You're lookin' good, Jax."
(Oh jesus... don't think about what he really means, don't think about what he really means, don't think about what he really means...)
I led Capone down the street, thinking I'd avoided a near disaster, only to have my hackles raised in alarm a few minutes later when I smelled diesel and heard his F-350 pull up alongside me.
"Can I call you sometime?"
"What?" (WHAT?)
"Can I call you sometime?"
"Uh... I don't have a phone."
"Seriously? You don't have a phone?"
"No. I get by with my phone at the office." (Oh man. Oh hell. Why can't I just tell him he's creepy and I'm not interested!?)
"Do you want one? I have an extra one." At this point, he reached into his pocket; evidently, to grab his extra cell phone and give it to me.
Who ARE you? What kind of person carries around an extra phone and offers it up to a complete stranger? Are you desperate?
"Oh, no, that's okay. I don't really need one."
"Well, here, then. Let me give you my number!"
"Uh... Um... Er....Sure."
Steve then proceeded to tear the back off a pack of Marlboros, write down his number, and hand it to me through the window of his trash-ridden pickup. Perhaps my repulsion showed on my face, because he then said, "I need to clean up a bit. You know- work an' all that."
"Um yeah. Heheheh..."
Thankfully, a cement truck pulled up alongside him, he was forced to return to work, and I was able to make my escape (relatively) unscathed.
I have to wonder, though. How old did I look to him? Or did it even matter? Why couldn't I just tell him to look elsewhere? Why can't a cute, twenty-something, well-educated guy take some interest? Do they even exist in this part of the country? Or anywhere?
I'm sure Steve may be a perfectly nice guy, but I was glad I at least had the sense to tell him I didn't have a phone. His intentions may have been innocent. Perhaps he's just as lonely as I've been out here and is just looking for a friend... someone to spend time with.
Yeah.
Right.
Now I suppose Capone and I will have to find a different route to walk... at least for a while.
Note to self: invent fake boyfriend. Convince the creepy older guys that hit on you that you're in a serious relationship. His name is.... Matt. Or Andrew. Or Patrick. Or.... Jack. Name doesn't matter. Just remember the name and don't get mixed up under pressure. He lives in Colorado. Or California. Or Oregon. Or Canada. Let's go with California... more liberal. Lots of schools there. He's my age. Or a couple years older. Going to school, for a PhD, just like I'm planning on doing. Soon. It's hard to be away from him, but this gig is temporary. Yeah. We're serious. Too serious for me to be messing around with a random guy in Wyoming. Right? Right!?
Next time, I'll be more prepared.
I made it back to the apartment, shut and locked the door, and said hi to my real boyfriends. Or at least the only boyfriends I plan on having here, lest some sort of miracle occurs.
I've finally given them names. So have a good laugh over my misfortune, and then say hello to:
Archer
Bokeh
and Rizzo!
Friday, July 24, 2009
A Few New Friends
Hello there! I know, I know... it's been a long time since my last post. Too long, in fact. My intentions have been to update every Wednesday or Thursday evening, since those are generally my least-busy days. Obviously that hasn't happened, but I've had a lot going on.
First, an update on Capone. Although he hasn't really improved, per say, he's come to the point where our walks are manageable. I'm sure it's the consistency more than anything that's done it. Every afternoon around 4:30 PM (assuming I'm home around four) I take him on the same walk around the block. He knows what to expect and what places we'll be visiting, and thus doesn't pull quite as hard once we get started. He's also found several spots of grass along the way in which he loves to roll (lacking any semblance of greenery in his own small pen).
Second, work. I'm desperately trying to finish my goshawk surveys so I can move on to something different. I like being out in the Black Hills, but honestly, these surveys are getting tedious and repetitive. Not to mention the fact that they often take quite a bit of technical hiking and bushwhacking. For those of you who are familiar with the deceptive ploys of a certain "Smokey" the bear, you'll understand when I say that every day I think about how much easier my job would be were it not for fire suppression. I need a machete.
I've been working hard to try and finish the surveys before the end of this month, and up until today I thought I could wrap them up by the end of next week. Unfortunately, however, I came in to work this morning to find a map and a note on my desk with instructions for at least thirty additional surveys... and it's taken me nearly two months to finish the first 100! I was so frustrated with Dwayne this morning I worked up a tension headache. He knows the amount of work he's given me to complete before the end of October. It will be a tall order and take a lot of long days for me to get through everything. Adding another three or four days-worth of goshawk surveys might really be pushing it.
Aside from that little grievance, however, there have been better work-related things going on. As I mentioned in a previous post, for three weeks in July the BLM hosts three small groups of middle school students from Upton, and I've been in charge of the wildlife portion of their course. Every Tuesday evening (after a full day of, you guessed it, goshawk surveys), I meet the new group of kids and their teacher, Luke, at the Beaver Creek Campground just past the state line (I'm generally in South Dakota two or three times a day!). I'll help them start a fire and fix dinner, and then once it gets dark I'll take them out on a short night hike to a nearby pond to do some active bat monitoring.
That cool equipment I mentioned that records bat echolocation? It can be used to actively track bats as they feed, and you can hear their calls out loud. Calls are species-specific, so it's really neat (for me and the kids) to set up some spotlights and watch different species of bats forage over the pond while listening to their echolocation.
We don't finish until late, so I've been camping with the kids, because Wednesday mornings I'm in charge of an additional four hours of their program. The past two weeks we've done some bird watching at camp, then taken a drive to a nearby stock pond where we help them make plaster casts of various animal tracks. We finish the morning with a brief hike along a trail to talk about animal habitats, adaptations to different environments, feeding styles, etc. Then after lunch I usually leave and go off to do even more goshawk surveys. It makes for two extremely long days, and I've been wiped out on Wednesdays and Thursdays (thus my excuse for my lack of posts.... sort of).
There's only one more week of the Upton program, though, and then it will be back to my typical schedule. I've really enjoyed it, however. I'm not terribly fond of kids, particularly younger kids, but when they're really excited about what they're learning/I'm teaching, it's fun. Everyone likes sharing his/her expertise, right?
Interestingly, I've started to attract crowds at my evening bat sessions. The first week it was just me, the kids, and Luke. Last week it was me, the kids, Luke, our office's range management intern, one of our petroleum guys, and our recreation planner. This coming week I'm expecting myself, the kids, Luke, two other teachers from Upton Middle School, the recreation planner, two petroleum guys, one of the petroleum guys' daughters, and who knows who else. I guess word gets round about how neat it is to hear the bats. It's hard to explain, but it's a really unique experience.
So all that's work. And I'm sure by now you're wondering where these "new friends" come in to play. Surely I couldn't be talking about the middle schoolers, right?
Right.
Last weekend I decided to make a trip to Rapid City. I desperately needed groceries from a real grocery store, not one of these "food centers" that we have here in Newcastle. Second, I was bored nearly out of my mind, and there really isn't anything for me to do here during the weekends. The drive to Rapid City isn't necessarily short, although it usually only takes about an hour and half. Nonetheless, any trip made there needs to be made worthwhile, and worth the gas money. So I thought I could kill some weekend time by visiting the Rapid City mall before my grocery store trip.
The mall was small (Rapid City itself isn't terribly large), but they did have a few familiar stores. While there, however, I proceeded to make a series of bad decisions, although they very may well have been preordained. The first of these mistakes was to visit the pet store. The second was to make my way to the corner of the pet store that housed rodents. The third was to send my mom a text message with a picture of some of these rodents.
I'm sure you can see where this is going.
I abhor mall pet stores. I really loathe them. They're typically unkempt, filthy places that sell animals from mills for exorbitant prices, with no care for the social welfare, health, or breeding history of the animal. If you ever need to get really pissed off and passionate about something, start reading about puppy mills.
What initially attracted me to the store was the massive quantities and species of fish they were selling (in fact, I believe the store was called something like "Fish Here Pet Center"). I simply went in to look at the fish. From here I can partially blame the rest on my mom (although I'll hear it from her after she reads this). I made my way back to the rodent section and found, of course, two fish tanks full of rats, one with four females and one with around 12 males. I sent my mom a picture message of two of the males sitting together on an exercise wheel, and she replied "Aww... are they yours?"
And that's all it took, really, to plant the seed. I've been aching for the loss of Cassie. I spent a ridiculous amount of time with my previous two rats, Cass and Gems. Whenever I was home, they were out of the cage and exploring and interacting with me. If they weren't running around doing ratly things, they were cuddled up on my lap or in my sweatshirt. I'd become very accustomed to having them around. When I saw those fishtanks full of rats doing rat-like things, it really tore at me. So I stood there and watched them for a good fifteen minutes. And sent my mom a picture.
When she responded "are they yours?" I thought I'd essentially been "given permission" to pursue a few new rats. I'd previously pushed the idea out of my mind. After all, I have no idea where I'm going to be after I finish my internship here at the end of October, and who would I get to look after them if I end up getting a sweet job in the neotropics for five or six months?
That's what I told myself over and over again as I stood there watching them. I eventually left the store to finish my tour of the mall, but, of course, found myself back in the exact same spot less than half and hour later, just watching them wrestle and run and play. I tried to will myself to leave, but settled for engaging in a text-message conversation with my mom about whether or not I should get some. This turned into a fiasco of sorts, because, on the one hand, I knew it wasn't a good idea, but, on the other hand, I couldn't convince myself it was an entirely bad idea.
I left the store again, left the mall, and walked out to my truck, telling myself over and over again that I couldn't have them, yet all the while devastated at the idea of returning to my empty apartment in Newcastle. I turned the truck on and started to drive away, only to find myself parked in a different spot, adjacent to the mall entrance nearest the pet store. I went in again, and, again, watched them play.
Then I made the final of my stupid errors. I started naming them. Now it wasn't a bunch of rats that would grow up 12 to a fishtank with poor, non-nutritious food, dirty floors and walls, only to be sold as live snake food. It was Henry, and Stanley, that would soon either die from some disease or be fed to a constrictor. How could I stand there and let that happen to Henry? To Stanley?
So, though you've likely guessed long before now, I left the store carrying a cardboard box containing three, 8-week-old male rats. They still have their baby fur and they're ridiculously soft. On the way home I thought about my decision, and the commitment it means. I thought about how long they might live, and all the problems they may develop, and the chances that I may have to find someone to keep them for long periods of time to go off and do fieldwork, as well as the limits I may end up imposing on myself in terms of jobs if I become too attached and don't want to leave them. It was almost overwhelming. (It's also called "instant buyer's remorse," and it's genetic, and it runs in my family. Seriously.)
This certainly hasn't been helped by the fact that, as intended snake food, my new little guys are completely unsocialized, and view me as a very large, scary monster who is certainly just biding her time before she snatches a rat and swallows him whole. They dart away and hide at nearly any fast movement or loud noise, and have been cowering in corners or their plastic tunnel when I come near.
Still, this week, though slowly, we've been making progress. First it was a short sniff of my finger through cage bars, then an acceptance of treats through cage bars. Then it was poking their heads out while I passed, followed by sleeping exposed on the shelves of the cage while I worked on the computer. Finally, today, our biggest breakthroughs yet. This morning they came out from their hiding spots when I got up and got ready for work, and remained vulnerable while I opened the cage door and inserted my hand. This was followed by a lengthy sniffing session. This evening they came out of the cage to investigate when I sat quietly and offered bits of corn.
They're currently running wild in a small play area I've constructed around their cage out of cardboard boxes and duct tape. As I write this, I'm realizing that it won't contain them for long... as they become more brazen they're realizing that some of the walls are pathetic obstacles when matched against a young rat's jumping skills. I need the 3'-high plywood rat pen I built when Cass and Gems were young. Hopefully it won't be too much longer before we start to trust one another and they learn to come when called.
Their names? For some reason, I've struggled with the decision. I knew I was getting Cass and Gems weeks before they came to live with me, and I had a long time to consider my options. These guys were a little unexpected, so even now my decision isn't finalized. I'm torn between my initial choices of Gus, Henry, and Stanley, and the more unique - and less human - names Archer, Bokeh, and Rizzo. (Archer for his nifty arrowhead-shaped mask, Bokeh for his creamy-smooth greyish-brown fur, and Rizzo, short for Rizado, Spanish for 'curly', for his wildly curly tail.) I like both sets equally well, and can see where each name would fit. Therein lies the problem... One set hasn't really taken edge over the other. So until I can get past my indecisive hurdle, I am stuck with nameless rats.
I'll be sure to post pictures once the schizoid side of their natures being to ebb and I can obtain a clear shot or two.
First, an update on Capone. Although he hasn't really improved, per say, he's come to the point where our walks are manageable. I'm sure it's the consistency more than anything that's done it. Every afternoon around 4:30 PM (assuming I'm home around four) I take him on the same walk around the block. He knows what to expect and what places we'll be visiting, and thus doesn't pull quite as hard once we get started. He's also found several spots of grass along the way in which he loves to roll (lacking any semblance of greenery in his own small pen).
Second, work. I'm desperately trying to finish my goshawk surveys so I can move on to something different. I like being out in the Black Hills, but honestly, these surveys are getting tedious and repetitive. Not to mention the fact that they often take quite a bit of technical hiking and bushwhacking. For those of you who are familiar with the deceptive ploys of a certain "Smokey" the bear, you'll understand when I say that every day I think about how much easier my job would be were it not for fire suppression. I need a machete.
I've been working hard to try and finish the surveys before the end of this month, and up until today I thought I could wrap them up by the end of next week. Unfortunately, however, I came in to work this morning to find a map and a note on my desk with instructions for at least thirty additional surveys... and it's taken me nearly two months to finish the first 100! I was so frustrated with Dwayne this morning I worked up a tension headache. He knows the amount of work he's given me to complete before the end of October. It will be a tall order and take a lot of long days for me to get through everything. Adding another three or four days-worth of goshawk surveys might really be pushing it.
Aside from that little grievance, however, there have been better work-related things going on. As I mentioned in a previous post, for three weeks in July the BLM hosts three small groups of middle school students from Upton, and I've been in charge of the wildlife portion of their course. Every Tuesday evening (after a full day of, you guessed it, goshawk surveys), I meet the new group of kids and their teacher, Luke, at the Beaver Creek Campground just past the state line (I'm generally in South Dakota two or three times a day!). I'll help them start a fire and fix dinner, and then once it gets dark I'll take them out on a short night hike to a nearby pond to do some active bat monitoring.
That cool equipment I mentioned that records bat echolocation? It can be used to actively track bats as they feed, and you can hear their calls out loud. Calls are species-specific, so it's really neat (for me and the kids) to set up some spotlights and watch different species of bats forage over the pond while listening to their echolocation.
We don't finish until late, so I've been camping with the kids, because Wednesday mornings I'm in charge of an additional four hours of their program. The past two weeks we've done some bird watching at camp, then taken a drive to a nearby stock pond where we help them make plaster casts of various animal tracks. We finish the morning with a brief hike along a trail to talk about animal habitats, adaptations to different environments, feeding styles, etc. Then after lunch I usually leave and go off to do even more goshawk surveys. It makes for two extremely long days, and I've been wiped out on Wednesdays and Thursdays (thus my excuse for my lack of posts.... sort of).
There's only one more week of the Upton program, though, and then it will be back to my typical schedule. I've really enjoyed it, however. I'm not terribly fond of kids, particularly younger kids, but when they're really excited about what they're learning/I'm teaching, it's fun. Everyone likes sharing his/her expertise, right?
Interestingly, I've started to attract crowds at my evening bat sessions. The first week it was just me, the kids, and Luke. Last week it was me, the kids, Luke, our office's range management intern, one of our petroleum guys, and our recreation planner. This coming week I'm expecting myself, the kids, Luke, two other teachers from Upton Middle School, the recreation planner, two petroleum guys, one of the petroleum guys' daughters, and who knows who else. I guess word gets round about how neat it is to hear the bats. It's hard to explain, but it's a really unique experience.
So all that's work. And I'm sure by now you're wondering where these "new friends" come in to play. Surely I couldn't be talking about the middle schoolers, right?
Right.
Last weekend I decided to make a trip to Rapid City. I desperately needed groceries from a real grocery store, not one of these "food centers" that we have here in Newcastle. Second, I was bored nearly out of my mind, and there really isn't anything for me to do here during the weekends. The drive to Rapid City isn't necessarily short, although it usually only takes about an hour and half. Nonetheless, any trip made there needs to be made worthwhile, and worth the gas money. So I thought I could kill some weekend time by visiting the Rapid City mall before my grocery store trip.
The mall was small (Rapid City itself isn't terribly large), but they did have a few familiar stores. While there, however, I proceeded to make a series of bad decisions, although they very may well have been preordained. The first of these mistakes was to visit the pet store. The second was to make my way to the corner of the pet store that housed rodents. The third was to send my mom a text message with a picture of some of these rodents.
I'm sure you can see where this is going.
I abhor mall pet stores. I really loathe them. They're typically unkempt, filthy places that sell animals from mills for exorbitant prices, with no care for the social welfare, health, or breeding history of the animal. If you ever need to get really pissed off and passionate about something, start reading about puppy mills.
What initially attracted me to the store was the massive quantities and species of fish they were selling (in fact, I believe the store was called something like "Fish Here Pet Center"). I simply went in to look at the fish. From here I can partially blame the rest on my mom (although I'll hear it from her after she reads this). I made my way back to the rodent section and found, of course, two fish tanks full of rats, one with four females and one with around 12 males. I sent my mom a picture message of two of the males sitting together on an exercise wheel, and she replied "Aww... are they yours?"
And that's all it took, really, to plant the seed. I've been aching for the loss of Cassie. I spent a ridiculous amount of time with my previous two rats, Cass and Gems. Whenever I was home, they were out of the cage and exploring and interacting with me. If they weren't running around doing ratly things, they were cuddled up on my lap or in my sweatshirt. I'd become very accustomed to having them around. When I saw those fishtanks full of rats doing rat-like things, it really tore at me. So I stood there and watched them for a good fifteen minutes. And sent my mom a picture.
When she responded "are they yours?" I thought I'd essentially been "given permission" to pursue a few new rats. I'd previously pushed the idea out of my mind. After all, I have no idea where I'm going to be after I finish my internship here at the end of October, and who would I get to look after them if I end up getting a sweet job in the neotropics for five or six months?
That's what I told myself over and over again as I stood there watching them. I eventually left the store to finish my tour of the mall, but, of course, found myself back in the exact same spot less than half and hour later, just watching them wrestle and run and play. I tried to will myself to leave, but settled for engaging in a text-message conversation with my mom about whether or not I should get some. This turned into a fiasco of sorts, because, on the one hand, I knew it wasn't a good idea, but, on the other hand, I couldn't convince myself it was an entirely bad idea.
I left the store again, left the mall, and walked out to my truck, telling myself over and over again that I couldn't have them, yet all the while devastated at the idea of returning to my empty apartment in Newcastle. I turned the truck on and started to drive away, only to find myself parked in a different spot, adjacent to the mall entrance nearest the pet store. I went in again, and, again, watched them play.
Then I made the final of my stupid errors. I started naming them. Now it wasn't a bunch of rats that would grow up 12 to a fishtank with poor, non-nutritious food, dirty floors and walls, only to be sold as live snake food. It was Henry, and Stanley, that would soon either die from some disease or be fed to a constrictor. How could I stand there and let that happen to Henry? To Stanley?
So, though you've likely guessed long before now, I left the store carrying a cardboard box containing three, 8-week-old male rats. They still have their baby fur and they're ridiculously soft. On the way home I thought about my decision, and the commitment it means. I thought about how long they might live, and all the problems they may develop, and the chances that I may have to find someone to keep them for long periods of time to go off and do fieldwork, as well as the limits I may end up imposing on myself in terms of jobs if I become too attached and don't want to leave them. It was almost overwhelming. (It's also called "instant buyer's remorse," and it's genetic, and it runs in my family. Seriously.)
This certainly hasn't been helped by the fact that, as intended snake food, my new little guys are completely unsocialized, and view me as a very large, scary monster who is certainly just biding her time before she snatches a rat and swallows him whole. They dart away and hide at nearly any fast movement or loud noise, and have been cowering in corners or their plastic tunnel when I come near.
Still, this week, though slowly, we've been making progress. First it was a short sniff of my finger through cage bars, then an acceptance of treats through cage bars. Then it was poking their heads out while I passed, followed by sleeping exposed on the shelves of the cage while I worked on the computer. Finally, today, our biggest breakthroughs yet. This morning they came out from their hiding spots when I got up and got ready for work, and remained vulnerable while I opened the cage door and inserted my hand. This was followed by a lengthy sniffing session. This evening they came out of the cage to investigate when I sat quietly and offered bits of corn.
They're currently running wild in a small play area I've constructed around their cage out of cardboard boxes and duct tape. As I write this, I'm realizing that it won't contain them for long... as they become more brazen they're realizing that some of the walls are pathetic obstacles when matched against a young rat's jumping skills. I need the 3'-high plywood rat pen I built when Cass and Gems were young. Hopefully it won't be too much longer before we start to trust one another and they learn to come when called.
Their names? For some reason, I've struggled with the decision. I knew I was getting Cass and Gems weeks before they came to live with me, and I had a long time to consider my options. These guys were a little unexpected, so even now my decision isn't finalized. I'm torn between my initial choices of Gus, Henry, and Stanley, and the more unique - and less human - names Archer, Bokeh, and Rizzo. (Archer for his nifty arrowhead-shaped mask, Bokeh for his creamy-smooth greyish-brown fur, and Rizzo, short for Rizado, Spanish for 'curly', for his wildly curly tail.) I like both sets equally well, and can see where each name would fit. Therein lies the problem... One set hasn't really taken edge over the other. So until I can get past my indecisive hurdle, I am stuck with nameless rats.
I'll be sure to post pictures once the schizoid side of their natures being to ebb and I can obtain a clear shot or two.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Welcome to Newcastle
Newcastle is a tiny town in northeastern Wyoming, very close to the border with South Dakota, about 35 miles west of Custer. A few facts about Newcastle: The town is a whopping 2.5 square miles, has two grocery stores, a small library, a post office, a hardware store, a couple of gas stations, a Pamida, and (fanciest of all) a Pizza Hut and a Subway (which sadly does not carry my favorite sandwich, the "Veggie Max"). The population is around 3,000. And the median age is around 60. Seriously.The town lies on an ecotone (transition from one ecosystem to another) between sagebrush grassland and the black hills. The black hills extend to the east and north and the grasslands run south and west. I'd be lost without the black hills here. They're no comparison to the towering Rockies, nor even to the foothills of mountains, but they're better than nothing.
I have a one-bedroom "cottage" leased here for the next five months, located directly between an oil refinery (which smells) and the train tracks (which, of course, facilitate the passage of trains... which are loud). It is small, but has all the space I need. There are vast improvements over my previous apartment back home. First, the hot and cold water lines aren't crossed, so I get hot water from the 'H' tap and cold from the 'C.' Second, the hot water here won't cause third-degree burns. I'm on ground-level, and I think the daily odds of breaking my neck have been significantly decreased without the Twisty Staircase of Doom. There isn't any lead paint (of which I'm aware), the freezer is a normal size, and I don't have to pay utilities.
It isn't all better, however. I don't have a dishwasher anymore, and the kitchen lacks any semblance of counter space. I no longer have a tub, and the carpet here is of the office variety. Although I probably wouldn't utilize an outdoor space (because of the mosquitoes and the refinery) I no longer have a front porch or use of a fenced-in backyard.
I'm renting from Rohn, a guy in his mid- to late-twenties that works as an electrician at the refinery. He seems nice enough, and has responded to my requests fairly quickly. He's a little awkward, though. Maybe because he spells his name with an 'h.'
Then there's Capone, a mixed blessing. Rohn's house is right next to the cottage, and the space between his house and my front door is occupied by a small, square, muddy dog pen, wherein Capone the pit bull spends most of his time. Capone is a sweet, exuberant dog that would love nothing more for someone, anyone, to pay him some attention. The time not spent in the tiny pen is spent locked in the garage. I don't believe he's ever been in the house, and apart from feeding him twice a day and occasionally providing him with fresh water, I'm not sure Rohn ever really interacts with him. I walk him every day after I get off work, but in the grand scheme of things my efforts fall far short of the kind of exercise and attention he needs.He's obviously unused to being on a leash, as he feels it's his duty as a respectable dog to pull as hard as he possibly can to visit the greatest number of interesting places before he's dragged back to his white-fenced prison. He's short, wide, and pure muscle, so walks with Capone are far from the easiest part of my day. I've spent the last two weeks trying to convince him that not pulling will get him farther, but the lesson has been slow to take.
Lately, he's taken to sitting in the corner of his pen next to my front door and whining. Sometimes, he howls.
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