Category Archives: Animal Control Officer

Of Mice and Horsemen

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I press the button on the radio, “Six-O in pursuit of two horses.”

There is dead silence on the line while I put my truck into park and grab my lasso.

Some static on the line is followed by, “Did you say horses on the street? I thought your were 10-7 to pick up a trapped Opposum from the local prison”

“10-4. Just saw them running loose less than 1/2 a mile from the freeway.” I kick open the door and rush toward them.

“I’m sending another officer to your location.” My supervisors voice crackles on the airwaves.

I am joined by 3 citizens in two trucks in a  car in chasing these horses. We corner them- but as I draw near them twirling my lasso by my side I remind myself of what I learned in Animal Control classes all those years ago. A horse’s defense mechanism is -flight. They will run away when scared.

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So they escape and we chase them. Another officer shows up to help me but overtime I draw near they run away. I get on top of the platform behind his truck and we chase them around the block. The lasso I’m twirling over my head makes me feel like a cowboy.

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Our task is to keep them away from the freeway and tire them by making them run in circles. 20 minutes later they are sweating from every pore. They give up. The owner corals them back and I issue a citation to a VERY IRATE woman who reminds me of my race and how she pays my salary. At no point is she thankful for us saving her horses.

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Then I head to the state prison, where the guards escort me to the trap where an opossum has been baited by a rat.

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The stench of the decaying mouse competes with the molded cheese smell of the inmates. Prisoners remind me of my race again when I walk back holding up the trap like a trophy. The mafia movie references of rats and animals are not lost amongst the howls and whistles and occasional comments about my ass.

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For someone who has never seen a razor-wire, been reminded of their race, been hit-upon by someone of the same sex or dealt with an irate horsewoman, I’ve had two unique experiences in less than an hour.

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Whatever else this job has in store for me– I think I’m ready for it.

I make aggressive dogs– and I don’t care.

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I sling my catch-pole on my shoulder and rap my knuckles on the partially blue door trying to avoid splinters in my hand. “Animal Control- This is Officer Sandhu.”

The shirtless old man with a grey mustache peers from behind the door. “You again? Now what?”

“Your pitbulls got out again from your yard, Sir.”

“I don’t care. You can take them dawwwgs.”

I take a deep breath. “Your dogs are your responsibility, Sir.”

“I said I don’t care.”

“They killed 2 kittens this time. Along with the old blind boxer they killed last week. This makes 7.”

“Those dawwwgs are mean. I don’t care.”

I bite my lip. “Do you care about the inconsolable 9 year old girl who just saw her 2 kittens in this condition.” I push my camera in his face.

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He glances at it and laughs.”They ripped that fucking pussy.”

I flip to the next picture in the hopes of eliciting some emotion.

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He smirks.”I can’t help what those daym dawgs be doing. I’m 74 years old.”

“You made them this way, sir. You breed them, keep them tied up, starve them and sell them to dog-fighters.” I push my clenched fist in my pocket.

“I don’t care.”

I flip the ticket book I’ve assigned just for him and issue him his sixteenth citation this week. I don’t need his license. I know the address, date of birth and D.L # by heart.

He signs the dotted line and when I hand him his yellow copy he pretends to wipe his ass with it and stomps on it, a toothless smile on his face pock-marked with age-spots.

I remind myself of the first rule of a customer service job- BE PROFESSIONAL, NEVER LET A PERSON GET TO YOUR PERSONAL FACE. “Sir, your dogs are still in someones yard and the police have just taken 2 shots at them. They missed but they are warning…”

“I don’t care. Let those damn pigs keeeel those dawwgs.” He slams the door in my face.

Yep. I get the message- loud and clear. He doesn’t care at all.

All my life I’ve hoped I never become a dirty, lecherous, sloppy, grumpy old man. But today I have a new wish- I hope I never become that old man. A man who doesn’t care about anything or anyone or any life.

 

Puppy, Puppy – Bang… Bang

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“Hi, World– It’s a beautiful day in sunny Como, Fort Worth and this is your friend and host, Memphis the awesomest Pitbull ever, reporting. There is fun to be had, trees to be peed on, sneakers to be chewed and cars to chase on this bright sunny–“

“–Wait a second… Sorry for the interruption folks. I’m being hailed by my owner. And when the master proposes; Memphis disposes. And that’s the law. So let it be written– so let it be told.”

I run as fast as my little legs can carry me to my owner.

“Here, Memphis, Here Dawwwwggg !”He reaches for my head.

I snuggle by his calloused hand and long fingernails. He reaches out for my collar and removes it and my favorite blue tag. “We’re going to have some fun with you, boy.”

I love the sound of the word FUN…It just sounds like a lot of — FUN.!! hahaha

He pulls a shiny thing from his back pocket and holds it up to my forehead. My ears are now fully erect. The thing has a handle and a long narrow tube to it. It feels cold on my fore-head but I trust my master. Anything that is good for Memphis, the awesome; he will do for–”

BANG !!!!!

A sharp pain sears through my head, the sound is deafening and I am thrown backwards. My world turns dark and my ears are ringing- but my head is on fire.

My lungs are exploding, I can’t breathe. What was that? It hurt and my master would NEVER hurt me. I love him so much.

The world I’ve known for a few months fades in and out of my eyes and finally into oblivion.

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The  pavement is very hot but my head is throbbing when I wake up. I can’t see out of my right eye. I’m on my back and a spectacled woman with big eye-glasses is poring over me. She covers my head in a towel and rushes me to a Vet.

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It’s been a few months since Molly saved me. My left eyeball has shifted and I am blind in one eye. Molly keeps on rubbing the scar on my forehead with her fingernail and kisses it every night, mumbling apologies on the behalf of humanity.

She tells people I’ve become a shy dog and I like hiding under the table at first when I meet someone.

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I spy with my good eye

I spy with my good eye

Memphis under the

Memphis under the

Problem is; who can I trust? Humans are so vastly different . We dogs have different personalities too but we all wear our hearts on our sleeves ; ALL OF US. Humans are diff- some of them kiss our boo-boos and some of them give us boo-boos.

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I’m just a silly puppy… can everyone just tell me which side they are on when they meet me…

Help me read humans better– PLEASE.

Yes- This is how I sleep...with my leg

Yes- This is how I sleep…with my leg…Goodnight !!!

 

 

All in a Day’s Work

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How often do you have a day where the first call you get in the morning is that of an injured goose.

You google How to catch a goose?

Why of-course; Grab it by the neck.

You take a Goose back and bandage it’s wing. Then you wait for a rescue group to pick it up.

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Just when you’re feeling good about yourself, you get a call of a Puppy that’s been beaten by young boys.

You get there and the puppy is bleeding from his anus. You wrap him in a towel and pick him up. Concerned citizens are judging the kids for being cruel- but you know in your deepest worries that this puppy has Parvo…and he just blew up today.

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You are carrying him in your arms in the shelter and he lets out a stream of vomit from his mouth and a stream of blood from his rectum. Before you know it you are covered in blood and drool.

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You are now CONTAMINATED. You can’t be in the shelter because Parvo is lethal and spreads quickly. So you are ready to dash out the door. But wait… A vet tech grabs you by the arm. “You have to euthanize the puppy first.”

You freeze. “What? Me? but… but… Its a…I’ve never–”

They thrust a bottle of Euthasol in your hand and a few syringes and tranquilizer in your shirt pocket. All without touching the blood or vomit.

If you’ve never smelled PARVOVIRUS… you are a lucky human. Nothing smelly more deathly than that.

So with blood and grime and drool and vomit and some tears on your body… You pet the puppy’s head to give it love and then plunge the needle to kill it.

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Your heart is detached from your body. Your senses are drowning your adrenaline.

Then you drive off– scared to tackle the next day… but hopeful of saving one more goose– or a raccoon or a puppy or a turtle or a horse.

Game-Set-Match.

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The Baby ‘Coons

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“The policy is clear on Raecoons.” My supervisor’s voice is firm.

“But he’s just a baby.” I hold my phone to the shivering three-week-old mammal clinging to the concrete with his sharp little paws. “Can you hear him wailing?”

Cheeeeeeeeerpppp, Cheeerp, Cheeerp.

“Inder, they carry the Rabies virus.”

“Rabies? He’s just calling out to his mommy? She’s got to be around here somewhere. She’ll be back looking for him tonight. Surely.”

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“How come you’re so darn sure about everything?”

“—because I know animals.”

“–that’s what you said about the Diesel engines too, Mr. Engineer.” His voice has a hint of irritation in it.

I lower my voice. “Those wails are for his mommy. Trust me on this one.”

“Okay, so what are you proposing?”

I lay my hand flat. “Let me call the home-owner and ask him to let the Raccoon stay in his yard for 2 more nights. If his mommy doesn’t get him, I’ll pick him up.”

“Okay. Just make sure the home-owner feels satisfied with it. Remember that we work for the city government and the citizens are our–”

“—customers. Yes I will. Thank you.” I flip my city-phone shut.

How can I forget the most important lesson I’ve learnt working for the government in the US. You guys treat your citizens as your customers whereas in my country government workers treat the citizens like vermin.

Fifteen minutes later I return to the yard. The home-owner is kind enough to let the raccoon baby live and give the mother a chance to take her baby and nurse it. He tells me that there were three babies and the mother took one away last night.

Now my task is to find the second baby raccoon. I crawl on the ground with the grass tickling my ear inches from the ground. I strain to hear it. Finally I hear a weak squeal from behind a board. A weak, feeble baby ‘coon is trembling like a reed, calling out.

I reunite the brother and the sister and they stop squealing right away, indulging in a wrestling match. Their squeals get louder as I walk back to my truck. But these are excited squeals of play.

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Today three adults saw combined passion in their hearts to allow 2 babies to live and my faith in my journey from an engineer to an animal control officer is restored.

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Just a little.

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