Hmmm, sounds a bit like I'm bitching. Who, moi? If you ask the zookeeper he'll probably tell you I won't stop bitching until I die. That isn't true, of course. But...there are so many things to, you know, complain about...
Like, ok, so it was rough around here when there were only one or two employees other than Mr. Work Every Hour You Are Awake (and even some when you are not.) I even had to pitch in a lot. Well, to me a lot, but that's because I had to do yucky stuff, like help give injections to the giant snakes (that sucked large) when they got colds (who knew snakes could even get colds?) and clean the bird cages and give them new food and water. Oh, and make sure all the small mammals had water because you won't believe how easy it is for a chinchilla to get overheated and die...
Once the recession stopped and people started spending money again, and we got some more employees that the zookeeper could afford to pay and still pay himself (A Really Good Thing if you want stuff...like electricity and cable and groceries) I didn't have to do so much. There were still poop covered dishes to be washed and the occasional escaped tortoise to be found, but no more water bottles for this zookeeper's wife.
So, with all these new employees wandering about, doing things like animal husbandry (why isn't it called wifery? That would make more sense to me, seeing as how much cleaning and cooking and care taking is involved) and needing to use the bathroom when I'm in it and stuff, you would think they were prepared to handle any animal situation that came up. Me? Most of the critters scare the shit out of me and that's no joke. Why, you ask? They. Bite. That shit hurts, and is unexpected, and overreacting could get you or the critter seriously injured. It isn't a good idea to bounce them off the floor when they bite you. Or so I've been told.
Here's one guy you wouldn't want to bite you. Or maybe you would but if so I don't want to know about it. The American alligator. We keep smallish ones here, mostly from rescues when the hip teen who actually believed the guy selling them at the pet shop who said they only grow to the size of their enclosure realizes he either needs to go to college (and his mom is scared shitless of taking care of him...imagine that) or that, damn, it does grow too big to keep. When they get too big here there is a rescue in Florida that they get sent to.
**Side note. Seriously, folks. These guys grow to be about 7-10 ft long and 400-800 lbs in their natural habitat. Think that makes a good pet for junior? Think again. Most of them that come here as rescues are malnourished, suffering from bone density problems due to a horrible diet, and with burns from the lights that are inexpertly used in their enclosures. Want a reptile pet? Get a ball python. Just keep it for cripes sake out of my neighbor's grill.**
One fine day a couple of Summer Solstices ago, the zookeeper was off becoming famous (behind every great man is a woman who washes the skid marks out of his skivies and vacuums porcupine quills out of the family room carpet...at least that's what happens at my house. I'm sure you have your own issues) and I was here listening to the daughters piss and moan about how bored they were and how much they hated each other taking care of the daughters and hiding in the sewing room so I didn't have to listen to the daily crap pursuing my own hobbies when one of three zoo employees came bursting into my sacred space house area of the zoo.
Him: "Where's the zookeeper?"
Me: "Not here. At a show? Why?"
Him: "Because someone left the gate to the alligator enclosure unlatched and now one of them is out and we need to get it back in!"
Me: "Aren't there three of you guys out there today? Can't you get it back in?"
Him: "Yeah, we tried, but he doesn't want to go. And we need help."
Now, I'm not snarky by nature. Ok, so maybe I am a teensy bit snarky, but only when faced with some serious dumbassness. And I only get truly snotty when I have to go do something that I really, really hate (fear) to do. So I'm thinking...you want to go to vet school with a reptile speciality. You freaking work with these animals daily. There are three of you, who at some level have had training in working with animals. That's why you freaking work here. And now here you are, in my living room, and I have to what? Go chase down a renegade alligator on the loose because no one else here can? Just call me the Alligator Hunter...
FML. (If you don't know what that means...Google it.) We have an escaped alligator who may or may not be able to enter the enclosures of other animals that it finds as prey in it's natural conditions, and we have same animals who could really freak out to see a predator stalking them...and if this isn't taken care of before the zookeeper gets back we may have either employees who don't come back, or a zookeeper in a bad mood. Option A means I get to participate more, option B means I get to deal with an irate zookeeper. Neither option appeals to me. I have my eye on new carpet for the family room.
Out I trot, open toed shoes and all, to scope out the situation.
Control, this is the tower, we have bogie spotted. He is about a foot outside the enclosure, and the gate is open, do you copy?
Copy that, Control, we have Hunter on the way, but missiles are not engaged, copy?
Copy that, Tower. There will be no shooting. Are you clear, Hunter?
Yeah, effing clear. We cannot shoot the alligator...(although, pointing my finger at it and saying "phew, phew" has a certain appeal...)
Three, yes, three zoo employees standing by, as the Alligator Hunter approaches the scene. There he is, in all his four foot long glory, baring his teeth and hissing at everyone. "I'm out, and there isn't a goddamned thing any of you can do about it." Meanwhile, the employees are wringing their hands, and I'm honestly shitting bricks. He has teeth, for Christ's sakes, and there are a lot of them. And, though they can't travel fast or far over land, they can get the jump on you and make you jump..
Off to my right, I see the area called the Blue Room. Basically a tented off overhang of the barn, that is used to house tools and totes and stuff. Shining in the sunlight of this bright summer's day? A snow shovel. A killer, wide mouthed snow shovel, that in fact this zookeeper's wife used just the previous winter to clear a path to the rabbit hutch after a two foot snowfall...
Tower, this is Hunter. I have the ball, and target is in sight.
I carefully move to grab the snow shovel. Carefully, because they can get the jump on you, it's a short space to the side of the barn, and I like my toes on, you know, my feet, instead of in the gator's belly...
Hunter, this is Tower. Are you sure you have the bogie under control?
Just a walk in the park, Kazansky...
The snow shovel is silver with a blue handle, and I'm sure to the gator's eyes looked wider in the sunlight than it really was. Two feet across, and slowly advancing toward him? He scooted his sorry ass right back behind the gate in no time. Hunter even locked it for good measure behind him.
Tower, this is Hunter. Target is neutralized. Repeat, target is neutralized.
It just goes to show that sometimes fear can be overcome by motivation. I did get that new carpet for the family room...and no one got hurt, least of all the alligator.
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