Punk Rock

 

I had yet another call a number of months ago about a rattlesnake trapped in that horrible black plastic garden netting shit people use to keep birds and rabbits out of their vegetable gardens in areas where birds and rabbits (and snakes) are common and vegetable gardens are not. I used my snake tongs to immobilize the rattlesnake’s head so he couldn’t reach around and bite me and used my seat belt cutting hook to rake across his body and cut off the netting. He had some lacerations and some deformation from being constricted for so long but seemed pretty good so I let him go over the fence by the neighbor’s yard. I had noticed my seat belt cutting tool was dull, not surprising, as I had been cutting snakes free from that shitty netting crap for nigh on seven years. So I went on line and bought a new one.

The new one came with a carbide window breaking tip on the end, which is a nice feature, except in the seven years I have been doing this job I’ve never had a reason to break a window.  I’ve kicked down some doors (that is fucking awesome by the way!) but as far as dogs locked in fuck-tard’s hot cars, I’ve always been able to use my snake hook to unlock the car doors by fitting it into one of the windows that are usually cracked open by an inch or two. (This is a full-on other subject which I will get into later, but cracking a car window open an inch or two does absolutely jack-shit to ventilate a car, I have put people in jail for that – oh, wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.) So I was stoked about my new cutting hook.

This isn’t even the story I want to tell you about but a lead-up. I got a call about a dog locked in a car behind the Holiday Inn Express; I went there, and found a 4-door newish dark gray Mercedes sedan parked in direct sunlight, windows sealed up tight, parked across 2 spaces. I could see a giant Akita lying in the back seat, panting heavily but otherwise completely lethargic, not really alert to my presence at the windows. There was a chewed up Styrofoam cup in the front seat like maybe at one point it had water in it, but nothing now. It was 10 a.m., the exterior air temperature was 77F, since the windows were closed I couldn’t get a read from my laser-thermometer, but based on my training and experience and published research, it was probably 104F inside the car. I called Sheriff’s for a follow, as it’s always smart to have guys and gals with guns and tazers who are on your side when you’re seizing someone’s property and they aren’t around, produced my sweet new snake rescuing tool and broke the fuck out of the Mercedes’ driver side main window. (Some lady got it on video too, it’s awesome.) I unlocked the car, took out the Akita (kind of a big deal, if you have read earlier posts on this blog you know that Akitas and I, well…), soaked him with my water bottles and rushed him to the vet for IV fluids and stabilization. At this time “Rockford” is up for adoption at my shelter. His former owner, a felon on parole who had checked into the hotel that morning at 4 a.m., did his drugs, nodded off and forgot his dog was in the car, never challenged my seizure and now, thanks to me, has a warrant issued for his arrest.

ANYWAYS, this all brings me to today! I get a call from my shelter, there is a golden retriever locked in a blue Subaru in the parking lot of one of the biggest shopping malls in my jurisdiction. That’s it: no license plate, no better location description, no reporting party name or phone #, dick. So I roll into the mall parking lot, stop for a minute to scan about a thousand parked cars. It’s 85F out, any car in the lot, even if the windows are cracked even 2-3”, is still going to be 104F-plus, and it’s only getting hotter. Fuck. And then this dude comes jogging up to my truck.

Dude:  “Hey, I’m the guy who called!”

Me:     “Great, thanks, where’s the car?”

Dude:  (points at next row over, I see the blue Subaru) “Thanks!”

I drive over and park behind the Subaru, turn on my overhead flashing lights, and grab my laser thermometer. And darn it, the station wagon’s windows are all sealed tight. There is a Golden Retriever in the back cargo area, he is lying down, panting pretty heavily, looking slightly stressed.

Me:     “Damn, There is no ventilation at all in this car, I can’t even get a read on the temperature.”

Dude:  “I know, it’s really hot!”

Me:     (I call Sheriff’s) “Hey, it’s (me), I need a follow kinda quick at x-mall.”)

Sheriff’s: “OK, why?”

Me:     “I’m gonna break a car window and pull a dog out.”

Sheriff’s: “You are awesome!”

The guy who called is hovering about, he’s near the passenger side of the car, and he

calls over to me.

Dude:  “You know, if you break this little triangle window here by the rear view mirror, that’s probably the least expensive to fix.”

Me:     “Yeah, I’m just gonna smash open the driver’s side main window.”

Dude:  “Why?”

Me:     “Why not?”

Dude:  “Because it’s my car!”

WTF?

Turns out, the guy accidentally locked his keys (and his dog) in the car, and, well, I don’t

know what else to say. My follow, the cops, showed up right then, they got it on their

body and dash cams that he still wanted me to break his window, so, what would you do?

I drew my bitchin’ snake rescue hook and smashed the fuck out of the tiny little

window by the passenger side rear view mirror. Yes, it was awesome.

Vanilla

A while ago I was on call for after hours emergencies when I got a call for an after hours emergency… It was winter, so it was dark early, and around dinnertime this guy came home to his apartment and saw a large blue plastic tarp laid out in his carport, so he couldn’t park there. Then he saw the tarp move a little. And some more. Something was under the tarp in his carport. He called the cops, they called me, and I called him. According to him, there was something alive underneath the tarp in his carport.

Where I work, when you’re on call for after hours emergencies, it’s actually got to be an emergency for an ACO to roll out from home, pick up a rescue truck, and respond to the call. I thought about it for a minute. Most likely there was a skunk hiding under the tarp in his carport. “Dude, leave it alone, it’ll be gone tomorrow morning,” is what I thought about saying.  But then I also thought, an injured animal will also hide under a tarp in a carport, like for example the neighbor’s cat that conceivably may have been hit by a car. “Keep your eyes on the tarp, I’ll see you in 30 minutes.”

I roll up half an hour later and find the dude standing in front of his apartment building’s carport, looking at a large blue tarp spread out in his section for parking his car. And, it moves a little. Something alive is under there for sure. Could be a hurt cat; I’m concerned. Could also be a skunk… I’m also concerned.  I light the carport up with my high beams and the sweet cop-style spotlight mounted by my driver’s door.

Nowadays I’m kind of known for being the ACO who gets squirted by the skunk no matter what the circumstances are, you can reference a number of earlier posts. But back then, I was still nervous and made far better tactical decisions. So in this case, I drew my collapsible baton (excellent for prying open manhole covers to rescue ducklings, other than that it just kind of looks bad ass on my duty belt) and gently lifted up the nearest corner of the tarp, slowly, so as not to spook the skunk into squirting me… I remember a vague smell of vanilla, but my adrenalin is flowing pretty good so I ignore it, and I find feet.

Two bare, dirty ass man-feet, attached to a naked man snoring underneath a tarp in this dude’s carport.

I call 5-O for backup, since I’ve not been trained yet on using my catchpole on naked men sleeping under tarps or really anywhere, and wait for the cops.  While we’re waiting I look around a bit and while it doesn’t register at the time I remember seeing a half dozen or so small bottles of vanilla extract scattered around the floor near the tarp. The cops get there pretty quick and pull the tarp off the guy, wake him and stand him up. He is, of course, blitzed. Nice smelling breath though.

One of the cops finds the guy’s underpants on the other side of the carport near someone else’s car, reunites them with the hammered guy, they put his story together and find out he simply had a fight with his girlfriend who kicked him out of her house two blocks away and wouldn’t let him leave with her bottle of vodka. So, he walked down to the local grocery store, shoplifted their entire stock of vanilla extract, and, well, the details from his version are less clear but he got loaded, lost his clothes and decided to take a nap in the carport.

I was dumbfounded, and curious. I asked one of the cops about it. She looked at me like I was new. Turns out vanilla extract is like 40 proof and tastes awesome. It’s on display in the baking section, not the booze section, super easy to steal, and is even more popular among the local drunks than mouthwash. No one ever figured out what the guy did with the rest of his clothes, but the cops ended up releasing him into his girlfriend’s custody and my caller was ultimately able to park his car in his carport.

I think they changed the recipe for vanilla extract more recently, I was checking it out at the store the other day while The Bride was in the asparagus section, and it’s like who ever makes it is now proudly labeling it “alcohol free.”  Where’s the fun in that?

Cheese Whiz

I had a rare opportunity to meet my partner for lunch today, our call volume was low so we went to a local Italian place for their lunch special: amazing house salad for two, we split a small pizza with white garlic sauce, broccoli, spinach, tomato and basil. They grill the broccoli so it has a nice crunch but still a fresh mouth feel and taste, and their mozzarella is perfectly applied so it doesn’t overwhelm the white sauce or make the pie too messy to eat.  I chose my first slice, brought it from the pan to my plate, delicately cut off the front triangle into a perfect bite-size, and dropped it onto the toe of my left boot.

In the world we all grew up and live in now, the 5-second rule applies. With panther quick reflexes I reached under the table and made a grab for what every red-blooded American and Italian knows is the best part of a pizza. And then I paused.

In my rescue truck, I have a number of different types of cleaning solutions. I’ve got a large squirt bottle filled with Triple-2, which is a pretty common veterinary disinfectant, good for almost everything. I also maintain another squirt bottle of frequently refreshed 20% bleach solution for the rare instances where I suspect Parvo may be in play. I’ve got isopropyl alcohol, Lysol, alcohol free hand sanitizer, Purell, and a fat plastic jar of Clorox wipes. I’m set.

Except that about an hour earlier the sweetest little 6-month old boxer-pit puppy whizzed on the toe of my left boot. This girl is the twin to her brother, both whelps from their mother and an unknown father, part of a case I worked where the owner finally woke up and relinquished them all to my shelter to find them all new, healthy families. They had been in a house with too many people, too many animals, too many drugs, not nearly enough food or health care or cleanliness for any of them in the long term, people included. (Also there were like 9 unlawfully kept chickens.)

With a clean napkin I collected the cheese and crust and broccoli and tomato and basil off my boot, thought about it, but ended up just eating the rest of my half of the pizza. I’m still bitter about not eating that front triangle from the first slice. I think my partner thinks I’m a wussy though.