5 seals in 4 days

Though I haven't done a lot of rescuing this past week, I've done a bunch of animal handling. This beautiful sea lion yearling has the rather regrettable name Slide-n-Slip, though to me he will forever be Maurice. Maurice, however, was a seal rescued in 2003 and so the name was a no go. Still, Slip-n-Slide should have worked according to the no-repeats-in-10-years rule (last used January 1997), but I agreed to let them flop it around just to be safe.

In any event, little SNS came off a beach in Pismo on Saturday morning, too far south for me as I was stuck in Cayucos with an elephant seal. My ellie later died of Otostrongylus circumlitus, that evil lung worm parasite who has not yet found a way to play nice with the elephant seal population. (While the Marine Mammal Center frowns on diagnosing animals on the beach, I was pretty confident about this one. My suspicions were confirmed when I actually saw the vile worms while collecting post mortem blood samples.) Anyway, SNS proved quite a handful. Though only 16 kg, he was able to break free from one restrainer (but never from me, ha ha) and he was way too stubborn to open his mouth for his tube feedings. Finally we called in the cavalry, our most experienced member with the longest, most dexterous hands, who convinced the little fellow to open up and get fed.

I also didn't get to rescue little Dockit here (he came in on Thursday and I am technically off on Thursdays...). As his name suggests, he was picked up off a dock, right here in my neighborhood. He'd been sitting on the boat launch, minding his own business, very much not minding the people who passed by. Not exactly normal behavior. And he's bony, only 15.4 kg (robust compared to Godfrey's 11.4kg...), but obviously perky enough to be climbing the walls like crazy. No sign of the runny black death poop, either, so I'm optimistic for him. Just another scrawny yearling trying to make his way in the world.

I did have the honor of my very own rescue on Friday. My neighbor friend and I fetched this harbor seal off the beach in Cayucos. She'd checked on it two days earlier on a different, less accessible beach. She'd put it on watch as harbors are so commonly left on the beach while mom forages. Besides, he didn't have an umbi and he did have teeth - more likely a weaner than a dependent pup.

This time, though, little Boone was much dryer around the eyes, and, as you can clearly see, so skinny (only 7.8 kg). The timing couldn't have been better as we had just enough time to feed him and send him off on Dockit's transport. I love it when the seals are so thoughtful as to strand on nearby beaches at convenient times.

And finally came Walls, picked up off the Morro Bay jetty Sunday afternoon near a surf spot called Widow's Walls. I didn't throw the net, but I did help keep him in it and carry him down the rocks. He was pretty bitey, which made him difficult to maneuver across the jetty, but easy to tube feed. I wouldn't call his stranding thoughtful at all. Though it was in my neighborhood, the jetty is a generally treacherous place. And not only was I again, not technically on call, but I was also napping. I do, think, though, that he was mine to catch as we'd had a report on a similar animal on the other side of the jetty on Saturday afternoon. We got half way across the harbor (on Harbor Patrol's boat - always fun) when we were told he'd gone back in the water. At least we hadn't jumped off the boat yet.

And today I will play with no seals. Today marks the 2 year anniversary of my first day as a princess parasite. Erik and I will be celebrating by spending the day together, probably in the sun. So far the only plan that's firm is that we're going to make a killer sandwich. We thought about going to a water park (2 years ago we went to the Schlitterbahn in San Antonio, Texas...), but it's a bit early for the season and most are still open only on the weekends. It does appear our new local water park is set to open in the next week or so that's pretty exciting.

It's funny how quickly two years can pass. I still haven't done so many of the things I thought I'd do and I no longer have the excuse of a round the clock job to blame for my lack of progress. I have done all the big stuff on my list, though. I've seen my husband and my family more, I've taken more naps, and I've rescued more seals. Still, I'm working on a new list for the next couple years. It seems to include taking the LSAT, which is something I've put off now for 14 years. I'm not sure law school would be good for me (is it good for anyone?) but if I score as high as it seems I might, I think it'd be foolish not to go. No promises, though, just exploring the possibilities.

41 things I love about my best friend

Every time I start thinking about the intro to this post, I find myself whistling the theme song to the Courtship of Eddie's Father. ("People let me tell you about my best friend...") It's not such a bad thing to have stuck in your head. I'm a fan of Harry Nilsson's after all (at least since Kevin put him on my ipod), but I do find it somewhat disturbing when it segues into the Golden Girls theme... In any event, we're quite a pair, me and my best friend, Jules. I met her when I was just eighteen, so next year I will have known her half my life. Six years my senior, she was the first "adult" I'd ever known socially and in so many ways she taught me how to be grown up. We also have the luxury not only of being friends, but being relatives as we were dating (and now have married) brothers.

So here you have 41 reasons why I love Jules:

1. She collects eclectic art. She has a can of military issue water.
   
2. She has a green thumb, though she doesn't always use it. We used to enjoy killing orchids together.
   
3. She's thrifty. She can live off eggs and tortillas. Unfortunately, this month I have forced her to do just that by "helping" her set up all her bills to auto-pay. Not a big deal, except I set them up to pay all on the same day, which seemed, at the time, to be very very far away...
   
4. She's also a generous tipper and knows her way around a five star restaurant. In fact, I'm certain she could run one if she wanted to. She got me into waitressing (a blessing and a curse) and so I'm sure my Dad resents her just a tiny bit every time he has to tip 20%.
5. She's raised two phenomenal children, my nieces Zoe and Sadie. It hasn't always been easy, as Jules' world seems plagued by minor inconveniences punctuated by the occasional catastrophe, but she's made sure it's always been fun.
   
6. She introduced me to food. Mexican food. Ethiopian. Thai. Herbal tea. Artichokes. Soyrizo. We could have skipped Carpaccio, though. I should have been suspicious when she wouldn't tell me what is was until after I tried it.
   
7. She wanted to introduce me to my husband, Erik, but she waited until we naturally crossed paths. She knew we'd either love each other or hate each other. She was so right. I'm glad she waited, though, as I was a regular wreck when she and I first knew each other.
   
8. She encouraged me to go to him, when she was 9 months pregnant, though it would mean missing Zoe's birth. Erik and I now call that time our Summer of Love.
9. She loves to read. She introduced me to Charles Bukowski and tawdry science fiction.
   
10. She loves horses. She rediscovered her passion during her (successful) battle against breast cancer. Much as she may sometimes feel guilty for the expense of her herd, I know that Fannie, Roux, and Tuffy saved her life.
    

11. She's spontaneous and sort of silly. She once sent Erik to pick up take out from Max's Opera Cafe in SF with a handwritten note that started, "Please, I am deaf..." We laughed as we watched from the car and noticed that he applauded along with the other customers when the waitress stopped singing. (Erik defended his actions, saying it's only polite to clap when everyone else is clapping....) We laughed even harder when he returned and explained that our sandwiches were on white bread because the waiter, after asking about our unwritten bread preference and remembering Erik was allegedly deaf, sized him up and declared, "White bread. You look like you like white bread." I'm sure this is an appalling politically incorrect story, but it's a family favorite that always makes me smile.
    
12. Until very recently, she owned her own dive bar in SF. Sadie's Flying Elephant was the place to be. She even let me tend bar once, for the first 15 minutes of happy hour. I was a mess - serving frothy beers in soapy glasses and making change out of my pocket after I got the register stuck shut. It isn't as easy as it looks.
    
13. She knows the value of a good Twilight Zone marathon. She was once scolded when caught tuning in at her job at a Sports Bar. (After the manager changed the channel, all her once happy customers left...) She still doesn't have Tivo so she has to enjoy Twilight Zone marathons the old fashioned way, through a haze of sleep deprivation.
    
14. She sings beautifully. She can even sing opera. She's passed the gift on to her girls.
    
15. She's very skittish around ticks. Everyone should be disturbed by some sort of parasite.
    
16. She never has a pen. Ever. And if she has one, it doesn't work.
17. She found Grandpa's bell. It wasn't easy to locate such a tiny trinket in her vast collection of miscellanea. It means so much to Erik to be reunited with this piece of his past and it means possibly even more to me that she went out of her way to find it.
    
18. She's not grossed out by the maggot pitcher. It's a very long story that begins with a dying dog and ends with nearly three years of benign neglect. I love that when I was finally able to speak the unspeakable that she laughed it off and scolded me for being so serious and dorky.
    
19. She's forgiving, about more than just the maggot pitcher and my obsessive hunt for Grandpa's bell. She doesn't make room in her life for grudges and I could learn a lot from that.
    
20. She can cook. Though can she make tortillas seem gourmet, she struggles to follow directions on a package of Noodle Roni. She has to go with her instincts in the kitchen. She also never used to own a microwave, until I bought one as a cancer present. (A very selfish act, as I wanted to have one at my disposal.) I was surprised when, post cancer, they chose to replace the microwave after Zoe burned it down.
    
21. She stopped smoking. A number of times. In fact, the first time I met her she explained that she had quit smoking. I was a bit confused, as she was lighting up at the time. She explained that it didn't count because it wasn't her brand. Most recently, she quit for good. I never fell for tobacco, but I know it isn't easy to give up a bad habit. I am so grateful she went through the hassle as I imagine it will buy us more years to be old ladies together.
    
22. She attracts great friends, if I do say so myself. Seriously, the fact that she had not one, but two dedicated caretakers during her breast cancer battle speaks volumes about her value.
    
23. She dreams. In her dreams sometimes she's a waitress living in a dusty small town, driving a pick up truck with a horse trailer. She lives there alone with her horse(s) and owns a small black and white TV. I'm not even sure they even make black and white TV's anymore, but I love that it is part of her fantasy.
    
24. She let me use her fake ID until I was 21. We rarely got carded when we drank together. In fact, I don't think I ever had the occasion to use it. Still, as a practicing bartender she made sure I had my facts straight. I knew "my" middle name, address, even my sign. I remember being present when she quizzed another adventurous attempted underage drinker in her own bar years later. The girl failed to answer correctly and I razzed her for not being properly prepared.
    
25. She used to let me use her washer and dryer. Anyone whose been to college knows how much that can mean to a person.
    
26. She's a terrible speller. It even says so on her resume.
27. She also has horrible handwriting. As I do. When we used to share notes she'd always have to ask me if that was a "u" or a "v."
28. She's extremely bright. She gives herself no credit for it because she used to ditch high school, but she's the smartest person I know.
    
29. She coined the phrase "penis work." It's a phrase I use often. I last used it two days ago to explain to Erik why I had left a half eaten bird in the bathroom overnight. Cleaning up half eaten dead things is, in my opinion, the epitome of penis work.
    
30. She often gets mistaken for a lesbian. It could be that she lives in the Bay Area but we think there's something more to it than that. A friend of hers recently told her she "presents herself like a lesbian." Whatever that means. I do remember one time, catching a cab outside the Kabuki Hot Springs, when our Islamic cab driver accused us of being homosexual. We tried to explain that we were actually sisters-in-law but he totally didn't believe us. It only got disturbing when he started quoting the Koran and forgiving us our wickedness.
    
31. Her favorite movie is Dodgeball. Not my flavor, I must say, but I love imagining her cracking up. "If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball..."
    
32. She often has fruit in her purse, in her car, or on her person. It isn't always edible.
    
33. She keeps birds. She especially loved Curry, that fearsome, foul fowl I dreaded so much. I love that she accused me of starting the conflict with the toe biting demon. I also love that in some fundamental way she must be right. I mean, ducks only do what ducks do. She made indoor duck keeping look fun. I especially enjoyed watching the two of them race down the hallway, the sound of webbed feet flapping and Jules' giggling was priceless.
    



34. She gets pregnant whenever her fish die. She no longer keeps fish.
35. She's optimistic. She always assumes the best of people even when they don't deserve it. She's actually sad to see her ghetto neighborhood being gentrified. I look it as a good thing (my car hasn't been broken into in a while), but she feels for the people who are being driven out.
    
36. She's adopted. She looks just like her birth mom. Their hands are identical, just differently weathered.
    
37. She's afraid of hospitals. Yet she was a trooper during childbirth, and especially during chemo.
    
38. She loves the Simpsons. She thinks of herself as Homer but she's far too competent to be Homer.
39. She never answers her phone. Most of the time it's accidental, the phone is distant or buried. But I have also trained her to screen her calls on purpose. In my world, it just isn't mandatory to be available. Unfortunately, she's accepted my lesson with gusto. Now I never get anything but her voice mail.
    
40. She's nicer than me. But then most of my friends are.
41. She's shorter than me. I don't even think I like that in a friend. It makes me feel gigantic at a mere 5'4". Luckily (or unfortunately), our bodies seem to have a pact to remain close in size. I have gained sympathy pregnancy weight, sympathy chemo weight, and, during the years lost to the maggot pitcher, she gained sympathy restless-inland-dweller weight. One of these days we've vowed to scale down together. I'm pretty sure at this point that it's the only way.

I once told Jules she'd always be 26 to me. This makes her the same age as my brother, Kevin, and younger, now, than me. I knew I couldn't keep this list down to 26, however, as it was woefully short in Kevin's case. Already I have kicked myself for things I forgot to love about him, like the way Kevin and I used to do a "tea dance" (a modification of the twist) to encourage the water to boil faster. And so, Jules, forgive me for acknowledging that time really has passed and have yourself a happy birthday.

26 things I love about my baby brother

Everyone knows I adore my baby brother. As a kid, he was my favorite toy. My sister and I particularly enjoyed doing his hair and make up. (In the photo below, we caught him applying his own eyeliner...) And, of course, he was always up for a swim. He practically lived in the pool. He would also fetch stuff, anything, if you asked him to. It didn't matter if it was all the way upstairs. He would go. (One day he wised up and realized that being the youngest didn't mean he had to be the slave, but it was fun while it lasted...)

As an adult, he's still a good sport. He's always up for a drunk dial (giving or receiving), always good for a laugh. He inspires me to be more of myself, encourages me in my endeavors (be it for good or evil), and holds me accountable when I am lame. He's my head cheerleader and my chief critic. I wouldn't be who I am without him.

So here you have 26 reasons why I love my baby brother:

1. He's well read. Amazingly so.
2. He's clever. He amazes my mother by solving the Jumble in his head before she can do it on paper. In fact, Mom often takes all day and even cheats, consulting the Scrabble word finder (man, is she bummed when the word she's trying to unscramble has more than seven letters...). Kevin is rarely stumped. He also composes haikus while doing manual labor.
3. He filled my iPod. I don't like everything that's on there, but at least I have choices. I thoroughly enjoy much of it, though, and I know full well I am not nearly hip enough to have found bands like the Moldy Peaches on my own.
   
4. He's cute. We both look like our father, which means we both look like boys. Although, ironically, as a kid his long hair often gotten him mistaken for a girl.
   
5. He's corruptible. Despite that fact that I have corrupted him (often), he does not blame me (outwardly) for any wistful feelings he might have towards his lost innocence. One of my favorite tales of corruption involves the time he helped me liberate a happy meal toy from a thrift store. It was one of those mini beanie babies, the turtle to be precise, and it was trapped in a bag of other crap which was not worthy of purchase. I freed it from the bag and asked Kevin to be my mule to get it out of the store. In my defense, I am really not much of a shoplifter. A pen thief, sure, and proud of it, but shoplifting is not my thing. I honestly only roped Kevin into this scheme because he was wearing clothes with pockets. Kevin, apparently, is a natural, however, as he did not even use his pockets during the heist. Too obvious, I guess, and so he slipped my turtle into his waistband and we walked out of the store. Please note that I am not particularly proud of this story. Little brothers should not, in general, be used as shoplifting mules. Also, thrift stores are for charity and I am probably going straight to hell for stealing from one. Stealing anything, in fact, should involve either necessity or ingenuity. This was a crime of opportunity and OCD. I had to have this beanie baby to complete my collection of the series and I was no longer able to acquire it at McDonald's. This was early enough into the beanie-baby-turned-happy-meal-toy craze that I had not yet gotten completely fed up with my local McDonald's employees and decided to resist collecting any of the babies at all. This decision came much later, on the second or third series, when I was stymied in my efforts to amass a perfect collection by one particularly surly and stubborn cashier. Having been a former employee of Mickey D's, I know darned well you can buy the happy meal toy separate from the happy meal. There is a button for it on the cash register. It is on the lower right side. This particular person refused to press said button and I refused to buy a meal which would not make me happy. It was over for me. Ruined... But the turtle came before all that.



6. He always says "I love you" before we get off the phone.
7. He once conspired with my future husband to lure me into the middle of our front yard and surprise me with the sprinklers. He couldn't have been more than 10 at the time. They laughed and laughed while I squealed and ran. I think it's sweet that they both recognize how important they are to me and so they work extra hard to get along.
8. He's talented. He wrote the music for my wedding (and, of course, he wrote and performed the ceremony). I also particularly like the song he wrong for our parents' anniversary. It's called "Opposite Noses" and goes something like this, "you've got a hook, I've got a pug..." something something something "it must be love..."
9. He's funny. We share a sick sense of humor. We often like to end our conversations on a gross note. For example, he likes to remind me about the time I passed gas out of both ends simultaneously in my sleep. Even though this incident obviously scarred him, he still loves me.
10. He has a reputation for being lazy. As our mother says, "He just sits down." He appears to embody that law of physics - a body at rest stays at rest - yet he's often up for a walk. I think he's misunderstood. He's just conservative with his energy.
    
11. He's smart. He scored 1500 on the SAT's (before they added that new third section).
12. He's not afraid to take risks. He once gave a chocolate rose to an older girl in school.
13. He can sleep anywhere. I still remember his neck, crooked at a 90 degree angle, as he slept on a couch in our crowded hotel room in Anaheim.
14. He's nice to animals. Even Rags, the pig dog, whose face we first saw together while not getting a ride home from Pooh corner. It's not like Pooh corner was very far - just a block from home, though it was all uphill - but somehow I felt like Rags was mocking us as he enjoyed our ride home. There he was on Suz's lap, as Mom and Suzanne were smiling, waving, driving up the hill. All I ever dreamed about on those walks home from school was a ride. Any little bit helped. I never forgave Rags for that look (or for chewing my shoe - the cute black one with the bow on it...) but Kevin didn't care. He's even nice to Lucy, the dog that, in the words of our mother, "barks and pees in her sleep."
15. He imitates my father well. It's spooky even. And he does a pretty good Mom.
16. He's afraid of moths. I never knew. Recently he was harassed by one in the Devil's Whore House. I hadn't really thought about it, but they are rather erratic and unpredictable. I find them annoying, more than frightening, but I can see where he's coming from. Ironically, after he shared with me his fear of moths, we went inside and watched Mothra.
    
17. He's not afraid of spiders. He used to keep a pet tarantula.
18. Kevin is a six year old boy whose mother loves him. At least that's what it said about him the "What Not To Name the Baby" book... Even that book couldn't knock his name.
    
19. Yet he once changed his name to "Simon" in elementary school. I always figured it was an homage to Simon LeBon, as my sister and I were devoted Duranies. Instead, it turned out that he had changed his name as a deductive exercise. There was a girl who rode his school bus who was rumored to have a crush on one of the two Kevins on the bus. He figured by changing his name, he could flush out whether or not he was the admired one. I'm not sure if his plan worked, but I do know that by sixth grade he was a quite the hot item and a trendsetter.
20. He's a Gemini. The Libra in me loves Geminis. They're every bit as artsy, with an even stronger pull in two directions. This is why we appear lazy. We are too busy deciding which way to go.
    
21. He saved me. From myself. I don't think I'd realized what a gloomy preteen I had been until he came along and brightened up my world. He gave me something to belong to when I needed it most.
    
22. He's not greedy. For Christmas once he specially selected which Tin Tin books he really wanted because he couldn't fathom getting the whole collection. (Of course, he got them all...)
    
23. Yet he's cunning. He strung out his potty training long enough that Mom was willing to negotiate big time. He began earning He Man figures for each intestinal sculpture he left in the right place. Soon he had the entire collection...
    
24. He's an adventurous eater. Frog's leg, crocodile, cactus... Even decorative soap on a dare.... Erik and I paid him a dollar for his efforts, but sadly we made him use it to buy a soda to wash out the soapy taste in his mouth.
25. He once consulted his penis for directions in San Francisco. I've always suspected that men consider their members to be some sort of built in GPS, but this day he totally proved it. We were wandering, somewhere between the Embarcadero and the Mission District, and he literally stopped, looked down, and, curving his fingers to represent recent turns we'd made, he discussed with himself (correctly) which way to go.



26. He says, regarding marriage, that he'd rather be lonely than annoyed, but I think if the right girl came along he might change his mind. The girl in this picture, however, is taken. Little Maribeth is all grown up and already married as of April 14th. Besides, she's his cousin. I wanted to include this photo for two reasons. One, no offense Maribeth, but did you cut your own bangs? And two, notice the pin on Kevin's shirt? That's right, that's the Fab Five he's sporting. My little brother has always been cool.
    

So here's to the next twenty six years of late night phone calls, evil schemes, and genuine laughter. To missing ferries, catching trains, and carpooling with the parents. To the books you'll read and the movies I'll never see. Here's to little adventures in big cities involving pirate dice and pubs with pints and to the death marches that always seem to precede them. To gross notes to end on and, of course, to Algorithms. Happy Birthday, baby brother.

goodbye, godfrey

Given my mood the last two days, I'd say that even though this adorable little sea lion weaner died within hours of his all-too-early-morning rescue, he's the highlight of my week. I retrieved him from behind a dumpster in the Embarcadero at 7:15 this morning. He'd been in the street earlier and was seen seizing, so I suspected he was suffering from domoic acid (in addition to emaciation). But then he released a bunch of runny black feces back at the site. Runny and black is bad, bad, bad and usually indicates some sort of internal bleeding. So I wasn't altogether surprised to find his noon feed canceled on account of death, but still I was sad. At least I got some pictures of him when he was still a bit perky and totally cute.

On another semi-good note, OC's follow up enema was deemed unnecessary today. Apparently, because I caught his problem sooner than usual, he was able to get the job done without sedation. Too bad I starved him all night in preparation for surgery just in case. It was cute at first, all the begging for food, but it soon grew pathetic and frustrating for all involved. Anyway, I was also thrilled when my vet decided not to charge me for the recheck.

Now I'm off to the grocery store, I guess. It's getting too late for take out (Morro Bay rolls up the sidewalks at 8:30) and there's really nothing much in the cupboards. This time I hope I get all the items I desire. You'd think that wouldn't be too difficult, but last time I went shopping, I bought a peach pie only to discover it had turned to apple before I got it home.

Wish me luck...

and today...

And today my stupid orange cat is vet bound (again) after missing just one day of meds. Really makes me wish I'd found that volcano yesterday...

today i...

Today I attended a meeting of my city's council. It made me want to throw myself in a volcano.

41 years ago today

My folks got hitched 41 years ago today. Or yesterday, by the time you're reading this, since I didn't actually start this tribute until nearly midnight... In any event, I was thrilled when I came across this photo of the young newlyweds. The stamp on the back says this shot was taken in September 1966, so they'd only been man and wife for a few months. Even without the date, you can tell they're newlyweds from the smile on my dad's face. That's the grin of a guy who's got God's okay to get laid on a regular basis.

I especially love that the VW bug is in the picture. If it's the bug I've heard so much about, it was Dad's other true love. If this car could talk, it would probly tell you about the time it once rolled into the river when knocked out of gear during a romantic rendezvous. If it could predict the future, it would cringe to know that it would soon be totaled when Mom crashed it into a pole in a parking lot (leaving it there and attempting to work her shift with a concussion...). Though I've never known the bug to have a nickname, I'd guess my folks gave it one. Based on their track record (Brownie, Greenie, and Big Red), I'd have to say that perhaps they called the bug Blackie?

I calculated that my parents have now been married to each other for 65% of their lives and, of course, 115% of mine. They celebrated this anniversary early and often, in their own quiet way. They saw an extra movie, had dinner out, spent some time in the garden (Dad planted all the new plants for Mom in the rain), and, best of all, they finally got a Tivo. They have no idea how much they'll love it because it isn't set up yet, but soon they won't know how they got along without it.

My parents are like my Tivo. I can't imagine a world without them. They provide me with information and entertainment, specially tailored to my personal preferences. They phone in every couple of days, keeping track of what's important to me. They're reliable, if a bit old fashioned (I have an old school Tivo, no dual tuner for me...), and when they are on the fritz, life totally sucks. They are my family's living hard drive - storing and sharing our family history, deleting the bad stuff to make room for the good.

I've learned a lot from my folks over the years. I'd like to think I'm applying their wisdom to my own happy marriage, but I know in my heart that all the credit for that goes to my uberpatient husband. I am spoiled and selfish and easily provoked. He coddles me and humors me and always lets me win. Still, my parents are the yardstick by which I measure my marital success.

Anyway, I'm proud of them. They've taught me that marriage isn't always easy, but it's always worthwhile. Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad.

today i am a man

I've always said it takes a man to catch a man. And by "man" I meant an adult male sea lion, of course. My previous attempts at netting adult males have varied - some spectacular, some pathetic - but all ultimately failed. Today, I have broken my losing streak and proven to myself that I am man enough to catch myself a big boy.

Okay, so Tapia isn't the biggest big boy I've ever seen. He's barely getting his sagittal crest, so he's not much more than five years old. And he probly doesn't weigh much more than 100 kilos (he was too big for our scale, so I can't say for sure), which means he's not much bigger than our average adult female. But still, he has balls (as you can see in this picture) and I took him down.

Now I must admit, I had a lot of help from my crew (three guys, three girls, all new to the sea lion scene). And Tapia himself assisted, by being lethargic and approachable. But he put on quite a show once we had him in the net. It's frightening, boarding back 200 pounds of pissed off muscle. I know, cuz I've done that much before. And I dare say, my girls did way less squealing than I would have. They did suggest perhaps we should let him go, that maybe he was feeling quite healthy after all, but I'd already seen the tell tale signs of domoic acid poisoning - back scratching, butt biting, and, as you can see in his mug shot, the lovely brown slobber. So we kept him.

True to form, I did have one complication. I was unable to free him from the net once I had him safely in the cage. Luckily, we were less than one mile from our triage center so we decided to secure the pole of the net just well enough to make the drive to our facility. It proved interesting, trying to free him from both the cage and the net inside his cramped pen, but that's all part of the fun, right?

The reason I had to catch Tapia myself was that I had already called in a favor from my rescue mentor turned calvary (the same gal who helped me clean up my dock rescue mess earlier this week). I'd asked her to join me on a rescue of a much more pathetic, abscess riddled sea lion pup who'd been sitting on a rock surrounded by ocean. His wounds were so obvious and painful, I just couldn't afford to miss so I begged my ringer to do my dirty work. She, of course, made his rescue look easy. The hardest parts were finding him (my first scout failed to see him and nearly sent me home) and getting him up the steep trail.

I'm happy to report that Popet is now pleasantly zonked out (on butorphanol and lorazepam), though I'm not entirely convinced he'll be alive in the morning. I would share pictures, but seriously, they're gruesome. My alarm is set to wake me obscenely early so I can give him more butorphanol at dawn. So I'm off, then, to sleep. My first night as a man.

patience is not my virtue

Early this morning I was called out to check on a sea lion in my neighborhood. The little yearling was on the skinny side of normal, extremely approachable, and reportedly lethargic. Before I arrived on the scene, however, he had decided to hitch a ride on a passing Harbor Patrol boat. Joy riding is decidedly not normal behavior, so he had me intrigued. When I found him, he'd recently ditched the boat and hauled out on a rather generous dock below a pier.

Now I've only had one dock rescue in my five year career. The opportunity just doesn't come along that often and, whenever it does, I happily extend the net to a more experienced volunteer. I've participated in a handful of others, though, so I know how it's done. It's all about patience, a slow approach, a swift swing of the net. Also, I learned the hard way, it's important to keep them on the dock once you have them in the net. So when my seasoned seal friend (basically my rescue mentor) didn't answer her cell right away, I thought, what the heck. It's worth a try. Though I was stealthy and brave, I really should have waited until he was more settled. He let me get within striking range, but my aim was awful. As you can see here (the wet spot on the empty dock), I got the body but not the head. In other words, I whiffed.

Conveniently, my sea lion soon came up on another, much less accessible dock. In the meanwhile, my rescue mentor had called back and she agreed to come down and check out the situation. She also brought her neighbor, we call him Good Neighbor Tim. Tim is much less experienced (in fact, before today he'd never really thrown the net), but by virtue of his height we decided he should be the one to descend the scary ladder and climb over the fence to access the dock. As you can see, Good Neighbor Tim was able to do what I could not. (Although I must say he too whiffed on his first try. He was given a second chance when the sea lion returned to reclaim his dock. Further evidence he was a good pick up...)

Here's a shot of Brindell, named for Good Neighbor Tim's granny, back at the site after a bit of breakfast. At 18.4 kg (that's 40.5 pounds, America) he was a handful to restrain. At least then I felt like I'd had a hand in helping him, though I know all the credit goes to my calvary. In any case, Brindell brightened what would have otherwise been an ordinary day.

cause for celebration

Today I had a moment of panic when I saw that my favorite harbor seal, Melissa, was no longer listed among the patients at the Marine Mammal Center. Suddenly dropping off the list without being included on a release notice is a very, very bad thing. Cursing myself for getting so attached to the first harbor seal of the season (a tough seal to be, just ask last year's Ree Ree, who, funny enough, came from the same naked beach, though not as early as February...), I typed up a brief but brave email to the professionals inquiring about her whereabouts. I was delighted to learn she actually had been released just this past Saturday, along with her boyfriend, Nigel.

While I was on the web confusing myself about Melissa's outcome, I was also on the phone learning that today my sister was finally offered a full time gig at her preferred place of employment, the animal ER. Working there exclusively will require some creative child care arrangements, but will ultimately reduce her days spent at work each month from 23 to 12. Beside the obvious financial benefits, Dr. Suz's skills and confidence will grow considerably as she's exposed to more and more bizarre cases. Not only will she become the kick ass doctor she has the potential to be (and, in many ways, already is), but her stories should prove ever more interesting as she unloads them on me via Verizon on her drive home. Of course, now that drive home will be happening at 2 am, so it may be that my voicemail gets to enjoy them first, but I don't mind sharing.

On the home front, today was sweltering hot and Erik decided to add a coat of water sealant to our deck. This was the perfect excuse to do what I probly would've done anyway - sit around sipping margaritas and not doing laundry. Happily, OC decided to join me, avoiding sticky foot and his evil brother, Blackers (whose newest disparaging nickname is Teste, as in Testosterone...). The black one, normally the home body, seemed to make a point of walking across the wet deck and going in and out of the cat window sans stairs.

As far as parasites go, I have found no definitive evidence that I've been infected. Of course I am still following an aggressive treatment protocol just in case. I did, however, find the cutest louse on a web site that sells giant microbes. I have not yet convinced myself that I can't live without him, but he's definitely on my list of things I should own someday. In fact, I suppose I could sell giant microbes at Big Y Small, as they are both big and small at the same time. Of course, if Texas is anywhere near as hot as today was, I can't imagine getting anything done at all.

feeling lousy

I'm feeling lousy. Literally. I keep scratching at the nape of my neck and behind my ears because I'm told that's where the lice go. I have no way of knowing if my itches are phantom or genuine. All I know is I've been exposed.

I thought this entry, this long overdue catch up entry, would be all about my fabulous experiences on the boat release last Friday. Instead all I can think about is the possibility that pesky parasites might be breeding in my hair. For once I am grateful for my mother's pathetic stringy locks. It is infinitely easier to work a tiny comb through my puny ponytail than it is for my nieces to police their luxurious manes. And though I know they didn't mean to expose me to this menace, I can't help but feel I've been wronged. The child-free should never have to buy a Nix kit or a Rid comb. Seriously, the directions on the comb suggest you should distract your child with a book or a video game. Even the manufacturers cannot imagine that a bona fide adult might be in need of their product.

The sad thing? I know if I share my possible parasites with Erik, it will be the end of his long hair. He's been threatening to get a haircut for months now. In fact, he even got a trim recently. Funny enough, it was from a barber who also had (and hated) his own long hair. They commiserated about the power of girlfriends during Erik's brief visit...

Although I am obsessed with my suspected scalp squatters, I must say my visit to the Farallon Islands remains the most significant aspect of my recent travels. I was delighted in so many ways. For one, I didn't puke. I didn't even lose it when someone else hurled over the side of the boat only to have the boat pitch, forcing his vomit to land on deck, very near my feet.

I was also thrilled to learn that I did know a few of the animals on the boat. I had been bummed when all my babies were released on earlier trips and then I saw that Woodco, my most recent fur seal, was on her way back to freedom. (Monahan, by the way, is also feeling much better. Hard to believe after the condition she'd been in. Sadly, the two fur seals that came from our area the day after Woodco and Monahan came in did not make it. Just goes to show how crucial early care is in the battle against domoic acid toxicity...) In addition to Woodco, Spanokopita, the only sea lion on the trip, had also earned his wings.

And, perhaps best of all, I got to witness the re-release of Astro, the oh-so-rare steller sea lion. Astro had been released in Santa Cruz just a couple days before, after spending 10 of his 11 months of life at the Center. His habituation to humans proved troublesome, however, as he shied from the ocean and chased researchers around. We hoped that dragging him out 34 miles to sea would remind him he was a marine mammal, not a puppy. Still, leaving him there to face the world alone seemed cruel... especially when he refused to leave his carrier.

Sadly, my photos of the event are sorely lacking. I knew my digital camera was woefully slow but even when my subjects were still, the ocean was not. I have plenty of pictures of anonymous waves, but very few of seals. Luckily, there were actual professionals on the boat and you can see their pictures here and there. I especially dig the photo from the Chronicle of Astro's eye peeking out of his carrier. He did that a bunch (in between naps), though I never caught the moment myself. Here's a shot of the North Island, and Astro's new friends. There's no beach on this island (or any of the Farallones, really), just this rocky approach. What I found most amazing (beside the simple fact the seals can get up on the islands at all) is how high they'll go. I got an almost great shot of a half a sea lion who had made it to the island's peak.

Unfortunately, I found that I, too, could nap on the boat. I have long bragged that I can sleep through anything. On the way out I was avoiding nausea. On the way back, I escaped boredom (we were 3 hours out to sea and once the seals were gone there was little else to do...). I'm sure my rest was mostly chemically induced (I had three forms of antiemitics working for me and drowsiness was a side effect of two...), so I can't take all the credit. Still, I am proud. And I am permanently contorted as the left side of my neck will not stop cursing me for using a fish sink as a pillow.

Even so, a pain in the neck and a possible parasite load are small prices to pay for a once in a lifetime experience. Notice I say once in a lifetime. Not because I couldn't go again, just because I probly won't.

Besides, it seems I may never again go anywhere for any length of time for my absence once again upset my orange cat's fragile fecal balance. Although my hubby saw him at least once a day while I was gone (he lured him with Fancy Feast, aka Kitty Crack...), apparently it was not enough to keep him hydrated on the inside. When I finally laid eyes on my poor OC, he was looking haggard and uncomfortable. Again I was fortunate to get a late afternoon vet appointment and even more fortunate that my vet was willing to sedate him for a proper roto-rooting. It meant he had to spend the night (in fact, I barely got him back before close of business the next day) but it was what he needed. I'm bummed I didn't get him back all fresh from sedation as I really did enjoy the affectionate side effects of his pain meds the last time. Really, though, I'm happy he's here at all. As suspected, my sister (his medical benefactor) has begun hinting that I should get a job to pay for his treatments. And Erik (my very supportive husband) has begun suggesting we look for a suitable alternative home for him. When I was unresponsive, fighting off tears, he assumed my cell phone dropped his call... Some conversations are best left unfinished. Honestly, if I did think there was an ideal home for a medically needy small animal killing machine, I might consider it. He's clearly second in command, literally the red headed step child. Still, he's my cat.

As if he knew I'd need a distraction (and a pseudo apology), I came home to discover that on his own way home Erik had picked up roses at the farmer's market (lots of them, actually). He later got us take out from the Mexican place down the street and he didn't complain as I monopolized the remote control to get caught up on my soap opera. A few margaritas later, I actually forgot to itch my head (though the mountain of lice laundry reminded me of my possible predicament...). Maybe there is hope for me yet.

seal updates

So I've had a couple of elephant seal rescues lately but I didn't take any photos because the first animal, Matti, was just pretty depressing (major pyrothorax, since been euthanized) and the second animal, Charlene, came in too late in the day to get good shots. The ellies all look pretty much the same, anyway, so I figured it wasn't worth getting up at 8 am to go take pictures. I was, however, secretly hoping that Charlene's name wouldn't work out, since she came in on 4/20. I offered a backup name (Chronic) that may or may not have made it through the censors...

What was worth waking up early for was my trip to Sausalito on Easter Sunday. I stepped out of my box a bit and went to work crew with a volunteer I've never traveled with before. It was her first visit to the center, which can be rather intimidating without an escort. We missed a lot of action on the home front (another friend actually called and begged me to turn around, they were having that crazy of a rescue day), but we got plenty of action of our own.

We started working in the harbor hospital where we found that Melissa's doing great. She's actually featured on the website as the first harbor of the year. I got some decent photos of her (including the one above) but since the most interesting ones were taken with my disposable camera, they're pretty grainy. She's up to 30 pounds now and is even eating whole fish. Luka is also doing alright. His bite wounds (from the abusive adult harbors at Pirate's Cove) are still healing (and some have abscessed) and he's been a little pukey, but he's still alive and kicking.

By the way, on the same web page, if you scroll down to fur seals and click on "check out new footage of our fur seal release" you can actually see Famous being released (at the very end of the video). Also, Shawna is on that page and she has also recently been released. Check out how fat she got and how sad her scars still look. Also, if you're watching the release video, you can see how small and crowded and scary looking the boat will be when I go on it this Saturday to release the remaining fur seals. I'm not really sure why I am going (all my fur seals have been released and I have a morbid fear of the ocean) but it somehow seems important to travel 27 miles out to sea through the so-called Red Triangle. At least I should have the nausea covered. I've got prescription and over the counter meds as well as those acupressure bracelets.

Anyway, while I was working up at the center, I did get to work with my most recent fur seals, Woodco and Monahan. They were still pretty fresh off the beach and Monahan hadn't yet aborted her toxic, domoic acid filled fetus, so they weren't being very photogenic. Friends who just returned from Sausalito tonight report that the two of them are now eating fish and looking great. Equally energetic are the scrawny sea lions I had recently, Spanokopita and Baba Ghanoush.

I also got this cute shot of Doughie, peeking at me from the pool.

I think the highlight of my trip, however, was getting to see Astro, the steller sea lion we've raised from a pup. He was picked up in Santa Cruz last June when he was just a baby. And although he is now over 200 pounds, he's still being bottle fed. He's actually due to be released this Wednesday (geez, that's tomorrow) as he is willing to eat live fish (the final exam for release) and he's at the age when he would naturally be weaned from mom. I must say I'm particularly proud of this close up (below) that I got when Astro was watching me restrain his neighbor, Woodco.

In any event, it was refreshing to make my semi-annual pilgrimage to Sausalito. I skipped it last year and had forgotten how satisfying it can be to work a ten hour day surrounded by poop and dead fish. It was a well-timed reminder of why I do what I do. I needed that reminder as things have been a bit rocky locally lately. We recently got our first ever paid staff person on site. Not a big deal, except for years I was actually aspiring to be that paid staff person (I had the grass roots support of my peers and many encouraging words from my would-be boss). Obviously, it didn't pan out. I grew accustomed to my life of sloth and they changed the requirements of the position so I was no longer eligible.

I am sure it's all for the better, but it's been a lot like getting a new roommate. Those who know me are groaning, because I am so not good with roommates... In fact, during a recent roommate type discussion, another seal friend of mine came up with a great new old tape for me to stew on. She attempted to shut down my opinion by asking me (and my friend who shares my opinion), "What happened to you? When I met you two, you used to be such nice girls." Apparently nice girls don't have strong opinions.

rough week for me and OC

I've been meaning to be a better blogger, but it's been a long week for me and my troubled cat, OC. It all started innocently enough with a Monday morning trip to the vet for vaccine boosters. I took both cats and decided I'd also have their blood checked (to confirm that I have not been poisoning them with their recently recalled canned food). The black one, being a ball of muscle and attitude, would not allow the vet access to his veins without opening some of her own. Rather than sedate him, we decided we'd wait and only test his blood if OC's came up bad.

OC, being the sweet cat he is, willingly received his vaccine, gave his blood and, being the generous sort, he even volunteered a urine sample. He did seem a tad stressed about the whole situation, but I didn't think much of it and I foolishly left with my increasingly lethargic cat. While driving home I was talking on the phone (to, of course, my sister) when I looked down and said, "I think OC is dead. I'll have to call you back."

I know what you are thinking. I should not be talking on my cell phone while driving. You're right. I'm pretty sure it's even against the law these days - though I don't think they're due to enforce it until June. And frankly, I am more dangerous when attempting to use my hands free device than when I'm just driving one handed... And, yes, I've heard that a cell phone user is as dangerous as a driver who would blow a .08. But then again, isn't .08 the legal limit and therefore it is legal to be that distracted / disabled? Not advisable, obviously, but not illegal.

But I digress. Really, what was upsetting was not my telephone intoxication but the fact that my cat did appear very much dead. Eyes open and glazed over, mouth open and gums pale, not responsive to sound or touch. I've seen it a lot in the seal business. My orange cat looked dead.

Luckily, OC was not dead. He was merely having a near death experience due to an adverse reaction to his vaccine. I rousted him to consciousness with a bit of stern shaking and he later required a steroid injection (Dexamethasone - which I've used before on two seals, both of which have died). I am disappointed that my spider senses did not see the incident coming. He had vomited in his carrier before we left the vet clinic which should have been a big old red flag. But though I like to think I am full of veterinary information (being related to a vet and giving injections to seals), I really only play one on TV. And so I did not know that the vomit was an omen that my cat would soon crash.

So OC spent the next 24 hours recovering from his ordeal. He slept a lot and didn't even protest that I would not allow him outside. The next morning he was perkier but I was a mess. I wanted to get the results of his blood test as soon as possible but after 3 phone calls (the first at 8:30 am) and 12 hours, I still had no news from my vet. Well, I guess he isn't my vet. He's my cats' vet. But I pay the bills, so I guess that makes him mine. Come to think of it, as I am just a parasite princess, you'd have to say that Erik technically pays the bills so I guess that means I was waiting for a call from his vet. In any event, I was both annoyed and relieved to finally hear from Erik's vet at 8:45 pm that I had not poisoned my cats with bad juju from China.

Wednesday was the calm before the storm. OC looked fine and resumed his normal life outside. Blackie was riding high as the night before he had brought in the biggest bird yet to be killed by my fiercely competitive cats. And Erik and I were relieved that the spicy Thai take out was gone. Now, I love my Thai take out, but even though it is difficult for me to ingest (and for Erik to digest), I am too ashamed to admit it is actually too hot. It took so long to convince the Thai food man to make Thai food this hot for such a white girl that I am reluctant to give him any hint that he has gone too far. Actually, that's not true. I have given him a hint. I used to order it "very, very spicy" at which point he would laugh with recognition and say, "ah, very, very spicy." Now I have made a point of using only one "very." In any event, the Thai food is still quite yummy, it just hurts a little.

Thursday afternoon started the next round of drama. OC came in and indicated he was having a bit of trouble emptying his colon. From the bulging of his butt, I'd say he'd been trying for a while. We were lucky to get a late afternoon vet appointment which got things moving just enough to keep us out of the ER overnight. Despite my sister's encouragement to continue the treatment at home (all I'd need, she said, were some rubber gloves, a plastic tube, and some warm water in a syringe...), I decided instead to let OC spend all day Friday back in the hospital being thoroughly evacuated. Of course again I exposed my lack of expertise as I did not stop feeding him in anticipation of his sedation. It only dawned on me at 7 am that perhaps his stomach should be empty. Personally, I was operating on the potty training theory (food in = poop out) and the food is love theory (food = love).

In any event, in between seal transports and seal rescues (both elephant seals, nothing very notable), I finally got my empty cat back. OC was so grateful to be home that he gave me tons of kisses. I learned later that his affection was most likely just a side effect of the pain med he was on, but whatever. I felt loved. Actually, I felt a bit dirty and molested. (He had accosted me on the way out of the shower so his shedding fur was sticking to my once clean places and some of his kisses were not in the most appropriate locations...)

Saturday he finally seemed all the way fine. It was a beautiful day so I let him outside while I cleaned the house, opening all the windows to release the stress filled air. Today, since it's raining, he is hanging out with me, his body guard. Meanwhile, I'm continuing to audition replacement canned foods. Today's sample was expensive (the label says "elite") and disgusting looking (actual circular bone looking tuna pieces) and so, of course, the black cat loved it. OC, who could use a little liquid in his diet, couldn't care less. He's all about the dry food.

Personally, I am all about the breakfast as I can't believe I am up this early (OC was my alarm clock, protesting the wetness of his fur) so I'm off to toast some waffles and scramble some eggs...

13 things I love about Sadie

It's hard to believe that it's been thirteen years since I found myself in a SF delivery room witnessing the birth of my second ever niece. I actually missed most of the birth, as it was my job to wander the halls entertaining her 2 year old sister, Zoe. The wandering went pretty well, as I recall, except for the time we accidentally took the elevator down to the morgue. In any event, we made it back to the right floor just in time to be welcomed in moments after the blessed event. As sleep deprived as the rest of the delivery crew, I remember only snippets. I recall in particular that I was forbidden by my 2 year old charge to handle the squirmy little infant. And of course I can't forget that while I was cooing over her sister, poor Zoe slipped and bonked her head on the bathroom floor.

In the thirteen years that have passed, I have had the pleasure of watching both girls grow into amazing women. Though I now officially embarrass them (usually unintentionally), they tolerate my company more than most adults. I treasure the times I get to spend with them. I am especially grateful for the very weird year of their mother's breast cancer. It was such a horrible time for all, but being together made it wonderful. I was sometimes the third parent, sometimes the third sister, sometimes just the whiny pain in the ass with the driver's license. Like all families, we are now permanently bound together by sharing an intimate knowledge of the smell of each other's farts.

In any case, today I celebrate the little girl, the second born, who took us all by surprise. And so, for your enjoyment, here are 13 reasons I love Sadie:

1. She has no price. She can't be bought. I once offered her $50 to eat a lollipop with a bug inside and she flat out refused. She will not be exploited for my entertainment.
2. She likes oversized things like fake money, big pencils, and large calculators. She helped me plan my future roadside attraction (which I will run when Erik makes me move to Texas) - Big Y Small - where everything is either gigantic or minuscule.
3. She's got groove. During the cancer, she spent many hours trying to teach me to dance. And I often saw her in my rear view mirror, caught up in a particularly good song.
4. She took very good care of her treasured pet duck, Curry. Curry and I had a somewhat adversarial relationship (he bit me and I cursed him) and Sadie didn't hate me for hating him. She did say, however, that if I were responsible for his death (something I sometimes threatened and instantly regretted the day he did pass on) that I would no longer be her favorite anti.
5. She's smart, freakishly smart with numbers, in fact. She likes to catch the clock when it's 11:11 and she gets a kick out of noticing patterns on the odometer.
   
6. She can lie. This is a skill I don't (usually) have. She once convinced me that her sister has received a necklace as a gift from a cute boy. Zoe, of course, insisted it was from her best friend. Though I had no reason to doubt either one of them, I believed Sadie. When the truth came out, I vowed to get revenge with another harmless recreational lie. Sadie was disappointed when I successfully lied but left her on the hook for less than a minute.
   
7. She likes teen stuff like makeup and manicures, Project Runway and America's Next Top Model and, of course, Wilmer Valderama.
   
8. She's got the gift of touch. She can cuddle her way into the most crowded bed and she holds her mother hostage with a half completed head massage. If she isn't a masseuse at some point in her life, it will be a crime.
   
9. She is a loyal friend. She's a secret keeper and a safe place.
   
10. She likes her boobs. Everyone should like their boobs.
11. She's funny. When she saw a car with the vanity plate, "Go Dog Go," she pulled along side and asked them, "Do you like my hat?"
12. She's not afraid to speak her mind, even to adults. She plays sports (especially softball - which I call Cryptonite because it weakens my superpowers) and in the course of her career she's had to deal with some difficult political situations. She has never shied away from sharing her thoughts with her coach.
    
13. When she's mad, she calls her sister Doughie.

I wish she were older because there are so many other wonderful things to share. She's photogenic. She's creative. She wants to be tall. She's a good sport and she loves her mother dearly. She's nice to little kids and people who are different. She refuses to describe people by their race. She's got style. She's not afraid to be herself.

Happy Birthday, Sadie.

fun with fur seals

Meet Monahan, the more photogenic of two Northern Fur Seals that my Friday crew and I collected off the beaches. Apparently she's an adult female (all white whiskers - who knew?). She couldn't have stranded closer to our triage facility if she tried, which was very thoughtful of her as we had two other animals coming in at the same time (another fur seal from the north and a big sea lion from the south).

Since we had such a busy day (and because the folks in Sausalito were tied up with big sea lions all their own), little Spanokopita had to spend a second night with us. Not a problem for me, as I found him quite adorable. I was, however, disheartened to see him growing more lethargic despite his improved nutrition. After a number of tubings and subcutaneous fluids, he finally offered a urine sample. I suspect it will reveal an exposure to the neurotoxic Domoic Acid (from the harmful algae bloom Pseudo-nitzschia) as this is one of the most common reasons we get clusters of sea lions and fur seals (and because water trackers have confirmed a recent bloom). Despite my suspicions of their condition (further supported by Spanokopita's sporting the trademark brown slobber), none of my patients had full blown seizures.

And because I truly do love him more, here's a picture of Woodco, the fur seal I netted myself. I was especially thrilled that Woodco was the first seal rescued in my recently refurbished net. It didn't matter that he, too, was in his happy place and hardly put up a fight. My heart was still racing and my adrenaline flowing. I got to feel like a hero without having to do anything extraordinary.

By the way, notice the lovely purple stripe on his back? Not my finest moment. Though I am aware that fur seals depend on the quality of their fur for their warmth, and while I am aware that we take extreme precautions not to compromise their coat in any way, and though we could easily tell the two seals apart as they differed significantly in size, I held poor Woodco and Monahan down while my friend marked them with different colored grease markers. This is a common practice for elephant seals who share pens, so we did it out of routine more than anything else. Clearly we didn't really think through the whole fur thing... Anyway, it gave us another opportunity to learn and another reason to admire our seal boss as she very diplomatically educated us without making us feel stupid. Of course, we still felt stupid and scolded ourselves all day, but at least she didn't make us feel that way.

Anyway, I am actually off to see her in person soon. I will be following my recent patients up to Sausalito and working a couple of shifts there. I leave in, oh, less than 8 hours and having finally finished packing, I am off to bed. Too bad that means I have no time to tell you of today's rescue, Soup. I tried not to rescue Soup (having put him on watch Friday), but he just wouldn't go away. But at least you can enjoy his picture.

saucy spanokopita

Today brought another sea lion pup I didn't directly rescue. Spanokopita came from the same area (picked up by our friends with State Parks) and weighs a full 4.4 kg more than Baba Ghanoush. He's still pretty skinny, but not so bad I couldn't share a full body shot.

Sea lions are squirrelly and bitey and fast, and so I've been delighted to get a sprinkling of them in the middle of all the elephant seals. Ellies are the ideal training models so I've had to share my toys. Coaching is satisfying in its own way, but handling is what it's all about. With the sea lions, I have no qualms about keeping all the action to myself.

So, it looks like I'm going to get at least one extra feeding with Spanokopita. His morning transport was postponed as the folks in Sausalito have their hands full (releasing one adult male sea lion and bringing in another). If tomorrow is as crazy as Wednesday was, he may even have to spend two nights here in Morro Bay.

And after my two days in charge are over, I'll be packing up and transporting myself to the Sausalito to work a couple days on crew. I can hardly wait to see all my patients in person again.

I'd write longer, but I guess I'm off to bed. Another early morning awaits.

baby baba ghanoush

Okay, so I probly shouldn't even count this rescue as mine. I wasn't even on the beach where he stranded. I was miles away, on a different beach, picking up a different species with the help of the fire department and the harbor patrol. I merely picked him up from the ranger station after his capture and helped get him fed. But this cute little sea lion weaner, Baba Ghanoush, is way more photogenic than the two elephant seals I did wrangle personally today so I couldn't resist claiming him as my own.

At just 13 kg, he is the picture of emaciation. I've intentionally spared you the full body shot. His saggy baggy skin is just so sad. I figure I'll get better pictures in the morning. (I had to brighten this one up in Photoshop. No flash photography is allowed and I took this just before his 9 pm feed.) But I decided to go with this one as I really wanted to get something posted.

The last two seal days I've had were much more discouraging and not as visually appealing. First I got to work with the otter we didn't want to pick up. She'd been steadily declining and regularly drawing a crowd despite, or perhaps because of, my signs. She was so very cute but, since she died on transport, I was having trouble putting a happy spin on her tale. At least that means she was a good pick up...

Then the next night, last night, I worked with my second ever adult harbor seal. Adult harbors would sooner die than strand so, not surprisingly, both died within hours of rescue. My first adult harbor was years ago and she died right after we tubed her (presumably from the fishing gear in her digestive track). Yesterday's seal had a much more obvious ailment - a gigantic shark bite that removed most of his femur. It isn't often when you're actually glad to see an animal die but this guy needed to go. I actually didn't work with him when he came in for which, I think, I am quite grateful. I was just on clean up detail, after finding him dead at 11 pm when it was time for more pain meds. I got some really great gruesome shots of the wound but somehow I don't think you need to see them. At least the seal got some good drugs before he passed. The other blessing is that he was a boy. This means we don't have to keep an eye out for a newly orphaned pup.

And so, even without these two dismal days to contrast, today was a good day. The coordination alone was a challenge. All three seals were called in within 10 minutes of each other and they were each in distinctly different directions. Amazingly, not only did we recruit enough help (including one guy who had to sit on the beach and wait for us for two hours), we also had a chance to get lunch (take out) and stop and pee (the real miracle).

Tomorrow will be an early morning with three mouths to feed, two pens to clean, and a transport to prepare so I guess I'm off to bed.

pictures don't do him justice

So yesterday, on my last of three seal days in a row, I did get a chance to return to the green elephant seal with my camera in hand. Looks like he'll be sticking around and molting (a process that takes a couple weeks) and so the people of Avila will have to learn to live with him. This photo, disappointingly, doesn't quite capture his amazing greenness. I could have pumped it up in Photoshop but then that would be cheating, wouldn't it? (Not that I'm above cheating, mind you. I'm all for it in board games and team sports though I think it's all wrong in relationships and risky in taxes.)

Perhaps a close up does a better job? In any case, at least there you can see the barnacles he's collected. And you can see the patchiness of his soon to be molted fur. Anyway, he was the closest thing I got to seal action yesterday. I hung signs at a popular harbor seal haul out and followed up on a couple of long shots (taking long walks on empty beaches), but that was it.

Of course the animal that was on my mind most was Thornberry, my first fur seal pup from last year, as he was being released at the Farallone Islands yesterday. Did I ever mention that he turned out to be a hybrid (half fur seal, half sea lion)? Pretty exciting to me, anyway. Looking back, I do recall noticing that my second and third fur seals looked distinctly different from my first, but I had no idea it was all about the DNA.

So as a refresher, here's Thornberry (on the left, half sea lion) and Cranny (below, all fur seal). I see it in their profiles, their coloration, and even the shape of Thornberry's body. Their differences are also likely to be more than skin deep. The sea lion in Thornberry will make him thigmotactic (liking to cuddle), but the fur seals around him aren't into that sort of thing.

After whistfully imaging my baby's first day back in the big ocean, I learned this morning that I get to go on the last of three fur seal releases. On April 28th I will discover if I suffer from motion sickness while traversing shark infested waters. Even if I weren't familiar with its ominous nickname (the Red Triangle), we TMMC volunteers have had first hand confirmation about the sharks there. During one ill-fated release a couple of years ago, volunteers saw Swissy meet her untimely demise at the water's surface. Very very ugly for all involved. I do think someone got pictures of the event, though you can imagine we're in no hurry to publicize them. Ever since, we don't go to the Farralones during peak shark season (August). Still, it's a valuable release spot for animals who are likely to be habituated to humans. After spending most of five months in rehab (basically the whole of their lives), these fur seals need a little distance from our world. Anyway, I'm not going to let a little vomit and predation keep me from having a good time. It's never stopped me before...