36 things I love about Wendy

Wendy is officially my oldest friend. And by that I mean the friend I've had the longest, of course, not the most geriatric... I wish I could say I knew her when she was the soccer playing cutie to the left. Alas, we were eight then, and not yet transplanted to Tiffany Elementary School. She may wish we'd known each other then, too, so I wouldn't have been tempted to include the photo below - her fourth grade picture - from the year we actually met. Not that Wendy's fourth grade picture is bad. It's fourth grade after all, and it was the era of Magnum P.I., so Hawaiian prints were definitely in. If I recall, I was wearing Izod in my school photo. Graciously, they only shoot your torso, so no one can see my dreaded Tuff Skins, the bane of my elementary school existence.

Wendy was, and still is, so much cooler than me in every single way. Not only has she never, to my knowledge, sported Tuff Skins, I'm practically certain she never peed her pants waiting for the lunch bell to ring. (Sadly, perhaps you already surmised, my fourth grade self cannot claim the same...) She seemed so at home, so comfortable with herself. I would've never guessed she was as new to the school as I was. And it was obvious already that she was nicer than me. She would have never pelted Naomi Largo in the face with a big red ball for putting the moves on her square dancing partner...

Wendy's best friend at the time was Daisy and, man, I just thought they had the coolest names. All my life, it seems, I've always known another Jenny... In college, for example, I was one of four Jennys: I was Jen Down the Hall, as opposed to Jen my Friend, Jen my Roommate, and Jen Across the Hall... Never have I met another Wendy or Daisy. To the left you can see them at 6th grade graduation. I wasn't there. I had left a week earlier for the annual Thomas Family pilgrimage to Pennsylvania, the homeland. I think plane fares must be cheaper before the school year ends, cuz it wasn't the only last of day of school I missed. It's the just the only one I still bug my parents about. I too could have been pictured wearing a belted dress with puffy sleeves. But there's no way my parents would have gotten me a corsage. See what I mean about Wendy being super cool?

Twenty six years later, I remain impressed by how comfortable Wendy is in her own skin. She's still a snappy dresser and a nice girl. And I'm pretty sure she still hasn't peed her pants in public. I've come to admire more than just her name, her plucky spirit, her fashion sense, and her bladder. Wendy has become in many ways my moral yardstick. I often pause and wonder, "What would Wendy do?"

I love the photo to the right as this is my Wendy. Just seeing that familiar disapproving look, I can hear the sound of my name in her voice. It comes out sharply at first, but is softened with just a hint of southern drawl. Beneath her protest of whatever heinous thing I have done or suggested, I hear amusement. Of course, I could be wrong. In truth, she may very well be genuinely appalled. Either way, Wendy lets me be me and for whatever mysterious reason, she finds it in her heart to call me friend.

I only hope this posting will do her justice. No way to know without getting on with it. So, I give you 36 reasons I love Wendy:

1. She tells a great story. One of my favorites is the recent tale of her unlost cat, Lou Pucci. She told me all about how skittish he was when he first came in to her life. Then she detailed one marvelous evening when he came up to join her in her bed. She laid there quietly, back to him, not wanting to ruin the moment, jumping for joy inside. Before she knew it, the spell was broken. Lou had left on his own accord. The magic had vanished. In its place, there was cat pee. Lou Pucci had peed on her.
   
2. That's not all. Once, when she was minding her own business, a passing Canadian goose let loose all over her, her husband, and the newspaper they were reading. I recall I could hardly control myself as she described the sound of the guano pelting the paper. I imagined that from such heights it had picked up significant velocity. This goose, apparently, was also very well fed. Wendy and Zubin were covered in feces. Zubin was far from pleased. Wendy was shocked, but she could already see the humor in their situation. That's Wendy for you. She doesn't let a little pee or pooh get her down.
   
3. Though she's accepting of the accidents of others, Wendy hopes never to fart in front of her boyfriend. Until she mentioned it, I had never realized that I myself have never heard her pass gas. Perhaps one of the secrets of Wendy's success is that she is exceedingly polite? Or does her power lie with her control over her digestive tract? Anyway, she does accept that inevitably Rob will witness an unexpected intestinal outburst. In fact, she has asked me to send her an email that she can forward to him with instructions on just how he should react. What I find most charming is not her fear of farting, or her planning and preparation for her eventual doom. What I find most hilarious is that I am clearly not to be trusted with direct access to Rob's email address. Wendy's no dummy. Anyway, Rob, in case you are reading this, you are to envelope Wendy in your arms and hold her until her face is no longer red. You will not laugh or comment on any qualities of the broken wind - auditory or olfactory. In fact, you will never speak of the incident again.

4. She is a good kitty mama. Even though Lou peed on her, she still loves him. And though he shows love with his teeth, she also adores his roomie, bad ass Barkley. Of course, they both live in the shadow of the memory of Cody, who you can see in the photo above. Cody was Wendy's Fabian, the remarkable feline companion of her young adulthood. They were blessed to have each other.
5. She has a colorful vocabulary, for a kindergarten teacher. She calls lame guys donkeys and sometimes refers to herself as a turd... In fact, I am the one who claims she won't fart in front of her boyfriend. In her words, she'd rather "poot in private."
   
6. She loves to read. The photo to the right shows that at the tender age of two she took a break from opening Christmas presents to savor the pleasure of a new book. I love that when I predicted I might some day develop an addiction for prescription medications, she suggested I get addicted to reading instead.
7. She encouraged me to start this blog and turned me on to blogs in general. I wonder if she regrets this after reading reasons one through three?
   
8. She has no debt. Seriously, I cannot imagine having no debt. Her mother credits Zubin as the driving force behind this remarkable fiscal feat. Whatever the source, Wendy continues to live within her means and for this I applaud her.
   
9. She's open to corruption. I once hosted a study session and served jell-o shots as refreshments. I love that she ended up going home in my feather dress.
10. She wasn't allowed to come to my 10th birthday party. Perhaps her mother knew I'd someday be the bad influence? It's too bad, really, cuz it was the only surprise party I've ever had and we went to an ice cream parlor.
    
11. She appreciates Erick Mafong. He's another former Tiffany Tiger who is sweet, if not the slightest bit eccentric. We both hold him in high regard, though he may not know it. (By the way, he was allowed to come to my party. In fact, he came early and nearly ruined the surprise...)
    
12. She likes her feet. She submitted this photo of them to Jones Soda. They never made it on to a bottle, but I voted for them a few times.
    
13. She discourages me from selling myself short. Through her, I have learned it is not okay to buy love with food (though I still believe that food is love...) and that people who are "friends with benefits" should both benefit...
    
14. She appreciates a well written letter and forgives when they are not forthcoming. She so enjoyed the letters we exchanged in college that she thought we might someday publish them. Sadly, I have reviewed the unsent letters in my possession and I can assure you no one would pay to read them. Still, she thought enough of my correspondence skills to set me up with a mysterious pen pal, Todd. In the interest of fairness, I ended up neglecting him as well.
    
15. She even loves letters when she's not the recipient. She organized a letter writing campaign for her mother's 50th birthday.
16. She had Zubin. As you can imagine, Zubin was a pretty extraordinary person to capture Wendy's heart. Like many young couples, Wendy and Zubin had a casual wedding - the bride wore Converse. Unlike most young couples, their wedding took place in a hospital shortly before Zubin had surgery to remove the benign tumor growing on his brain. (As if any brain tumor can truly be considered benign? Not malignant, sure, but benign seems a stretch...) What always impressed me was how normal they were despite the challenges of quadraplegia. Wendy and Zubin were adorable, funny, and genuine. They didn't dwell on disappointment and they didn't take themselves too seriously. Theirs was a romance for all ages. In the words of her mom, "they learned how to care for each other in ways not many of us will ever master."
17. When the time came, she let him go with dignity and grace, on his terms, without a fuss.
    
18. Wendy is practical, even about paralysis. When she wanted to end a fight, she left the room. Despite his objection, she'd offer Zubin's underwear to Cody, whose greatest pleasure was snuggling them.
19. She's doesn't sweat the small stuff. For example, she hasn't yet disowned me for the stupid things I say like how I thought it was cool her parents were getting a divorce cuz then she'd get more financial aid in college. And she didn't flinch when I asked Zubin if losing his ability to move improved his sense of hearing when I was amazed he could make out the words to a Red Hot Chili Peppers song that was garbled to me.
20. She did, however, once threaten to punch me. We were both on deadline and though I've lost the specifics, I remember I was being a bit of a pest. But Wendy's not really violent, so I wasn't afraid. Still, she could totally take me if she wanted to. And I don't say that about most people...
    
21. She is smart, though Calculus was not her favorite subject. I remember once our teacher actually scolded her for asking a "stupid question." Ouch.
    
22. We also got a "D" on our final project for English, senior year. Our teacher, Barf Bag (as in Carrier of Ralph...), told us the "D" stood for "Disappointing." We didn't care. In fact, I'm pleased we could be as disappointing to him as he'd been to us. As I recall, we were forced into his class by a scheduling problem - we couldn't have Mrs. Flores and still take Calculus and Journalism... Anyway, I love that Wendy embraced her inner rebel and skated with me on this lame assignment.
23. I once caught her dancing with her mom in their living room to Dan Seals' song, "Bop with Ya Baby." I loved getting a peek into their private life. It was refreshing to see that not every mother-daughter relationship was coated in adolescent angst. They remain close and I consider myself fortunate to count them both among my friends.
24. Wendy does not like email forwards. If you are going to add something to her inbox, it better be original.
    
25. She can drive stick. I can too, now, but she's been driving stick since high school. She can also back into parking spaces, something I still avoid.
26. She's learning to drink scotch.
27. She embraces her inner dork. For example, she never hid her affection for Huey Lewis. I was so bummed when I saw him in the SF airport and failed to get his autograph for her. I stopped myself as I knew if I'd approached him I would've blathered something about how cool Wendy was for loving him even though he was so dorky. Only later did I realize I could've just gone up and told him my name was Wendy and I was his biggest fan...
28. Our younger brothers were friends. We agree that it is better that we do not know the details of the adventures they had together.
29. She was our Prom Queen and she had her own unofficial fan club - a collection of cute sophomore boys who are now her lifelong friends. Not surprising, now that you know so many wonderful things about her, eh?
30. She collects Pink Panthers. This picture features the very first of her menagerie. You may recall from her mom's blog that she was once consoled by a Pink Panther cup purchased for her by her aunt after she'd been spanked for harassing her brother. She's also fond of crows, which is how she came across this most excellent piece, done by a mutual friend of ours (whose fan club Wendy and I are most definitely in...).
31. She's not shy and she owns her truth. She swears I tell this story wrong, but as I remember it, she was once the focus of an adolescent boy's lame attempt at blackmail. She refused to be held hostage by his threat to reveal the details of their innocent rendezvous. Instead, Wendy announced them herself while standing on a bench and commanding the attention of her field hockey team. As I recall, it went something like this, "He tried to put his hands down my pants and I let him..."
32. While she agrees that girls have effectively ruined pirates for boys, she does not agree that vikings are next. I don't know, though. Vikings have all the same appeal - cute costumes, funny accents, an excuse to drink and carry weapons... And I've even seen them featured on the Backyardigans. You heard it here first. It's only a matter of time.

33. She is a great friend. She makes me wish I lived in the Northwest so I could attend social gatherings with her such as Sausagefest and CD parties. And I'm secretly jealous of Debbie, her high school best friend pictured above. Those two keep in touch like nobody's business. I'm more a laissez-faire best friend myself. I'm convinced my life is more interesting when the stories I've collected over a couple years are condensed into a single marathon phone call or a couple of verbose emails.
    
34. She doesn't feel old. Sometimes I do.
    
35. Perhaps this is because she is athletic. Besides field hockey and soccer, as a kid she also ran track and played basketball. As an adult, she walks to work and is a member of a climbing gym. (Just don't call her "svelte." That didn't go over well when she heard it was used to describe her by a friend's parent. I know how she felt. I heard a friend's dad once called me a "grub." I'd take "svelte" over "grub" any day...)
    
36. She let me keep the papier mache cat I made for her. It's technically unfinished anyway as she didn't think glow in the dark eyes were a great idea and now I can't decide... Besides, she claims to love the purple scarf I knitted for her years later in exchange.

So happy birthday, Miss Wendy. Here's to another 26 years of friendship. May you always be my oldest friend.

P.S. An extra special thank you goes out to Merry ME, Wendy's awesome mom, who hooked me up with the groovy pictures. There are so many more you didn't get to see (my true present to you, Wendy) but which I thoroughly enjoyed...

P.P.S. And since she asked, here's the shot of me and Wendy at our high school graduation. See how my eyes are closed? Just one more piece of evidence that Wendy is at all times cooler than I am:

mom would be proud

So the other day I accidentally spread yogurt on my bagel instead of cream cheese. I immediately thought of my mother, who once mistook her conditioner for shampoo - for a whole week. I felt even more like my mother when I realized I had been suspicious of the especially runny cream cheese but didn't toss it out. My mom is all about keeping food past its prime. A quick survey of her kitchen will yield any number of culinary nightmares - moldy cheese, browning avocados, wilted lettuce, wrinkled tomatoes, sprouted potatoes... My mom is so into old food, in fact, that when I blamed some older eggs for a recent stomach illness, my mom defended the eggs. She explained that the eggs in her own fridge were significantly older and that my brother once ate an egg that was even a little green and he was still fine. This just made me want to vomit more. My dad's explanation, that the eggs would've made me sick sooner if they were the source of my malaise, was much more palatable and scientifically sound.

with and without foam

I did not want to go to Guadalupe on Friday. Guadalupe is the farthest south we ever go for a rescue. Technically it's not even in our county. There's a great steak place there which took me ten years to try simply because it's so very far away. Anyway, I was sure that no self respecting sick sea lion would wait on the beach nearly two hours for my crew to arrive. I figured we'd drive all that way and return empty handed. I was totally wrong. We found her there, all well behaved, sitting in the sloping tideline of the unspoiled beach. She didn't even take off when some spectators (who'd just given us a $20 donation) got too near. She didn't bite at us in the net or try to escape when the waves rushed in. She was the picture of cooperation. Off shore a thick line of birds flew south endlessly. It was simply breathtaking. Everything went so well we named her Smooth.

Smooth never did seize for us, but it seemed she really wanted to. She had all the usual markers - the brown slobber, bobbing head, seizy eyes. But she was nicely hydrated and it was late, so we left her alone for the evening. Sounds like she was a bit of a butt to box up the next morning but other than that the day was quiet.

Sunday I got a little more action. I was able to pass Modred's rescue off on my south county crew (she was on the drive on beach), so I didn't have to get another pair of sneakers wet. She was just about the strangest sea lion I've seen. Instead of brown slobber, she had white foam. And tons of it. She was head bobbing constantly - literally for hours. Though she wouldn't seize for me, she wouldn't settle either. I made a case for some lorazepam and left her for the evening.

Apparently Modred had no problem seizing this morning. She was unresponsive to touch and totally flat. Not surprisingly, she died on transport this afternoon. Unfortunately, she wasn't the only one. Monday's crew had four more animals, one of which died during rescue. And to think I was whining about how far I had to drive. At least I didn't have to watch anyone die.

tarred and feathered

Didn't I predict I would get a call today? Wednesdays, I tell you. The fates were kind, however, as I was able to fit my seal in between my vet visits and my lunch date (which turned into breakfast). She was another delivery from the drive on beach. All I had to do was pick her up. Easy enough for me. The guy who caught her had been trying for three days.

So you can see from her picture she's got a tar problem. We wanted to name her Tar Baby. We figured it wouldn't fly cuz it wasn't PC but actually it didn't fly because it was taken. Olio didn't work either. So in my absence they came up with Twinkle Tar, which really isn't all that bad.

Her tar is actually pretty dramatic. The thickest spot even has feathers in it, which I found amusing in a sick sort of way. I don't know whether the tar was the cause of her other problems - distended belly, bony frame, possible prolapse - but at least she still had considerable fight in her. We only had her for an hour (long enough to stretch her legs before the transport), but boxing her up took about half of that.

The vet, like the fates, was also kind to me today. He manipulated my bill to my distinct advantage and suggested that although there is little more we can be doing medically, it is too soon to be talking euthanasia. He's thinking we should throw caution to the wind and put OC on Fancy Feast to increase the moisture in his system. He would be at increased risk for urinary crystals, but we'd keep an eye out and add acidifiers to his diet to manage them. He also wants to know where OC's been eating long thick grass and picking up ticks. I have no clue. I guess he is getting the ticks in the long thick grass, but I swear there is no grass in my neighborhood. This is California in the summer. Everything is brown.

So I am relived. OC and I have dodged another bullet. And besides, I realized I can't kill him before the LSAT. That would really tank my score. I am, however, in the process of negotiating my way off the seal schedule for September, to afford myself more study time. I'm pretty well ingrained, so it's painful at this point. Even a reduction in days would be helpful. To think, I might actually have to blog about something other than seals...

this is your seal on drugs

I don't think I've ever been happier to see a seal seize than I was on Sunday when ICBM (named after an inter continental ballistic missile), who turned from utterly unresponsive on the beach to super scary aggressive in the carrier, finally threw herself into a fit. Having learned my lesson on Nashville (who I see is not on the website and therefore not likely in this world...), I remembered to bring the good drugs to the beach. But, no, she didn't seize then. Not while she was all nicely entangled in the net. That would be too easy. Instead she waited until we got her back in the pen where she could, you know, run all around and bite things. Anyway, we were just deciding how to approach her safely when she threw her head back and had the biggest seizure I've ever witnessed. Often we see the whites of their eyes (which is, I believe, a band of connective tissue). This is the first time I've seen the red that lays beyond. Heartbreaking, but a relief, as we knew she needed meds and had no other guarantee that we could get them into her.

After we got her nice and stoned, she stayed pretty well zonked until, of course, I came back to give her her evening Phenobarb. Like on the beach, she went from totally flat to totally bonkers in an instant. Only then did we realize she was acting nonvisual. (Not a good thing, as blind sea lions can't fish. This is the reason Swansong, who was rehabbed and actually scheduled for release, didn't make it to the ocean again...) You would think that it would be easy to sneak up on a blind seal but you'd be wrong. A blind seal is a scared seal. And therefore a scary seal. So I had to call in reinforcements at 9 pm. With four people (instead of two) we were able to get the job done, but it wasn't pretty. Is it mean that I'm a little jealous that she was well behaved for her morning Phenobarb? Lucky Monday crew. Anyway, I see she's on the website which means she's been admitted. Perhaps this means the nonvisual thing was temporary?

Speaking of temporary, it seems that OC's lucky streak of free flowing feces is once again coming to an end. Gee, how long has it been? Shall we check the calendar? No need. Just refer to the credit card statement. It's been exactly one month and one day since his last incident. And before that? Well, that was in May, so we'd made it just about two months, our longest stretch since this whole nightmare began. We also have had visits in April, March, and January. Could my sister actually be right that this has become a quality of life issue for him? I mean, it can't be fun to have giant fingers up your butt once a month.

Really, I thought she was just being cheap, setting herself up to back out of our unwritten contract. You know, the one where she promised over fondue and cocktails that she'd pay his butt related bills if I would just give him a home. Well, now that those bills are up to $1441 for the year ($1031 of which is in dispute - $614 incurred before she advised me to kill him, $417 since...) we seem to talk about anything but OC. I'm sure she considers her advice to be pragmatic. At worst it could be called clinical. And frankly, I can see where she's coming from. She puts animals out of their misery every day, often over a lot less money.

But for me, it's just harder to swallow. I'm his mom, perhaps the only person in the world who cares about him. I'm supposed to be on his side. And I am. I totally am. I mean he's not my favorite cat. I'll admit that. Even people moms have favorites - they're just not allowed to say. I think we all know that his evil sexy brother is in many ways more beloved. But not favoring him is a far step from killing him just because he's expensive. And gross. And broken.

Who's to say if the 29 - 59 days he spends without giant fingers up his butt don't balance out the discomfort? He truly enjoys killing and eating things. Just the other night he brought in a mouse (which, I guess thankfully, was still alive so I stepped in and set it free...). This cat's got game. And he seems to dig the narcotics he gets after the enemas. He's always very affectionate which, I now know is a side effect, but still. It must be fun. Why else would all the kids these days do Ecstasy? (Do the kids these days even still do Ecstasy, I wonder? I'm so old...)

On the other hand, he literally lives in fear. The jihad is always on. On like Donkey Kong. So much so that I sleep with a Super Soaker in the bed just so I can better break up cat fights in the night. But I never squirt OC. I know it's not his fault. He works so hard to give me love. He literally risks life and limb to be near me. Even now, he is at my side while his brother bangs on the door wanting to kill him. How do I repay that with poison?

And look how cute he is. Could you kill this face? He's much more photogenic than his brother. And besides, I'm still just 2 and a half years out since last I lost a cat. I'm so not ready to mourn again. Oh, imaginary internet friends, what should I do?

Well, I guess it starts with the vet, eh? This time I think I caught it in time to avoid anesthesia. So it should only be $100, not $300 or more... And I had to go there anyway, to pick up more meds, of course. I knew there was a reason I didn't run that errand while I was out today. I sure hope the beaches are quiet tomorrow as I am once again in charge of the seals. I'm thinking I'll get a call, though. I always get a call. And Wednesdays are historically busy. And apparently it was quiet today. Add to all that an errand and it's just getting irresistible to the fates. If that package weren't already enough, I also have a lunch date...

So I guess it's off to bed with me (and my Super Soaker). But if the cats are trapped in, no one will sleep anyway...

On a much happier cat note, I am pleased to announce that my dear pal Wendy's renegade escape artist cat, Lou Pucci, has been returned to his home. I don't think I told you the tale, but he was missing two weeks. In the city. And he's an indoor kitty. Much like OC, Lou's not her favorite, but as I recall from OC's time away, that almost makes it worse. Anyway, Wendy is smart so she set a trap. And Lou got hungry enough to use it. So hooray. That's two successful missing cat stories in one year. An inspiration to all...

sort of slow for our busy season

So it's taken me a while to post. My chief excuse is that my seal week's been relatively slow. I know I could actually post about things other than my seals. (You'd like that wouldn't you?) And, in theory, if I'm not chasing seals, I should have more time for writing, right? Well, yeah, you might have a point there. But really, my life is boring without the seals. And besides, I've been spending all my spare (as in sober and awake) time preparing for the LSAT, which I take in less than six short weeks. I will say, though, I could have at least taken the time to clarify what a pie safe is (in response to my loyal readers' inquiries). In fact, I have found very few people outside my immediate family who have known what I am talking about. So I pulled this description off Lowe's website:

Before the advent of the ice box, when kitchen cabinets were still more of a luxury than a standard item, a pie safe was considered a prize possession. These unique cupboards were used to store baked goods, flour and other kitchen sundries. Their classic style and design still blends well with many modern kitchen settings. In recent years pie safes have moved out of the kitchen and found new lives as entertainment centers, armoires and linen cupboards.

While my pie safe will most certainly remain one of my prize possessions, it will never contain pies. I'm much more of a cake person myself, and besides, I have an entire kitchen for all that stuff. In fact, I haven't thought of what I will put in my pie safe. Very few things seem worthy of such hallowed ground. Nor has the pie safe been officially moved in. Though we've decided it absolutely must go in the main room next to the TV (so I can admire it often), we have not yet evicted the laundry chair/scratching post that stands in its place. So I walk around the pie safe, risking stubbed toes, and I'm not even annoyed. This tells you how much I love my pie safe.

But you know, all too well I'm sure, that I also love my seals. And so here's this week's synopsis.

We begin with the sloppy seconds I shipped off on Sunday morning. Fiscalini was a late season elephant seal suffering from otostrongylis (that evil lungworm which is so often deadly, as it hasn't yet acclimated to this new host). It's been a while since we've had an elephant seal on site (the last oto victim died within hours) so we were all a bit rusty. The morning tube feeding went, shall we say?, less than perfectly. But we got the job done, and that's what matters. The only thing I regret is that I foolishly did not put on play pants. Thus I ended up staining my jeans with runny dark feces as I stabilized his hind end to give him an injection. Delightful. And I do know for certain that Fiscalini is a "he" as I accidentally stuck my finger in his "oopsie hole" while loading him up. I see now that it really does make you say "oopsie" as your finger beats a hasty retreat out of the penis keeper. Hope I didn't give him a urinary tract infection. At least he's already on antibiotics...

Then all was quiet until Tuesday. I wasn't officially on schedule, but I wasn't altogether surprised when I got a call from one of my favorite rescue friends inviting me to check on a long shot on Morro Rock. I wore long sleeves despite the heat (the last of my previous poison oak is finally gone) and hurried down to meet her. (Sadly, I think I did get some new poison oak on this trip. It's just beginning to drive me crazy today...) We ended up finding our seal by accident (she'd just hauled out on a different rock, much closer to the parking lot than the rock we were headed towards) but we knew it was our girl as her wounds were painfully obvious (and obviously painful). We took this photo of the damage (shark bite, big shark bite) when we thought we couldn't access her.

You can see from this picture that her rock (the farthest one out) was completely surrounded by ocean (shark filled ocean, at that). Still, because a determined seagull was attempting to snack on her, we worked our way closer to her position (down a steep rock, and across a bunch of wet ones), hoping to scare off the bird and maybe even the seal, figuring she might pick a different rock.

To our surprise, she let us get very, very close to her. We'd successfully spooked the gull and weren't terribly spooked ourselves. Since we were already wet (me to my knees, my friend to her crotch), we decided to give the net a swing. Filet didn't put up much fight. Only the elements made the rescue challenging. My net got hung up on rocks, the tide was rising, and we still had that steep slope to traverse. We finally got the seal to this position and called in reinforcements. A handful of people showed up (three of them from the Coast Guard) and helped us get her out of the ocean and into a carrier.

I was pretty surprised and a little encouraged when vet staff didn't euthanize her right away. Filet's wounds, though dramatic, could have been somewhat superficial. So instead we gave her the good drugs to the control the pain and crossed our fingers. She ended up dying overnight, so now we're all wishing we'd put her out of her misery, but at least I know we saved her from the bird. And again, for the record, when and if I must die, I'd like to do so on the good drugs...

Wednesday brought more action. No surprise there, as Wednesdays are notoriously (if not mysteriously) busy. The day began with a 9 am wake up call for a seizing sea lion in Avila. I guess because it was a second hand report, we did not think to bring drugs to the beach. Big mistake as we helplessly watched Nashville seizing in the net. We let our staff person net him (her first time) as he was lethargic and there was plenty of beach for whiffing once or twice. She got him on her first try anyway. Then we called in the Harbor Patrol guys to drive on and help us get our animal off the very long beach. I don't know if you can see it, but there's a tiny hole in his head (above his eye) that we're waiting to hear back about. It's just perfect enough to be man made, if you know what I mean. Even if he isn't a victim of foul play, we learned he was on the beach (seizing) all night. So that's not a good thing.

Anyway, on the way back from Avila, we got a call for a seal on my home turf in Morro Bay. I went down to check it out with another girl (while the others offloaded Nashville) and we scooped up Knoxville here. He was pretty easy to catch as he has a swollen shoulder and didn't feel like moving. We got our feet wet just in case (to be in the best position to respond to his potential mad dash to freedom) and again we got a lot of help from the public getting him off the beach and into the truck. I haven't gotten an update from vet staff (they just received him today) but broken parts (especially front flippers) are not generally a good thing. So I am rooting for abscess. But even that indicates a pretty massive infection.

So it looks like I'm mostly likely 0 for 3 in my seal week. At least I learned that BonusFred has been successfully disentangled and promptly released. And Propeller made it through despite his ghastly wound. And Falafel lost an eye but is still in the land (or sea?) of the living. So they're not all sad stories. But sea lions sure do have a knack for finding trouble...

my pies are so freaking safe

I am so excited to announce the arrival of my newest piece of clutter. Behold the beauty of the pie safe animals on parade.

And in case you aren't properly amazed, look how big it is. It's like seven feet tall. It seemed much smaller in the store with the very high ceilings. Ah, I love it even more. I definitely love it more than $800 plus tax plus interest on my credit card. Now we just have to find a place to put it. I think the laundry chair is going to be evicted. The black cat will be angry, as it is one of his favorite scratching posts, but I would so much rather look at my pie safe than my unfolded laundry. Besides, the black cat is always angry. In fact, he's been sleeping in the other room for the past week as his brother's been home a lot. I notice he is in the bed now, with Erik, so he is definitely just making a point to avoid the bed to punish me...

Anyway, after my hubby delivered my beloved pie safe, I ran out and rescued yet another sea lion. Yvonne is, I'm now thinking, most likely a boy. Tucked, skinny, dry, lethargic, with juicy respirations and pale mucous membranes... a definite pick up. We gave him some antibiotics last night and some fluids this morning. Hopefully, he'll do pretty well, as so many of my animals this year have not. I haven't confirmed their outcomes, but neither Gainer nor Comedian appear on the website. Comedian, with the crunchy, bumpy back is no surprise. And I guess, really, the giant pus lump on Gainer could have given me a clue. Still, you'd think I'd get one out of two. And, I sadly learned, my dear Tapia is toast. Apparently he restranded just before the fourth of July and they euthanized for suspected chronic domoic acid toxicity. Yeah, so I guess I don't really want him out there suffering with his little atrophied hippocampus trying to survive in the wild, but still, I am bummed.

But I am also busy. Off to Sausalito for an overnight visit preceding a Saturday morning meeting. Erik's coming with me, which is fun for company and romance and all, but worrisome for OC who will have no one to defend him when he sneaks in for dinner tonight. Poor little red headed step child. Anyway, I've still got to pack so I guess I'd best sign off.

back to normal

So although you wouldn't know it from my lack of posting, I survived my trip to Normal, Illinois, (which, as it turns out, was actually a trip to Peoria, 40 minutes outside of Normal, and nearly 3 hours from the Chicago airport I flew in and out of...). I'm happy to report that I successfully dodged any and all opportunities to attend softball related festivities. In fact, other than helping my niece navigate her way through airports and across highways, I was entirely superfluous. Just the way I like it.

Upon my return, it was right back to seal rescuing, my own version of normal. Friday we finally got to make our first attempt at our entanglement girl. You can see her here, snuggled up against a big male on that same inaccessible dock she loves so much. We had to approach by boat (and by "we" I mean "not me" as I was on a neighboring dock taking pictures...). The boat disturbed the sea lions, of course, but we were lucky that she was the last to catch on that the ruckus was anything out of the ordinary. We actually had a net on her for a moment, but she managed to slip away.

Saturday I decided to go back down looking for our entanglement girl and while there I missed out on a hike along the Morro Bay jetty. My friends and crew that remained behind picked up Comedian here. At a mere 11 kg, she was easy enough to carry, but she was at the absolute farthest point of the jetty. You can't tell in her photo, but something is way wrong with her hind end - it's lumpy, bumpy, and distorted and she wasn't using it at all. I haven't seen her name on the website and I've been afraid to ask if she's still around. At least we were able to make her comfortable during her stay. She got the good drugs.

Thinking how lucky I was to be missing the jetty rescue, I was cursed by the Fates with a hike out to Hazard Canyon for a much larger critter, Gainer. Gainer was snuggled up to a random beach goer (very abnormal behavior for a sea lion) and he was also skinny and tucked. We later discovered a mysterious pus filled hump on his back to boot. I was surprised by how many people questioned this rescue ("how do you know he isn't just sunning himself?") and disturbed, even, that we were actively heckled by a group of guys who insisted, among other things, that my privately funded non-profit was "a waste of tax payers' money." Later one of them nearly ran over Gainer in the parking lot. So sweet. On the other hand, I was delighted with the handful of folks who did help us carry his 58 kg off of the beach as we really couldn't have done it alone.

Sunday we went back down to Avila to make a second attempt at our entanglement girl. I had a spot on the boat this time (dorky life vest and all) which was infinitely more satisfying than watching from the pier. She was wise to us, though, and her boyfriends were particularly vociferous and menacing. Even the wind was against us, as it kept pushing us out of position. We did have one sea lion who decided to join us in our boat, but fortunately he was just a tiny yearling (who was presumably just pleased to be able to get into anything, as he was way too small to make it on to the popular haul out). Discouraged by our failure to get the net anywhere near entanglement girl, we headed home.

As if defeat wasn't depressing enough, we were then dispatched to pick up a shark bitten otter just before sunset. A few kids had pulled her out of the surf and then remained out themselves as they'd figured out the source of her injury... The otter promptly died, which was distressing, but convenient. It saved us from having to transport her to Monterey, at least. They probly would have let her stay anyway (as they did with the last late night agonal breathing otter we had) but they would have asked us to stick around until she passed... I didn't take any pictures (though she was a beauty) as I am done taking pictures of dying otters. In fact, I sort of shut down altogether and let my other friend do all the bagging and tagging. I dealt with the phone calls and the equipment. It doesn't usually get to me so much, the death and dying, especially from something so natural as predation, but I guess it's been a pretty graphic summer.

Anyway, Monday is usually my day off for seals, but since Harbor Patrol had my cell number handy, they called me first and thus I got to go on one of my most exciting rescues yet. Hoping to catch our entangled girl, they'd set a trap over night, leaving a gate open on a floating dock that's popular with the sea lions. This morning they cruised by and discovered a different entangled animal hauled out there. They simply closed the gate and waited for us to arrive. I skipped the dorky life vest this time, but we did take a couple herding boards (as our entangled boy was not alone in the trap) and soon we'd caught ourselves BonusFred. (We wanted to name him just Fred, as that's what the harbor regulars were calling him, but Fred is a seal that was rescued in 2003. So we added the "bonus" as he was an extra, bonus entanglement, a consolation prize of sorts...) His entanglement is way worse, anyway, than entanglement girl's, so all in all I'd say it was a good day's work. Certainly a much better note to end on than last night's otter.

But perhaps what I'm most excited about, really, is the pie safe I bought from the furniture salesman I call "The Bed Man" or, alternatively, "The Devil." Like a character out of the Twilight Zone, he always has something I can't live without, though it rarely fits in my home or my budget. It all started with the bed (thus the initial moniker "Bed Man") but he has since sold me a marble pedestal, a cute not really functional desk, a table that acts like a desk, 2 couches and a chair. I find it intriguing that he never actually denies being the Devil. He seems to take great pride and pleasure in having just the right piece at just the wrong time. This piece in particular he claims he'd only put on display 30 minutes before I'd arrived. I haven't had a chance to pick it up (or arrange to have it delivered) and I am not necessarily in a hurry as I have no idea where to put it. I do think, however, that I will go by and visit it tomorrow and perhaps take a photo so you, too, can see the splendor of my frivolous spending. That is, if I have the time, as maybe, just maybe, I'll be out hunting entanglement girl again...

shut my mouth

I leave for Illinois in a handful of hours, escorting my eldest niece to her softball tournament. It will be her first time on an airplane, so she's a bit nervous about that. I hate airports and airplanes, sure, but I've explained to her it's more about my misanthropic leanings than about the risk of sudden death. No, what I'm nervous about is the pending social interactions I'll be having with her softball crowd. I have been thoroughly debriefed on the topics I'm strictly forbidden from talking about on the trip. These include:

1. sex - with or without a partner, of course, and this includes any body parts used in the having of sex...
2. drugs - even prescription medications...
3. alcohol - although I am apparently expected to consume some with the coaches. While I imagined top shelf margaritas in some sort of small town hick bar, sounds like it's more likely to be beer consumed in a parking lot tailgate party style. Trouble is, those who know me realize "but Anti Jen doesn't drink beer" (I know, there is something I don't drink...) and then I wonder if they even sell hard cider (what I call "girl beer") in Illinois? People of the Internets, I fear I will soon be drinking wine coolers. The very thought of it makes my head hurt. Unless that's from the ciders I drank last night, of course...
4. religion - especially no drawing of parallels between the new pope and satan
5. politics - liberal or conservative
6. any member of our shared family - this includes any cute childhood stories, particularly those which involve nudity or nicknames.
7. any member of my niece's social circle - as if I keep track of who's who. My brain is too full of trivial things to actually associate the stories with the people. This, I know, is actually worse as I am constantly asking things such as, "Is this the one we like or don't like?" or "Is this the one who got grounded for drinking or the one who is cheating on her boyfriend?"
8. lice - particularly the fact that there are still lice controlling products being used in this household three months later. This, I recognize, is more likely a reflection of the level of OCD in the family rather than the actual risk of parasitic infection, but again, I already feel itchy...
9. ants - my suggested code word for lice
10. incest - as in I believe I may be sharing a bed with my niece and her imaginary "ants"... Now, as you may all recall from my family's Christmas letter, my brother Kevin and I firmly assert that relatives who are old enough to have pubic hair are too old to be sharing beds, even if their sister is graduating from vet school. This constitutes "incest." Besides, I remember from days past that Zoe is even a brute in her sleep - tossing, turning, kicking, flailing strong arms and sharp fingernails. Still, I believe the poor girl will be more scarred by sharing a bed with me as I know I snore and I'm told (by my traumatized brother) that I'm also quite gassy in my sleep...

I have not yet been strictly forbidden from discussing the following standbys, but I suspect they will be added to the list before our plane touches down:

1. bodily fluids
2. bodily functions
3. body odor
4. body hair
5. kryptonite (as in softball, as in last night I used the phrase "struck her out at third base" to attempt to translate a tale of seal politics I was telling into terms she would understand...)

On the other hand, I did win quite a verbal victory yesterday when I got my niece to admit she actually is a jock (she's been in denial). But I think she was just conceding to shut me up as I was apparently being quite "sassy" (which, Kevin tells me, because of our age difference would actually better be described as "crotchety").

Anyway, I should polish off my packing, I guess. Not sure I'll have access to the Internets in Illinois, so it may be a while, but what else is new?

surprise. more seals.

Okay, so I'm sure you're getting sick of my seal posts, especially as they've been relatively depressing. This one, I'm sorry to say, is not much different. But since I rearranged my seal shifts to accommodate my upcoming trip to Normal, Illinois and accidentally ended up with 4 days in a row, all I've really had going on this week has been seals. I had six animals to show for it, two of the them sloppy seconds from Tuesday night, and a couple of critters left on the beaches. Still, it took me a while to post about them as I've spent the last two days reading the final Harry Potter book (I know, dork), about which I will say nothing, in case you actually care and are still reading yourself...

So starting with the sloppy seconds, SwanSong was impressive, even intimidating in size, (130 kg) but he turned out to be one of the sweetest and most polite sea lions I've met in a while. He'd been seizing on the beach in Pismo Tuesday night. I had the pleasure of giving him an injection Wednesday morning. I'd fretted about it the night before (hearing he'd required four boarders for his first injection), but I found him rather loopy and relatively approachable. The real challenge was boxing and lifting him as we had to ship him in a metal carrier which weighed at least another 100 pounds. Thank goodness for once I had all of three men on my schedule. As much as I'm fond of saying it takes a man to catch a man, it definitely takes a man to ship a man...

Hummus must've come off the drive on beach. This I know because the State Parks girl has been doing a Greek appetizer theme all summer. Hummus was allegedly too difficult to tube feed, so it was lucky for me that he was hungry enough by morning to eat his fish offer instead. Also, he was apparently still quite thirsty as all he wanted to do was drink his pool water. Again, much as I usually resent my sloppy seconds, I'm glad to have had them as they are still in treatment (unlike most of my own animals).

So before we had a chance to ship off the big boy and the thirsty one, we got a call about an animal on Morro Rock. Other than the customary running of the poison oak gauntlet (resulting in the itching I have on my arms, thank you short sleeves), this was the easiest Morro Rock rescue ever. Our little guy, SeaChili, was very close to the start of the trail and was tiny (14 kg) so he was exceedingly easy to carry out. One of my rescue crew stayed up on the bluff and snapped these pictures of my approach.

Followed by the moment of capture. Don't you love how my stealthy team comes out from hiding? You can barely see them in the first shot (and SeaChili couldn't really see them at all). We look so professional. I'm proud. In truth, SeaChili saw me coming the whole time but simply felt too miserable to run away.

It became obvious why SeaChili was such easy prey when we examined his swollen hind end at the site. I regret not making a better case for Butorphanol as I cringe when I look back at the pictures... He ended up dying by Friday, most likely from septicemia, they say. They're thinking all that swelling was from a perforated organ, not a broken limb. Still, how uncomfortable.

Wednesday night, instead of attending the staff meeting, I convinced a couple of volunteers to swing by the drive on beach to pick up Butterball. Butterball was a harbor seal yearling - a very unusual stranding as we usually only see the dependent pups - who'd been used as a chew toy for a shark. You can see here the slice down her nose, but you can't see the majority of the wounds on her body. We flushed them all clean and gave her antibiotics and something for the pain. We were delighted to see she'd made it through to the morning. Unfortunately, the vets determined Thursday that the shark had done too much internal damage to be repaired. Sadly, it wasn't the most dramatic wounds that were deadly. Instead, the more subtle wounds were incurred while being shaken (not stirred) and these resulted in the perforated organs.

Just after we shipped Butterball early Thursday morning, I sent another volunteer down to the drive on beach for Sadjaw. This was the worst broken jaw I've seen yet. This picture doesn't successfully mask the damage, but it's a lot less gruesome than the ones I sent to Sausalito to convince them to euthanize her mid transport (in Santa Cruz). Like Workout, this gal's injury was likely caused by a seal bomb. In this case you could still see a flash burn on her neck.

I thought I'd have nightmares about Sadjaw, but apparently my cats were more on my mind. That's cuz OC spent Thursday in the hospital (again with the chronic constipation - triggered, I can only presume, from my 32 hours spent in Santa Cruz?) only to return there first thing Friday morning (to repair the laceration on his tongue he'd suffered while waking up from anesthesia...). He's fine now. In fact, he spent the day reading Harry Potter with me. He's always quite lovable after his hospitalizations, come to think of it. I'd like to believe it's gratitude, but it's more likely self preservation, as with each incident I'm increasingly urged by my sister (who is apparently no longer his medical benefactor) to euthanize him. He's openly bitter that he's been restricted from dry food (his favorite) and I'm sorry to report that Fancy Feast, like blackbirds, seems to inspire his feline flatulence.

So adding injury to injury, Propeller here came off the drive on beach Friday morning. We assume it was a boat that tore the hole in his shoulder. Lucky for him his wound was fresh and he had full mobility in his all important front flippers. Even so, vet staff was talking euthanasia, but in this case my photos were sent in the seal's defense. Propeller was so full of life, in fact, that he very nearly disfigured me in an unfortunate cross boarding mishap. My inexperienced boarders lost sight of their two goals - protect the one without a board (that would be me) and keep your eyes on the bitey end. We pretty much simultaneously realized the situation had gotten out of hand. They were yelling "stop" while I was just yelling. I left my needle in the animal and as I retreated he grabbed my bottle of betadine, bit a hole in it (shaking it for full effect) and demonstrated what he'd like to do to my face. We decided to give him his last injection an hour later (and with a different cross boarder). Happily, Propeller was accepted into treatment, though he does face a serious risk of infection.

Before I had a chance to deliver Propeller to the site, I came across Lexi. I found her accidentally, on the way to check an inaccessible, entangled girl, who wasn't (I learned later) there anyway. Like many of my seal rescuing pals, I cannot drive past a beach without scanning for anomalies. In this case, I knew the rock in the tideline was not really a rock, as it hadn't been there the day before. Sadly, I found it was a seizing, totally unresponsive sea lion. She'd been there a while, I'd guessed, as the sea gulls had already pecked one of her eyes. I called for help, which soon arrived. Against my better judgment, my help convinced me that maybe, just maybe, my two wheel drive truck could make it through the soft sand and out to the seal (saving us the hike across the beach). I wasn't at all surprised to see my truck stranded mere seconds later. Miraculously, with the help of brawny beachgoers, we got my truck unstuck and we even made it back through the same stretch of sand on the return pass. Still, it was a foolish thing to do, with two seals in boxes already. It won't happen again. So as you may have surmised from my not so subtle note of foreboding, Lexi is also no longer with us.

On Saturday, the last of my four day run, I got a call on the one I'd been looking for when I'd found Lexi. We've been calling her (not so creatively) "entangled girl." She was on an inaccessible dock - no stairs down, no ladder up, always covered with sea lions - but after seeing this photo (which I only got by sticking my head through a fence from the pier above) we started thinking we might make an attempt by boat. We even had our most skilled staff person in town (teaching, of all things, a class on dock rescue). Once we had our plan in place, however, our entangled girl went missing in action.

Saturday night my team also whiffed on a skinny yearling out on the jetty at Morro Rock. I feel guilty as I wasn't there (I went out to dinner in SLO, hoping to be nearer the entangled girl in case we got the call to action) but I've definitely whiffed on the jetty myself, so there's no guarantee I could have done any better. I went out and watched a glorious sunset there (hoping he'd haul back out), enjoying the company of a handful of hungry otters, each one looking like it might be my sea lion. After sticking my shoe in an errant puddle (my penance, I guess, for not being there earlier) I worked my way back out across the rocks, defeated by the anti-climatic ending to my busy week.

And soon I'm off to Normal. I know there's a pun in there somewhere, but I'm too tired to come up with it. Not sure if I'll have computer access there, but if I do at least I will be forced to post about something other than seals...

3 cuties and their ugly stepsister

This morning I had the pleasure of shipping off yesterday's yearlings. I usually don't enjoy the leftovers (I call them sloppy seconds) as it's all of the scrubbing with none of the glory, but today the seals were too adorable to resent. Hut here was taken into custody Saturday afternoon for being skinny and hanging around the Harbor Hut restaurant in my neighborhood. It's not such a bad place for a sea lion, really, but they tend to attract a crowd. And it isn't the easiest place to rescue (all rocks and they see you coming) so if Hut got himself caught that's definitely his own fault.

Cabo San Luis, on the other hand, at least had this lovely hole in his neck to justify his captivity. He came in from Avila Beach and I'm pretty sure he's the one we got a call on (but couldn't find) late Friday night. The hole doesn't look so bad - it's most likely just a popped abscess - but I can't imagine it feels all that great. He was noticeably grumpier and more lethargic than his neighbor. Still, he was well behaved when it came time to leave. He boxed himself up quite politely.

We thought perhaps we'd gotten off easy - an uneventful transport, a couple of dirty pens, an excuse to go out to breakfast - but alas, the skeleton Sunday crew had some glory coming its way after all. Our first rescue was in our least favorite location (a place called the Sandspit) and, in fact, it wasn't even really on the Sandspit. Our seal was between the Sandspit and our second least favorite location, the aptly named Hazard Canyon. Though it only took 20 minutes to hike out to her, it took more than an hour to carry her out. And of course she couldn't be a dainty little yearling. Feo was 59 kg of full grown adult female.

I considered sparing you any photographic evidence of Feo, but then I found this deceptively tame shot. It fails to adequately capture the depth and the horror of her broken maxilla. You can tell her features are askew, sure, but you can't really tell why. And if you fooled yourself just a little, you could almost come to believe that the red tint on her fur was a trick of the setting sun. You wouldn't have to know that she was still all bloody from her struggle against my net. In particular, what you can't see here is that there's a perfect little (presumably man made) hole in the center of all that mess.

Much as I love to pass off the throwing of the net, I had to catch this girl on my own. I was first on the scene and my cohorts were not willing to bring down the carrier unless I had something to put in it. Perhaps even more impressive than the fact that I caught and carried her, is the fact that I was able to weigh her all by myself. It was anything but graceful, getting all 79 kg of seal and carrier on and off the scale twice (the first time I got an error message), but I was determined to succeed. I had sent the rest of the crew on another rescue and it just didn't seem fair to leave Feo boxed up any longer than necessary. Unfortunately, I still had to wait for them to return before I could administer her sorely needed pain meds. At least I've got a chance to make it up to her, as my incredibly sweet hubby has agreed to go back out there with me to give her a midnight dose. There's likely precious little that vet staff can do for her tomorrow. The least we can do is keep her free of pain.

Though I could've enjoyed having help off loading Feo, I was glad the rest of the crew went and rescued Surely here. It was nice to have a patient who wasn't in any way disturbing. In fact, Surely was rather acrobatic and entertaining. Interestingly, Surely had been loitering in the same neighborhood as Hut and was equally unacceptably approachable. I like that this shot shows his ribs and hip bones, because at 18 kg, we probly should have considered relocating him. But as I've said before, I firmly believe if you can catch them, you can keep them.

Anyway, I guess I'm off to dope up Feo one last time. No seals for me tomorrow. Instead I'm off to Santa Cruz for a visit with the nieces...

a few more days, a few more seals

So the past few days brought a few more seals and a little more sunburn. It all started Wednesday afternoon with a trip to the nudie beach. Although I made a point of grabbing my sunglasses before I left, it turns out I didn't need them. The helpful nudists had put on pants before we got there. Our animal was an entangled sea lion, sitting in the tideline, so as the coward who likes to stay dry, I mostly just watched. Even on the steep hike back out, I let the boys do the heavy lifting. Getting myself up the hill was unfortunately heavy lifting enough.

Our patient, which the not-naked nudists named Untied, was 36 kg. Since his twine neck tie was pretty simple, vet staff allowed us to cut it off on site. Though I'm a chicken when it comes to throwing the net, I was first to volunteer to take him down. Honestly, it wasn't much of a feat (we got to get him stoned first and someone else helped hold down his front flippers), but it seemed pretty exciting at the time. I found the biggest, wettest towel, and got a decent wrap around his head but I felt very alone in the second just before jumping on him.

Untied looks pretty much the same in his "after" pictures. I like this one as you can see (sort of) that he's essentially as tall as I am. The camera couldn't capture it, so you'll just have to believe me that he was feeling notably more chipper the next morning. He willingly ate his fish offer (having been too stoned the night before) and then rolled around scratching at his healing neck and the presumably itchy tar patches on his shoulder and hip. They'll put him in one of the salt water pools in Sausalito, no doubt, and he'll be out again in no time.

Thursday night, as Untied was probly first arriving in Sausalito, I picked up Fiesty, a 16 kg yearling, from a friend who lives closest to the drive on beach. We were both off schedule, but the day's official rescue crew was up north relocating another little yearling they'd just caught (which was actually Fiesty's same size). I didn't see their animal, so I can't say for sure, but I feel if you can catch a sea lion you can keep it. So I successfully made the case that we should keep Fiesty, if only for a couple weeks of free fish. Half the size of Untied, he lived up to his name and was a handful to restrain. Still, I was glad to have him. He was good practice for my tubing partner and he got us up bright and early for our next rescue.

Friday, when we should have been feeding Fiesty, we had the good fortunate of catching up with Maren. We'd first tried for this 30 kg juvenile on Wednesday, on the way back in with Untied. We spent some time chasing her up and down the beach in Avila, but she was crafty and stayed just far enough off shore to mock us. We got another call on her at sunset on Thursday (right after I got back into town with Fiesty) but the folks I sent couldn't find her. It turns out yet another one of our volunteers stumbled across her independently on Thursday night and went looking for her first thing Friday. Obviously she was still there as now she's here. I had to use this artsy shot of her as all her photos are creepy due to her milky eye discharge. I'm used to gummy and crusty, but gummy and wet is just gross. I'm not as optimistic for Maren as I am for Untied and Fiesty, but at least she's got some sort of a chance now.

Friday afternoon I chose a nap over a rescue and missed helping out with a big boy on the drive on beach. They're always magnificent, those adult male sea lions, but again I would have definitely been more spectator than participant so I'm happy with my choice. He was seizing, so I'm concerned about today's crew (as seizing seals often come in clusters) but not enough to give up my day off. Erik's home and though he's mostly doing his thing (yard work) and I'm mostly doing mine (napping and studying for the LSAT), it still feels like quality time.

Besides, I'm on again tomorrow...