Down in Port Royal's Lantern Lake area we had a problem. Swans. It was nesting season and swans are particular about where they nest. Like to try out lots of places before they find the ideal one. Trying out involves ripping out and mashing down existing foliage to form the nest. Unfortunately, at Lantern Lake they were doing it in folk's manicured flower beds.
The calls to curtail this vandalism poured in. And, of course, since no one else wanted anything to do with it, they landed on my desk. Not exactly the exciting police work you see on TV but, truthfully, indicative of most of the crap cops have to handle.
I didn't want to involve the troops in this silliness, so I gathered up our animal control dude, one Mr. Clarence Sack, and headed out on our mission. First stop was Jungle Larry's African Safari (Carribean Gardens). We wanted to know if he'd take them after Sack sacked them up. Larry said he'd be glad to, but was busy and couldn't pick them up for a day or two. I told him we were in a hurry and we'd just do it ourselves. Looking back, I'm sure he had a fleeting smile on his face.
We proceeded to Port Royal, located our quarry and Sack moved in. He went at it barehanded and soon found out you didn't just pick up a swan like a duck at the farmer's market. Swans are big. And strong. And they have beaks and stuff. Sack soon fled to his truck and locked himself in.
A crowd had started to form and was enjoying the show. This embarrassed me and I decided to tackle the problem myself. After all, Sack was an elderly, frail cat who could be butt-kicked by an aggressive egret. I was young, big, and strong. This was man's work.
Bad mistake. The swans put such an az-whuppin' on me I was soon scratching at the door of Sack's truck, begging him to unlock it and let me in. While the crowd roared, seeming to enjoy seeing the Chief of Police humiliated by two swans.
When I regained my courage, and the swans had gone back to cruising the pond, I asked one of the neighbors if I could use his phone and called Jungle Larry. I told him what had happened. He asked, innocently, "You mean you're not ready to make delivery?" Then he burst into laughter.
"Thanks a lot, pal," I said. "Why didn't you tell me how mean those suckers are?"
"Well," Larry said, gasping between laughing fits. "I figured you knew, being in such a hurry to pick 'em up and all."
"Obviously I don't. What do I do to capture 'em? Shoot 'em with a dart? What?"
"Naw," Larry said."just get behind them, reach down and grab their wings near the body and fold them back. It won't hurt 'em, or you. You get their wings like that and they lose all their strength.
Damn, if it wasn't true! We captured the birds, delivered them to Jungle Larry, and the rich folks in Port Royal's paradise were as happy as Jimmy Buffett with a cheeseburger. Jungle Larry let me name the two critters, Wayde and Lori, after my two little children at the time.
And it only took Sack and me a couple of weeks to heal up.
The calls to curtail this vandalism poured in. And, of course, since no one else wanted anything to do with it, they landed on my desk. Not exactly the exciting police work you see on TV but, truthfully, indicative of most of the crap cops have to handle.
I didn't want to involve the troops in this silliness, so I gathered up our animal control dude, one Mr. Clarence Sack, and headed out on our mission. First stop was Jungle Larry's African Safari (Carribean Gardens). We wanted to know if he'd take them after Sack sacked them up. Larry said he'd be glad to, but was busy and couldn't pick them up for a day or two. I told him we were in a hurry and we'd just do it ourselves. Looking back, I'm sure he had a fleeting smile on his face.
We proceeded to Port Royal, located our quarry and Sack moved in. He went at it barehanded and soon found out you didn't just pick up a swan like a duck at the farmer's market. Swans are big. And strong. And they have beaks and stuff. Sack soon fled to his truck and locked himself in.
A crowd had started to form and was enjoying the show. This embarrassed me and I decided to tackle the problem myself. After all, Sack was an elderly, frail cat who could be butt-kicked by an aggressive egret. I was young, big, and strong. This was man's work.
Bad mistake. The swans put such an az-whuppin' on me I was soon scratching at the door of Sack's truck, begging him to unlock it and let me in. While the crowd roared, seeming to enjoy seeing the Chief of Police humiliated by two swans.
When I regained my courage, and the swans had gone back to cruising the pond, I asked one of the neighbors if I could use his phone and called Jungle Larry. I told him what had happened. He asked, innocently, "You mean you're not ready to make delivery?" Then he burst into laughter.
"Thanks a lot, pal," I said. "Why didn't you tell me how mean those suckers are?"
"Well," Larry said, gasping between laughing fits. "I figured you knew, being in such a hurry to pick 'em up and all."
"Obviously I don't. What do I do to capture 'em? Shoot 'em with a dart? What?"
"Naw," Larry said."just get behind them, reach down and grab their wings near the body and fold them back. It won't hurt 'em, or you. You get their wings like that and they lose all their strength.
Damn, if it wasn't true! We captured the birds, delivered them to Jungle Larry, and the rich folks in Port Royal's paradise were as happy as Jimmy Buffett with a cheeseburger. Jungle Larry let me name the two critters, Wayde and Lori, after my two little children at the time.
And it only took Sack and me a couple of weeks to heal up.
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