Jackie's Wild Seattle (14 page)

For weeks, Neal had been taking Liberty for walks in the woods. As they'd disappear into the trees I'd see him talking to her. I had a hunch that Neal was telling her about the battle he was fighting and his hopes for the future.

I kept wishing he would talk to me about it. Why not, with our time together running out?

I kept wanting to tell him I knew.

Neal was as aware of the calendar as we were. He started wondering if we wanted to visit this, that, and the other place around Seattle before we left. We didn't particularly care. We liked what we'd been doing. “What about Mount Saint Helens?” he asked Cody as we were rolling south on I-5 one morning. “What's left of it, that is. We could do an overnight.”

Cody shrugged him off. “I'm through with disasters,” he said.

Neal slapped his hand to his forehead. “I know what. I
can't believe we didn't do this.”

With that he swerved suddenly onto an exit ramp marked for Fremont.

“What's this all about?” Cody asked.

“Gotta show you something wild,” Neal said mysteriously.

Cody bit. “Like what?”

“They got a troll that lives around here. The Fremont troll. Squashes cars like pop cans. Likes to hang out under a bridge, up against the abutments. Reaches up and grabs a car every so often.”

Cody was skeptical.

Neal took a couple of sharp turns; a bridge was looming above. “We'll get as close as we can.”

We parked and followed Neal toward the abutments. He was sort of crouching and tiptoeing. Suddenly he turned and whispered to Cody, “Got any cuts on you? He can smell blood and he likes kids under a certain size.”

“This is like a snipe hunt,” Cody said. “There won't be anything there.”

But there was. We turned one last corner and were confronted by the upper body of a gigantic troll with a weird silver eye. In one of its hands it was clutching an actual VW Beetle.

Cody crawled under the concrete fingers of the troll's free hand and thrashed around like he'd been caught, screaming bloody murder. I was snapping pictures. Cody ran up the back of the VW and onto the troll's shoulder. “I'm its master!” he shouted.

I got Neal and Cody to pose by the VW in the troll's clutches. Cody was on top of the car flashing the V sign over Neal's head. From here on I'd take lots of pictures, I told myself. The ones of Neal might have to last a lifetime.

Fremont, just north of the ship canal between Puget
Sound and Lake Washington, had lots of other whimsical touches besides the troll—metal sculpture people waiting for a streetcar, for example. They'd been waiting so long they were decorated with balloons and streamers, messages, you name it. There were all sorts of novelty shops, boutiques, bookstores, and coffee shops of course, where you could sit outdoors and soak up the funky ambiance. Neal read the newspaper over a cafe mocha. It was a fruit smoothie for me and hot chocolate for Cody, who sneaked bits from his oatmeal cookie to Sage under the table.

From Fremont Neal took us to the Ballard locks, at the salt-water side of the ship canal, to watch the salmon swim by a plate glass window. The afternoon saw us making the usual round of cold rescues at the vets and half a dozen private homes. Then came a call from Granite Falls, in the foothills of the Cascades. A bobcat, of all things, had been spotted in a parking lot.

“A bobcat is much bigger than a house cat, but not nearly as big as Sasha,” Uncle Neal told us. “They mostly hunt rabbits, and they don't come into town. I've never, ever had a bobcat call. We better be real careful. Broad daylight, I dunno…there must be something wrong with it.”

“Sage will show us where it is,” Cody said as we drove into the strip mall where the bobcat had been seen.

“Maybe,” Neal said, “but she has no experience with cats.”

We drove through the parking lot with no sighting. Neal drove around the back, to the service alley, where there were places for a cat to hide. We got out. I put on a pair of heavy gloves and grabbed the salmon net just in case.

It was a big shopping center, and we split up. Neal, Cody, and Sage went one way, and I went the other.

I poked around the Dumpsters behind the stores. It was broad daylight and I didn't really believe we were going to
find anything. Behind a restaurant, with the food smells overripe, I should have been especially on guard but I wasn't. Suddenly an animal, a very large tawny cat, leaped right at me from the rim of the Dumpster. It flew at me so hard I dropped the net and fell flat on my back with my hands up trying to ward it off. Too late. The bobcat's front legs were locked around my neck. I was so frightened I lost control of my bladder, just peed my pants.

A second later I figured out that the darn thing wasn't biting me or scratching me. It was licking my face, like a house cat.

I jumped up and the big cat rubbed back and forth against my leg, purring, like it was overjoyed I had come along.

By this time it was dawning on me that I wasn't in danger. I double-checked myself for injuries. I didn't have any. Fortunately, I was wearing my dark jeans.

I started walking in the direction of the others, calling “Here, kitty, kitty” over my shoulder. The bobcat followed. In case it suddenly turned schizo and attacked, I was keeping the net handy.

By now Neal and Cody and Sage had seen me and were on the way. Sage ran ahead, then put on the brakes just short of the bobcat. The bobcat arched its back like a house cat and hissed. Its teeth and its snarl were impressive. Ears erect, Sage backed off.

Cody's jaw was on the ground. Neal said, “What do you have there, Shannon?”

“I don't get it,” I said. “It knocked me down and scared me half to death, then licked my face.” I discovered as I spoke that I was still trembling.

“Beautiful coat,” Neal said. “Look at all the colors.”

Sage was curious, and got a little too close. The bobcat
slashed at her flak jacket with a front paw.

“Wait a second,” Neal said. “Look, it's been declawed. Somebody must have raised it as a house pet.”

Mystery solved. I was able to talk the bobcat into a carrier without having to handle it or even bribe it with food. It seemed to be used to carriers.

“Sasha had been declawed too,” Neal said driving back. “Her owners first saw her as a cute little cougar kitten and thought what a unique pet she would make. Guess what, it didn't take Sasha long to get big, strong, and overpowering. Her claws made short work of their furniture. Guess what, she was acting like a wild animal. The people started to think, next it might be us, an arm or a leg or a face. They had their mountain lion declawed. She kept growing stronger and more powerful but they couldn't let her go. Their cougar couldn't hunt, couldn't protect herself, and she might be dangerous to pets and kids. Sasha was about to be put down when Jackie found out and gave her a home. I'm hoping it might work out the same way for this bobcat.”

And that's what happened. Fortunately, Jackie had a spare pen for Bob, as the female bobcat came to be called.

The bobcat was our surprise of the day for Jackie. The new issue of the
Cedar Glen Gazette
was her surprise for us. Tyler's picture, with Liberty on his arm and the fawn at his feet, was on the front page:

MINOR MIRACLE AT JACKIE'S WILD SEATTLE

Tyler Tucker had a life-altering experience last week. He played midwife to a late-season doe struck by this reporter on the rural road in front of the wildlife clinic and rehab center. The doe, unfortunately, was killed outright, but her fawn is alive and the picture of health (above) thanks to a local boy's remarkable grace under pressure. This reporter
was eyewitness to the emergency Cesarean section performed with a borrowed pocketknife.

Tyler, son of Gary and Loretta Tucker, told his story as he displayed the bald eagle he is training with the help of one of the volunteers at the clinic.

As he explained, Tyler himself is not one of the volunteers. “I was sentenced to work at Jackie's by the juvenile court judge, as the community service part of my probation. It was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Tucker talked of cleaning the cages of hundreds of small birds and animals alongside the volunteers, and of wearing a bear suit to bring food to a pair of black bear cubs, Gnarly and Sweetness, who are being raised in isolation from humans in preparation for their release next winter in the Cascades. When asked if Sweetness's name was ironic, Tyler smiled and said, “Definitely.”

Tucker spoke fondly of a volunteer, a former aeronautical engineer, who introduced him to the bald eagle (above) named Liberty. Nearly fledged, Liberty fell out of a nest in Seattle's Discovery Park earlier this summer. Tyler hopes to be available for taking the eagle to Wild Seattle's school programs around western Washington this coming year.

“Working with wildlife is the coolest thing I've ever done by far,” Tyler told the
Gazette.
“If you're messed up, like I was, I definitely recommend it.”

A brave admission from a young former offender. “Animals need your help,” Tyler said. “They don't care what you look like, what kind of clothes you wear, or if you're popular in school. They only care about what's in your heart.”

Asked what he might like to do in the future, when he gets out of high school, Tyler said, “Go in the army or be a wildlife biologist.”

Jackie Baker, founder and director of Jackie's Wild Seattle, told this reporter that she believes that people and wildlife are “interconnected, interdependent. Healing them, we heal ourselves. I like to call it the Circle of Healing. Tyler is a perfect example of that circle.”

 

“Unbelievable,” I said to Jackie as I finished reading. “This is absolutely awesome.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but how will it play at Tyler's house?”

We both knew this could be trouble for Tyler. He must have known that too, when he agreed to talk to the reporter. I had a bad feeling.

The day after the
Cedar Glen Gazette
came out with Tyler's picture on the front, he ran up the driveway, all winded. It was soon after breakfast, and we were getting in the ambulance. We'd gotten a call about a coyote in downtown Seattle and were on our way.

“Glad you're still here,” Tyler panted. “Can you talk for a second?”

“Sure,” I said. I got out of the van and we walked off a ways. “I'm history at Jackie's,” Tyler said as he gasped for breath. “I just wanted to tell you myself. I had to see you one last time.”

“What happened?”

“The article. The things I said in the article.”

“Tyler, it was brave, all those things you said. You knew your father wasn't going to like it, but you said it anyway.”

“Yeah, he says that's the reason I did it, to get to him. In the back of my mind, I knew he wasn't going to like it. But
I didn't care. For once I wanted to quit being afraid and just say what I felt. Maybe I was even hoping he might understand, when he read it in the paper, might be proud of me. Stupid. Just stupid. I should have known. He says I came off sounding like a hero only because the article didn't tell what I got into trouble for.”

“But you
did
tell her about it. Jackie told me. She heard it from the reporter herself. The reporter didn't think it was necessary to go into that.”

“Which made it all a lie, according to my father.”

“So now you can't work here anymore? Can't finish up your community service the way the judge wanted you to?”

“I guess not. My dad says I can pick up trash along the highway, or serve the rest of the time in juvenile detention, for all he cares. He said I humiliated him. At least my mother liked the article. She said she was proud of me. I couldn't believe it.”

“In front of your father, she said that?”

“In front of my father. That was the best part. Hey, don't worry about it, I'm going to survive one way or the other. He can be like that all he wants. I'm not afraid anymore.”

“I'll be thinking of you, Tyler.”

“Thanks, Shannon. Thanks for believing in me.”

“Bye, then,” I said, and kissed him on the cheek. “Keep the faith.”

“Thanks,” he said. “That helps. Where are you guys off to today?”

“A coyote in an elevator in the Federal Building.”

“What? In downtown Seattle?”

“They're waiting to see if we can figure something out before Animal Control takes drastic measures.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea!”

“Don't let it take your face off, Shannon. It's such a nice one. Say good-bye to Cody and Neal for me.”

With that, Tyler ran down the driveway. We followed him out. He took off up the road—I'd never been that direction—and we turned right, toward Cedar Glen and the interstate.

I had a lot to think about as we rolled south. What was Tyler going through right now? Things could get worse. What was going to happen next, and how was he ever going to find the space to breathe? “Thanks for believing in me,” he'd said. Was I ever going to see him again?

When we pulled up to the Federal Building on Second Avenue, it was a madhouse. A crowd was milling around, waiting for a show, and it appeared we were the show. When they spotted the van, all sorts of people started waving. Some ran toward us. We had to double-park. The police, and there were lots of them, said it was okay. There were mobile units from three TV stations in front of the Federal Building, satellite dishes on top of their vans.

Fortunately we'd been briefed on Neal's cell by Seattle police and the security officers from the Federal Building. We more or less knew what had happened. A security guard said that the coyote, being chased by crows, was running back and forth on Second Avenue right during rush hour. When the coyote ran in front of the Federal Building, the automatic doors opened. The animal ran inside.

“Makes sense,” Neal said. “It would've been darker in there, looked safer.”

“But what was a coyote doing running around downtown Seattle?” I asked.

“Oh, well, they live close by.”

“You're kidding.”

“Maybe thirty of 'em, down on the waterfront. At night, that's when they're active, cleaning up behind the tourist restaurants. They eat the food scraps some, but mostly they catch the mice and the rats.”

“Rats?” the kid in the backseat echoed.

“Great big rats, Cody. Norwegian suckers.”

“Norwegian suckers? I don't get it.”

“Non-native species. Norway rats.”

“I hope we don't ever have to rescue
them.”

“Count me out. City rats are a menace to public health. Which makes our urban coyotes valuable citizens.” Neal shook his head, thinking. “Imagine how disoriented and frightened that coyote was when it got caught out after dawn. Which way is my den, where in the heck am I, why won't these crows leave me alone, and where can I find some cover? He runs inside the Federal Building, but there's more people in there, and all he can see that looks safe is to dive inside the elevator. They shut the door on him, then shut down all the elevators in the whole building. It's a big mess, and we're supposed to fix it.”

“You mean Shannie is.”

“Right. But just if she feels like it.”

I didn't know what I felt like. Nervous, I guess. Scared. I wished it was a job for Sage, but it wasn't. Neal thought she would spook the coyote, so we had to leave her in the van. I said, “What's the game plan, Uncle Neal? Net the coyote?”

“Possibly, but I wouldn't recommend that except as a last resort. Once you've netted it, you'll have raised the coyote's fear level through the roof. We need to try to calm it rather than terrify it even more.”

“Is that possible?” I was more than a little skeptical.

“Actually, they're gentle creatures, unless they're fighting to defend themselves. I've handled them before.”

“You're kidding. You've done this before?”

“A couple of times, but not in an elevator. I hate to see Animal Control tranquilize them. Sometimes they die.”

“I don't know,” I said nervously. “What exactly would you do if this was your rescue?”

“Go into the elevator, sit down calmly, just start talking with the coyote. Win its trust.”

“So you think I can do that?”

“Just if you feel good about it, Shannon. Nothing I've heard has led me to believe this animal is sick. It's just in need of a little help. We'll be right outside. Say Cody's name when you're ready. He'll come in with the carrier, real easy-like.”

“What about the net, if we have to net him?”

“I'll have one of the security guards ready with it outside, in case the coyote bolts on us.”

“I can't believe I'm going to do this.”

“If anybody in the whole world could do it besides Uncle Neal,” Cody said dramatically, “it would be you, Shannie.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, bro.”

“Are you going to try, Shannie?”

“They say there's a first time for everything.”

In the street, I pulled on the overcoat and a pair of light gloves. Cody grabbed a coyote-sized carrier, I got the salmon net, and the three of us were on our way.

“Give 'em room!” a burly policeman shouted. The crowd fell back and made a corridor for us. The TV cameras were rolling, reporters talking into their microphones, saying stuff about a man and a girl and a boy and a fishing net and Jackie's Wild Seattle. I heard one of them mention our
bumper sticker, Turtles for Peace. They were saying lots about the girl because Neal still had the cast on his arm and I was the one with the gloves and the net. The only face in the crowd I really focused on was that of a Native American guy with a dark face and long black hair. He wasn't talking to anybody, just watching very keenly.

The lobby was crowded with people who worked in the Federal Building, policemen and security cops, and the radio and TV reporters. Neal waved for people's attention. Everybody fell silent.

“We'd appreciate your cooperation,” Neal said. “TV cameras fine, still cameras bad, unless they're digital, on account of the sound of the shutters. We'll set up a rope line—please stand behind it. When the elevator door is open, please be as quiet as you possibly can. We don't want to startle the animal. My able niece, Shannon Young, is going to attempt to help this coyote out of its pickle. Handling the carrier, that's her brother Cody.”

“Where'd the coyote come from?” asked a reporter, holding her microphone toward Neal. The reporter was the supermodel type.

“Just a few blocks away, down at the docks.”

“It eats rats,” Cody added. “Big Norwegian suckers.”

“And what exactly are Norwegian suckers?” the glamorous reporter asked him.

“Norway rats,” Cody spoke up. “Non-native species. They're filthy and they're a menace to public health, and that's why the coyotes are good citizens.”

The reporters who didn't have recorders or TV cameras were writing all this down. The Indian man was enjoying this.

“Where do you go to school, Cody?” another reporter asked.

“New Jersey. I saw the towers crash down, the World Trade Center towers. My best friend's dad got killed. He was my soccer coach.”

“Cody,” I whispered, “this might be more than they wanted to know.”

“By no means,” the reporter said, and another one said, “Are you kidding, this is great.” Yet another reporter called, “What else, Cody?”

“Well,” my brother said. “Our mother is in Pakistan and our father is in Afghanistan. They help people at the refugee camps. They're with Doctors Without Borders.”

“Keep going,” the supermodel encouraged him. “The coyote can wait a little longer.”

Cody looked at Uncle Neal, who gave him a thumbs-up. “Whatever you feel like saying, Cody. It appears that you're all theirs, and vice versa.”

My brother's face lit up. “I know what. My uncle Neal—that's him—he donated the wildlife ambulance that's parked outside to Jackie's Wild Seattle, but it's all broken down. We might not even make it home. Jackie needs a miracle. My uncle can't donate another one to take its place because he's running out of money. He used to work for Boeing. He's an engineer. Maybe somebody else could donate a new ambulance to Jackie.”

Everybody in the lobby started clapping.

Suddenly all my tension was gone. The kid had drained it right out of me. Knock me over with a feather, I felt that calm. “Uncle Neal,” I said, “I'm ready.”

“Let's go to work,” Neal said.

Everyone fell silent. The rope line was set up, and the crowd stood behind it. When the time came, the elevator door opened and there was the coyote curled up in the back
left corner. It lifted its head and its ears stood straight up. It was looking at me and Cody and Uncle Neal, and past us to a hundred or more very quiet people.

The coyote didn't stand up, just lay there very alertly.

“Looks healthy,” Uncle Neal said. “A young one, maybe just a year old. It's a go, Shannon, whenever you're ready.”

I hesitated. I pictured the coyote lunging at me like the bear cub and the bobcat. Don't go there, I thought. Don't even think about it.

I took a deep breath. As calmly as possible, I stepped into the elevator.

The coyote stood up. Its ears pointed straight toward me, its tail went straight down.

Behind me, the door closed noisily.

Right away I started talking. I told the coyote how beautiful it was, what beautiful colors it had in its coat, what beautiful eyes, how sorry I was to hear that it was lost.

So far, so good. I decided to sit down. I might look less threatening that way. The coyote locked its eyes on mine as I sat cross-legged across from it. I kept talking. I explained who I was and where I was from, described our house on Liberty Street, described my room, my bedspread and everything on my dresser, then started talking about what a great city Seattle was. “Have you ever been to Fremont and seen the troll?” I asked. The coyote had beautiful amber eyes. They were always right on mine.

By this time I wasn't afraid anymore. I felt calm, even, and I thought how fun this was, what a rush. I thought about Neal. I thought about how much my uncle and I were alike. The coyote truly was a beautiful animal. “Beautiful Amber Eyes,” I began to call the coyote, and I meant it. “Beautiful eyelashes, beautiful coat, beautiful wild thing.”

The coyote lay back down. There was only about four feet between us.

I had practically hypnotized myself. How long I'd been in there, I had no idea. The coyote's head had been down on its paws for some time now. Its ears were relaxed. I had a feeling it trusted me. It knew I'd come to help it, not hurt it. Animal intelligence.

The time was now. Still talking, I got up on my knees. Still talking, I eased over and sat right next to it, like I might with Sage or Jackie's retrievers. I reached out my hand and touched it on its back. The coyote followed my hand closely with its mouth, but it didn't open its jaws, didn't nip at me. Amazing.

“Beautiful,” I said.

I told the coyote how I was going to pick it up, pull it into my body so I could take care of it.

“Let's get you out of your pickle,” I said, and then I made my move. I eased my right hand under its chest, slipped under its backside with my left, then pulled the animal into my body. “Cody,” I said, not much louder than I'd been talking to the coyote, but loud enough my brother might hear me.

The elevator opened. The coyote's ears went straight up and I felt its body go rigid. In glided Cody with the carrier, the door already open. “He's a friend, he's a friend,” I whispered. “He's bringing you a little den to crawl into.”