Animal Control
There was a period of about 3 and a half years where I worked from home. Moving to Baltimore for the woman I would ultimately marry left me in need of a job, and I found a work-from-home position working as a project manager for my long-time friend’s digital media company. It was a fun and interesting job and I had more time on my hands than I was accustomed to. I would fill the time with long walks, exercise and phone calls to creative friends to brainstorm ideas for side projects. Since I like to move around when I brainstorm, in order to manage my creative energy, I would oftentimes walk in circles around my 100-year-old house’s unfinished attic. It offers a walkable space, perfect for wearing a circular pattern in the antique floorboards.
One late morning, I was in the middle of an engaging conversation on the phone with my friend Mikael. Mike, a brilliant improv comedian and actor, had called to discuss some upcoming work we were doing for an annual 3-day film festival we’ve co-hosted for the past 20 years in my current hometown of Frederick, Maryland. Mid conversation, in the middle of what had to be my fiftieth lap around the attic, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye that I hadn’t noticed this entire time. It was an object that appeared to be stuck to the brick wall of my house, on the inside of the attic. As I realized what I was looking at, my stomach dropped. I interrupted Mikael, “Holy shit! There’s a bat in my attic and I must’ve walked past it like 100 times.” I said, slightly unnerved.
For context, I have a slightly ‘Ace Ventura-level’ fear of bats. Which is interesting because I’m such a bleeding-heart animal lover, but bats… I don’t know man. The word heeby-jeebies comes to mind. Every time a bat spreads its wings, I’m reminded of a pervert in a trench coat, revealing themselves to unsuspecting onlookers. I wish they didn’t but they creep me out. Look, I get it. That’s not fair and I know how crucial bats are to the ecosystem. The amount of insects, including mosquitoes that they eat makes them a key element to our collective survival as a whole. I just wish they didn’t look like mice in letterman’s jackets.
Knowing this about myself, I was not about to go collect this bat. No way. Not happening. I still had Mikael on the phone through this ordeal and he calmly suggested I call animal control. “They should be able to handle it.” Mike assured me. “Yeah, animal control.” I countered “that’s a great idea.” It was a great idea. I ended my call with Mikael and dialed Animal Control.
“Hello, Animal Control. Vicki speaking.” A voice answered on the other end. “Hi.” I started “my name is Doug and I have a bat in my attic. Do you guys have or know of anyone that can come remove it for me?” “Has the bat bitten you or anyone else?” Vicki asked. “No. It’s just clinging to the wall in our attic.” I replied, a bit concerned that Vicki suspected I may be turning into a vampire and this is just an elaborate plot to lure fresh humans to my home. “We can send someone out shorty.” Vicki stated. We ended our call and I was satisfied. “Case closed.” I thought to myself. Now all I have to do is sit back and wait until Animal Control arrives.
Get D. M. Powell’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
Not long after I got off the phone with animal control my phone rang. It was my wife Sara calling to check in on me. ”How’s your day going?” She asked. “Oh, you won’t believe it. There’s a huge bat, clinging to the wall in the attic.” “Oh wow!” She said “what are you going to do?” Proudly and with confidence, knowing I had already solved our problem, I said “I called Animal Control.” “You called Animal Control?!” Sara laughed. “For a bat?” She continued. Sara held the phone below her chin as I heard her tell everyone currently sitting in her salon, “Doug just called Animal Control because there’s a bat in the attic.” I heard what must’ve been 6 or 7 people, some, I can only imagine, with their hair shrouded in aluminum foil, all laugh in unison at my cowardice.
I thought Sara would be proud of me for solving the problem. I never thought she would lose a ladder’s rung of respect for me for not being more like Steve Erwin in this situation. Who did she think I was? I would never, in a million years wear khaki shorts with a khaki shirt. Also, since when do I pick up bats? I stood there on the other end of the line and listened to the continued jubilation at the salon when I heard a knock on my door. “Wow!” I thought to myself. “That was fast.” I hung up the phone, walked downstairs to the front door and opened it.
Now, I’m not sure what I was expecting when I envisioned what type of person animal control might send to my house. Maybe I imagined a large guy, wearing bite proof clothing with a thousand yard stare that told me he’d seen some shit. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t who I found standing in my doorway. I opened my front door to reveal a woman, roughly 5ft 3in in height, in her animal control uniform, holding a plastic Folgers coffee can. She reminded me of Walter, from the Big Lebowski right before he scatters Donny’s ashes in the Dude’s face. I said the only thing I could think to say, “Are you really gonna catch it in a plastic coffee can?” I asked, disappointed to be suddenly losing my ‘man card.’ She nodded and I walked her to the door leading up to the attic.
“How emasculating.” I thought to myself. “I’m scared of bats and now everyone at the salon knows and thinks I’m a total coward and Animal Control sent the smallest woman they could find to help me by using a plastic coffee can.” I opened the door to the attic and she walked up. I would’ve followed her up but… you know… I was tired or whatever. I listened to her tiny footsteps as they made their way across the attic and then immediately back down the stairs. She was up there so briefly that it made me suspect that maybe she planted the bat, just to scare me. That maybe this was some elaborate prank put on by the good people at Animal Control to teach us citizens proper bat maintenance? How else could she know exactly where to find it? As she came down through the attic door holding the can in her hands I asked, “was it dead?” She looked at me with no expression on her face and said. “It was a bird.”
It took me a second to process what she said. It looked like a bat to me but in my panicked haste, I guess I never got a close enough look to be sure. “Wait. What?” I asked. “A bird? How was it connected to the wall?” “Sometimes birds die like that.” She said, matter-of-factly. “I’ve heard it means someone died in your house.” “Hold on.” I thought to myself. “You’re telling me that what I thought was a bat was actually not just a bird but a messenger from the great beyond warning me that the disembodied spirit of someone who may have lived here, might still be roaming the premises!? Is that what you’re saying? You’re telling me that instead of calling Animal Control I probably need to call a medium and a priest? I that what you’re saying tiny animal lady?” That’s what I thought in my mind, but what I said to her was, “Really? Huh… that’s interesting.”
I walked her out the door and thanked her for her time. She climbed back into a pickup truck larger than any I’ve ever owned and drove away satisfied. She had provided her service and done her job like a pro, not to mention, she had that Folger coffee can in her possession. Inside of it, a dead bird and the remnants of whatever manhood I had left. As for me, I still sometimes wrestle with my decision to call Animal Control that day. Maybe I should’ve just used my own damned coffee can, like a man. But maybe, just maybe, I can dream of a world where men can feel confident calling their smallest female friends to help them rid their homes of potentially dangerous wildlife, without all the judgement. A world where the definition of a man is a 5ft 3in lady holding a coffee can. A world where men can say, with conviction; “I’m not going up there.” Maybe it’s wishful thinking. Who knows. But I do really wish she hadn’t taken my manhood that day.
