Sometime in the last few years I’ve discovered that having low expectations can be very rewarding. People have told me that this is merely pessimism or a bad attitude, but strategically used, this philosophy can result in happy, happy outcomes. This is especially useful in my work life, a situation where more often than not, I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. If i set the bar very, very low, I am far more likely to exceed expectations, which is a sort of success, right? So it was with these thoughts in my head that I sleepily made my way out to the tree trap I’d set for Clarabelle the night before. I fully expected it to be empty, but there was Clarabelle - not sleepy at all. Porcupines are easy to catch, it’s true, yet I’m always a little surprised when I find one in a trap I’ve set. I loaded her up into the sled and made my way through the pickers and ferns and small aspen shoots back down the long cabin road and out to the Trumpeter Trail where I’d parked the car. I was so sure my trap wouldn’t work that I’d parked quite far away to enjoy a walk in the woods.
A year ago, our collared porcupine had gone too long in her collar, and as she gained weight, the collar had grown into her neck. In order to remove the collar, they had had to sedate her, and bathe the wound. I did not have the luxury of drugs this time around, so I was bound and determined to catch the current porcupine and remove her collar before it was too far gone.
The process of removing a porky collar without drugs and by oneself seems to be this: Coax the porky into an open-ended, cone-shaped wire trap. thread rebar across the opening to keep the animal in. Use pliers to grip the antennae. Pull the antenna through the trap wires until a gap between collar and neck appears. Insert a flexible wire in shape of a hook under collar in order to keep space between neck and collar. Start sawing through the nylon collar with a scalpel. This sounds reasonably linear, but the problem is variables such as quills, a living wild animal, and flop sweat.
My first attempt nearly resulted in escape by Clarabelle. i had not secured her in the trap, and she did a sort of backwards tummy-down limbo underneath the rebar at the back of the trap, her little marbled footpads facing up. I started over. My next attempt was better, no escape, antenna gripped, wire loop inserted, sawing begun…and then the squeaking began. Porcupines, when in defense mode, chatter their teeth. When they are truly alarmed or hurt (or mating), they squeak, just like a squeak toy. It is a pathetic sound from an otherwise silent animal, and that’s when the flop sweat began (me, not her). I kept sawing away with a scalpel otherwise meant for dissection, until the blade went dull, and i realized the spot on the collar I’d chosen was a combination of woven nylon wrapped around a thick piece of metal wire. I was trying to cut through wire with a tiny knife! Luckily, back in the day they must have done a lot of dissecting at Sandhill, because there were more dissection kits, all containing a small scalpel. I found a new spot on the collar, pulled quills out of my gloves, hardened myself to the squeaks and kept sawing with a new blade. I went through two scalpels, two exacto knives, a hunting knife (too big), a kitchen knife (also too big), a pair of scissors, and another scalpel before I triumphantly cut through the last of the nylon threads. It was an anti-climactic moment, though, as Clarabelle simply started to squeak louder, making me wonder if I had waited too long, if the collar and neck had grown together? I scooted Clarabelle into a roomier recovery cage, covered her with a tarp, and made myself some tea.
In the end, it all worked out. After an hour or so, I checked on Clarabelle only to find the collar pulled free from her neck. She wouldn’t eat the apples I left for her, but she seemed recovered from the traumatic wrestling match we’d just had. I loaded her back into the truck, took her to her tree, weighed her (13 pounds), and painted her tail blue so we could i.d. her this winter. Then I released her, and left her to regain both her privacy and her dignity. I returned to the skills center to what looked like a crime scene, minus any blood. Sharp instruments lay everywhere. The cone trap, looking like a medieval instrument of torture, was strewn with hair, nylon and quills. Multiple sets of gloves sat on the table alongside a clipboard and a notebook. Quills and fur and feces lay about the floor. a muddy tarp, bits of grass and straw. It did indeed look like a mad scientist’s laboratory.
be free!
What did I care, I had exceeded my expectations, and Clarabelle was free.
It’s too bad that you did not have a video camera setup to record the whole afair. I could have made it onto funniest home videos or something like that. At a minimum, it would have brought on many laughs at a home showing.
Pat M.