Look What We Caught

James set a small animal trap under our back deck a few days ago. Our intentions were to catch a couple of the neighborhood cats. I normally don't have problems with cats-- I actually like them, but these particular cats have to go. They are on some kind of turf war over my yard. They keep pooping everywhere to claim territory. 

Both of the frenchies are shit seeking missiles and eat said cat poop. Of course, the cat poop is never solid cat poop. It's cat explosive diarrhea. I'm constantly wiping cat shit off the dogs' faces. I love those dogs, but if I could not do that chore, that would be super. Hence, we set the traps to catch the cats. For relocation. I don't want to hurt them, I just want them to poop somewhere else. 

Anyway, backstory aside,  I peeked under the deck today while I was winding up the hose and I was surprised to see a little face looking back at me. For days the trap had been empty. But we caught something today. And that something was pissed. We caught a medium sized opossum.  

The opossum hissed at us the entire time we had it. It was a silent hiss, but I could see the hate in its eyes and I knew he was hissing. That's how pissed off this opossum was that he had been caught-- he couldn't even articulate it. He was probably minding is own business last night when he caught the whiff of days old salmon in the cage and thought to himself, "Wow, that smells delicious! I should enter this wire funnel to eat it." And BAM he was trapped. 

James took him over to a neighboring corn field and dropped him off. I didn't want to kill the little pissed off guy. It's not his fault he's really stupid and got caught. The trap is going back under the deck tonight with more cat enticing food inside it. I hope I don't catch more unwanted critters. 

Black Listed

I tried to take Picasso Scissor Hands to the PetSmart groomers today to have his nails trimmed. His nails were clicking over the linoleum like the raptors in Jurassic Park, so it was time.

 

He's been to PetSmart about 100 times, but he is always a nervous wreck when he's there. His whole body shakes and convulses. He lays his ears back whenever someone approaches him. He won't eat a treat that's offered to him. He won't even play with another dog that sniffs him. Basically, he's nothing like himself when he's at PetSmart.

 

Today as I signed him in, he was shaking terribly as always. One of the groomers came out and tried to lasso him with one of their leashes to take him into the back room and Picasso jumped up and snapped at the leash. It scared the girl. Understandable. But Picasso was scared, too. I asked the girl if I could lasso him for her, and she told me, "No, I have to do it." Well, suit yourself. She tried lassoing him again and he snapped again.

 

She told me she absolutely could not trim Picasso's nails because he is a "mean dog". Mind you, Picasso was totally freaking out at this point. He couldn't get away from this woman and her lasso fast enough. I was miffed she referred to Picasso as a "mean dog" so I left without another word.

 

Once Picasso and I got into my car, I could smell it... he had expressed his anal glands during the second attempted lassoing. He had, no doubt, left anal gland juice all over the groomer's floor and I was too mad to notice. Ha, that's what you get, groomer lady: call my dog mean again and see what happens.

 

Does this even slightly resemble a mean dog?!

 

CQ Duty

I am currently sitting in my unit's barracks on CQ duty. 24 long hours making sure the kids in the barracks behave themselves-- the longest babysitting shift ever. Luckily, Thursday nights aren't exciting around here and my biggest challenge has just been to stay awake.

I've watched 5 movies since I've been on shift: The Departed, Stranger Than Fiction, Resident Evil, Blades of Glory and The Sixth Sense. For someone who doesn't enjoy watching movies, that sure is a lot of movies! I also just mopped the floor out of the goodness of my heart and to get my blood moving again.

CQ has their own bathroom. It's clearly marked that it is for CQ USE ONLY. However, I've had at least 3 dudes (1 guy twice) come in here looking desperate in search for a bathroom just before PT started. I didn't have the heart to turn them away. I'd hate to be responsible for someone pooping on themselves during a run!

 

But it turns out, I should have turned those nasty jerks away because they desecrated my restroom.  I won't take a picture of that for you. Nor will I explain in great detail. However, I will say I am now forced to clean the bathroom not out of the goodness of my heart, but because of OSHA standards.

Only 3 more hours of duty before I can go home.

Things You Do In The Army...

Clearly, it takes a different kind of person to be in the Army. Generally speaking 12 mile road marches, running 4 miles, waking up at 4:30am, working 12 hours daily, land navigation in pitch darkness and wearing long sleeves and pants all year doesn't appeal to the masses. It takes a special, maybe a short bus kind of special, person to do this and love it.

Here are a few things Army folks do that most people wouldn't-- either due to class, standards or morals.

1. Nap in your car. Every Army person is guilty of this. I get to work 30 minutes early just to park in the lot and sleep in my car. I use my PT cap as a pillow.

2. Sleep on the floor. Sometimes this is the only option. When something is the only option, you do it. Once you're used to doing it, you do it frequently and easily.

3. Eat meals in your car. It doesn't matter if you're driving or sitting stationary in your car, at some point during the day, you will eat in it. You will even keep fast food napkins stashed in your car. Also, you will learn to sleep in military vehicles, regardless if they are on or off.

4. Talk about poop. You will talk about poop with your co-workers. This kind of natural conversation will sabotage any kind of civilian job you ever plan to have, so you'd better just stay in the Army and keep talking about poop.

5. Wear white calf socks with shorts. It's part of the Army PT uniform. As a civilian, this is a social and fashion no-no. In the Army, everyone looks like an old man at the beach, so you just roll with it.

6. Hear explosions and ignore them. Not many other jobs prepare you for this acquired skill. Things blow up on post-- get over it.

7. Go alone into the woods at night. We do this stuff called land navigation. And it requires you to do a day and night iteration. Alone. In the woods. Alone. With unidentified animals. Alone.

This is just a short list. But hear me now, we're different from the average bear. We may not know when or where it happens, but somehow we do these things civilians just won't do in good conscious. And we end up loving it... or ETSing....

Mouse In My House

There is a mouse in my house. I thought I saw one run across my kitchen floor out of the corner of my eye a few days ago, but I dismissed it. I've never had a mouse in my house before so I didn't think it could happen to me.

But he's definitely here.

I'm not afraid of mice. I actually think they're really cute. But the discovery of this mouse did make me scream like a little girl.

As I was lifting the garbage bag out of the garbage can, the mouse sprung out from a hole he had chewed in the bag. He landed on my boot (as I was in uniform). I screamed. Picasso came running. The mouse took off. In a black blur of mouse, he scampered under my washer and has not been seen since. And Picasso did nothing. Apparently mouse hunting is not a skill set he possesses.

I found evidence under the kitchen sink that the mouse has been sharing our house for a while. He left poo all over under there. Yuck! I wish I could have no regard for where I poo.

I wonder how the mouse got into my garbage can in the first place. The can is a metal cylinder. With a lid. I wonder if I accidentally threw away the mouse in the past couple days? Did I pick him up? Has there been a mouse hanging out in my garbage and Picasso didn't even notice him moving around in there?

As cute as he may be (if I ever got to see more of him than just a blur), he can't stay. I told James to get traps. I suggested humane traps. He said, "The kind that snap?" So...  I guess we're going to end up killing the little guy. I figured since he had the ability to Houdini into the garbage can, we could spare his life. Poor little mouse in my house.

Traveling Soldier

I'm currently traveling with all my belongings in 2 duffel bags, my weapon, an assault pack (backpack) and an aid bag. They are heavy and awkward. I don't recommend it to anyone.

We took a Chinook from Camp Taji to Victory Base Camp. The flight made me nauseous because I hate sitting sideways in any moving vehicle. Luckily I did not puke, but I kind of wanted to. I started planning it out mentally; where would I puke? What on? On me? There was a lot to go over in my head. I was relieved when we finally landed.

Our stay at BIAP was longer than we planned, however, because a bomb threat was called in. A bomb threat in a combat zone!? Really? I thought that was just a given. Anyhow, everyone at the airport was crammed into helicopter terminals to wait until the bomb squad did whatever they do to bombs to make them not blow up. While we were all together, dinner time came and went. All of us were feeling pangs of hunger. We devoured a bag of Skittles and tasted the rainbow.

But SPC Cooper went above and beyond.

Canned beef lasagna and canned beef brisket. He put that in his mouth. He chewed it. And he swallowed it. Over and over, until it was gone. It looked like poop. He said it tasted better than poop. I don't know if I believe him or not.

(PS You may notice a marked improvement of my spelling from here on out. Now that I'm not at Taji, my computer is spell checking in English again instead of Arabic.)

Not Edible

I was woken from my peaceful slumber around 2am with the most angry bowels I have had in a very long time. This happens from time to time in a 3rd world country; generally it's from eating the delicious fare provided from the local economy. However, I have not eaten off the local economy in quite some time, so this bout of emergency bathroom action was brought on by the chow hall.

Both chow halls on Camp Taji have gone down hill in quality in the past couple months. A new command and unit is running them and they just don't get it that Soldiers would like to eat yummy food instead of questionable food.

This food is Swedish meatballs and onion rings. Mmm, just like Mom used to make. Except these meatballs are the same meatballs that go in chow hall spaghetti. Change up the sauce and you have an entirely different meal! Cost effective!

This food appears to be the chow hall's version of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and canned corn. Covering it in cheese and ketchup did not mask the grade F meat used to create this undesirable loaf.


And lastly, this food was advertised as roast pork and spicy potatoes. It looked and tasted like poo and is probably the reason why I was up most of the night wishing my belly would quit waging war with my body. Oh, and you can't forget the random slice of sausage pizza complete with left over breakfast sausage hidden under the cheese.

I do not like the forced diet I've been put on. I just can't eat this junk anymore. Hopefully the food is better in Kuwait.

Castle de la Evac

It rained a few days ago. It didn't seem like it was raining that much until the next day when I walked to work and had to avoid the ocean sized puddles that formed all over Camp Taji. For whatever reason, US Forces have refused to pave the streets on our FOBs. Instead, we get a kick out of trudging through sticky mud and stinky pools of stagnant water. I think the arguement against paving the streets is the absurd waste of money, like this whole conflict hasn't been an absurd waste of money.

The Evacuation Platoon does not have work space in the actual clinic. Instead, we are banished to a tiny trailer out back which is on stilts. Just high enough so when it rains, a mote forms around our workplace. For a while I pretended I worked in a castle and the mote was keeping the dragons from escaping and burning down the Aid Station, but once the water started to smell like poo, it lost it's magic and I just wanted it gone.

A poo sucker came by and drained the mote. Literally, a Port-O-Potty cleaner came and sucked the mosquito egg ridden water out from under the trailer. Nothing but the best around these parts. The water in Iraq always worries me. No matter where it is, when it forms, or how long it's been there, it's always yellow. And the local people drink that shit. They must have tummies made of iron.

P.S. If you've noticed my spelling going way downhill lately, my computer has chosen to spell check in Arabic and I don't know how to make it stop.

Kids and Poop

The kids are out of control in Iraq. When they set eyes on our convoys they come running from their houses like American kids do for the Ice Cream Truck. If I were the mothers of these children I would sooner faint than let them tear out of the house in hot pursuit of foreigners with guns. Cultural differences.

Children are demanding little devils. They all want something from us. Chocolate and pencils mostly. I don't carry either. They all look at me like, "Well aren't you just a waste of my time", when I tell them I can't meet their demands. Today I improvised with the masses and I gave them a roll of medical tape and a few pairs of exam gloves. I practically started a riot amongst the children. They all wanted the gifts I bestowed upon them. Once the original gifts were carried away, more children took their places and demanded items from me. I carry an aid bag full of treasures, and I'm constantly swatting dirty thieving hands away from its zipper.

Most of the kids are cute for about 2.5 seconds before they just become pests. Grubby hands are always in my face. My hair gets pulled because they don't see "yellow hair" very often. They want me to give them my patches and my sunglasses. They know the English word No, they just play dumb and keep yelling in your face.

SPC Perez and I backed ourselves up into a corner today and were immediately ambushed by a group of about 7 kids. A few of the boys were laughing and pointing at our feet. I ignored them for awhile, but after they shouted, "MISTER MISTER!" few hundred times, I looked down and saw a huge random animal turd next to my boot. I said, "Poop." That drove the children into hysterics and immediately I had "poop" echoing from all their mouths. Leave it to me to introduce that word into their limited English vocabulary.

It goes to show that potty humor is popular with kids in every culture.

Soldiers are Artists, too

My bathroom is a trailer. It has 10 showers, 8 toilets and 8 sinks. The water is not for human consumption by any means. Seeing your co-workers naked is the norm. Pooping alone is out of the question. But the toilets flush, which is the best thing that has happened to me all year. Sad, but true. Because the alternative is... scary, evil, stinky port-o-potty.

Of course the port-o-potty, or so lovingly shortened to just "the shitter", still lurks everywhere. Buildings don't have indoor plumbing so there sits the shitter, generally in pairs, even when numerous more are strongly advised.

In dire emergencies, and when time is an issue, I will visit the shitter. I never let any of my skin actually come into contact with any of the plastic surfaces. I prefer the hover method or making a bird's nest of toilet paper to sit on. I try to make it a quick in-and-out type trip. No lingering. But some people do linger (probably boys). Linger long enough to create art on the shitter walls.

I would pass out from lack of oxygen if I was in the shitter long enough to create such masterpieces! Who has the time!? Who thinks of that!? Who always has a permanent marker in their pocket!? Deployed Soldiers, that's who.