Sometimes I make stupid decisions. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I have no idea.

Wildlife biologists do a lot of stupid shit in the name of conservation. I had the opportunity to go into a bear den this week, but declined for many reasons. You tell me. Did I make the right decision?

Had I gone, this is what my weekend would’ve looked like:

Day 1: Ten-hour drive by myself to the field site. Meet up with the crew.

Day 2: One-hour drive. One-hour snowmobile ride (I hate snowmobiles as much as I hate snowshoes). Three-hour snowshoe. Roughly two hours of (really freak'n cool) work. Three-hour snowshoe. One-hour snowmobile ride. One-hour drive.

Day 3: Ten-hour drive home…

And one GIANT carbon footprint for the so-called wildlife/conservation biologist.

Training Days: I Hate Snowshoes

The first time I wore snowshoes, I was working at night, in the dark, with “Not So Much.” We hiked up a snowy mountain road, Not So Much a good nine to ten minutes ahead of me. I chased after him for hours, occasionally catching him, but only because he’d stopped to hoot for owls.

When we finally got to the top of our route, Not So Much said, “It’s all downhill from here.”

"So soon?" I huffed and puffed, too tired to take another step, but knew I had to somehow make it back to the truck.

“Let’s take a shortcut." He cracked a knowing smile.

Little did I know, taking a shortcut meant hiking straight down the mountainside, through brush and trees. Usually, not so bad. But when your feet are three times wider and longer than normal, you tend to get them caught up on a lot of stuff. And then you tend to face plant. In the snow. A lot.

After tangling myself in a bush for what felt like the thousandth time, I screamed, “I hate snowshoes!”

I can’t say it was the first time I’d seen Not So Much laugh--after all, it was dark and he was far ahead of me--but it was the first time I’d heard him.

Some People Find me Difficult to Deal with.

I went to a workshop last week where a colleague of mine told me I was complicated. Another told me I was guarded. I know I’m guarded. I’m not sure about complicated. I’m not sure I know what he meant. Perhaps he meant snarky. My snarkiness can be off-putting to people if they don’t know me (or even if they do.) I do try to contain it, especially in professional settings, but sometimes, I just can’t help myself.

For instance, when an inebriated, twenty-something guy from the workshop got in my face and said, “Hey you! You’re the one that yelled at me!” I thought about being polite. After all, I had no memory of ever meeting this kid, let alone yelling at him. But it was two in the morning, I was tired, and he was drunk. So what did I—the older, wiser, supposedly more mature and professional of the two of us—say?

“You probably deserved it.”

And I wonder why people find me difficult to deal with.

Surprise

I had a meeting this weekend. I expected it to be long. I expected people to talk down to me. I expected to have to fight for things I wanted. But none of my expectations were met. The meeting went surprisingly well.

Until we were told we would most likely lose our funding.

What does this mean?

I’m out of a job.

Surprise!

Life Sucks:

Last week:

Sick for four days.
No hot water for three.
Dog fight at seven a.m., outside in the snow, minus four degrees.
Dog bite...left thumb currently too swollen to move and definitely infected.

This week:

A trip to the doctor to get antibiotics and, unless I lie, a visit from the police to interrogate me about whose dog bit me.

Did I mention life sucks?

Training Days: Wildlife Biologist aren’t known for their people skills

Shortly after being hired by “Charismatic Guy” and “Not So Much,” I was teamed with Not So Much, a man of few words. I’d spent several long days with him. In silence. Him hiking through the woods like a gazelle. Me running and tripping over everything, trying to keep up with him. Occasionally, I tried to strike up a conversation, but he always managed to answer my questions in curt one to three word phrases. One day, after a ten-hours of hell, I decided to, once again, see if I could get the guy to talk.

“Do you have any siblings?” I asked, thinking maybe he’d tell me something about himself if I asked about his family.

“Yep.”

“Brothers or sisters?”

“Brothers.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

“Older or younger?”

“Older.”

Not known for my patience or my ability to keep my mouth shut, I snapped. “You know what? I’m done. Talking to you is worse than talking to a wall. If you decide you want to talk to me then fine, but as of this moment, I’m done trying to force you to talk!” I closed my eyes and set my head against the window of the passenger-side door, preparing myself for a summer of hell.

“So…” said Not So Much, a hint of amusement and respect in his voice.

I opened my eyes, catching the almost smile at the corners of his mouth.

“What do your parents do?”

We all do Stupid Shit when Exhausted:

My friend J is not the only one who does stupid shit with bears. One week I was stupid enough to try quitting coffee. I did it because my boss made fun of me for drinking too much. My first caffeine-free morning, I medicated a bear. The wrong one. The second morning, I opened a door to a bear pen...without kicking the bear out first. The third morning?

My boss gave me a gift card to Starbucks.