Phonies & Phobias

Lists of who’s available, which species they’re available for, where they’re available and Plan B if it all goes pear-shaped, lay in an orderly fashion on the kitchen table ready for today’s phone challenge.  Damn!  I left the map in my car again.  Thank goodness for Google maps.  Grab phone book too.

Any second now my phone would make THAT noise: the one we phonies look forward to (because we’re helping wildlife) and dread (the weird, downright rude and just plain baffling calls) in almost equal measure…

‘Wildlife Rescue, how can we help’?  During my shifts first call, three more messages were left.  It was going to be one of those days!

Somehow I had to find the appropriate (and preferably willing) rescuer/carer/co-ordinator/picker-upper or dropper-offer without spending too much time tracking them down on the phone, which otherwise would run red-hot with messages from impatient MOPs.  Sorry peeps, but if you come up as ‘No Caller ID’ and don’t leave your number, there’s nothing I can do!  Shame on me for not brushing up on my telepathy beforehand…

Messages left with ‘the list says they’re available’ rescuers.  Is there anybody there?  ET Phone Home!

Seems like it’s going to be a snake day: three of the first five calls have been from MOPs around the Hunter Valley in various stages of brown snake/red belly hysteria and/or hatred.  One caller was so hysterical I had to remind her to breathe and attempt to calm her down so I could get some details before calling an ambulance for her: “But I hate snakes!  There’s a red belly in my garage with the kittens.  I’m terrified of snakes: I can’t go in there!  My kittens, my kittens!”  She sobbed in my ear.  Fortunately, a friend arrived to help her, and was able to tell me who the caller was and where she lived.  Now I can actually do something!  Two more messages on the hotline while this is going on.  Frantically flicking through my ‘snake’ pages to find someone in the area (never heard of the place, that helps: not)  Ask Angel Ann!  Ann smiles at me down the phone, her voice always calm and reassuring.  She utters that wonderful phrase “I’ll deal with the call”.

A brown snake in your aviary next to the back door?  Lunging at you?  “I’ve got a shovel in my hand and if comes any closer to me, I’ll use it” Her local Fire Brigade turned up to help (as it was practically indoors) but this brown snake was, well, as mad as a cut snake.  Four fireys bagged it, only to have it lunge at them and escape.  Time to call SES.  “Couldn’t you find a more pissed off brown snake for us?”

Said the unconcerned duty officer with a chuckle.  

“I’ll try” I laughed back.  “Happy New Year”!

Sometimes we have to bite our tongues.  All the time thinking ‘get off the phone I’ve just told you this is not the organization you’re (not very politely) telling me it is.  No, that’s not us’.  Once again I repeat the name of our organization, what we are what we do and where we do it.  ‘Try such and such number/website’ I say for the third time, through gritted teeth.  ‘Thank you for your call, I have more calls coming in’.  Press end and poke tongue out at phone.  Grrrr.  Time waster!

“My wife’s sent me a photo.  Panic over; it’s an eight foot python of some sort, not a brown snake.”  Husband of the third snake caller said.  Yes, I guess that’s preferable!

Between the snake-related calls came three for orphaned joey possums, one funnel-web spider, a lorikeet “If you don’t take it I’ll leave it in the park” a cockatoo, that was hit by a car half an hour ago on a main road somewhere outside Newcastle, and then three entangled flying foxes.  Also, one pizza order and a drunken request for a taxi.

By now every page of phonies’ info lies strewn over a large area in my kitchen, in no particular order, .  Please let me get this lot reorganized, have time for a pee, reheat my cold coffee and eat the slice of toast that’s been sitting there for three hours (not necessarily in that order) before the phone rings again.  Nope.

Then: magic.  THAT text message from Heaven, ‘Phone’s transferred.’