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The following is an email correspondence I shared with the local animal shelter a while ago. I came across it and was too amused to delete. I remember the moment completely! The incident took place in the city park where I came across a creepy but seemingly sweet little animal that appeared to be lost and alone:

To whom it may concern,

I was walking in the city park on Sunday afternoon and I saw a chinchilla hiding out in the brick shelter near the volleyball court.  It sort of hoped away from me when I approached it so I didn’t try to catch it.  It was about the size of a very young cat and I got a very good look at it.  I am sure it was a chinchilla.  It had a mark or scar across its back.  I’m worried that it will have a hard time in the cold so I hope you can catch it. 

Thanks so much.

(After a short period, the animal shelter person responded to my email.)

Hi,  I will let ACO know in the morning.  Maybe, they will go take a look.  The shelter staff is unable to go becasue (sic) of legality reasons with the union.  If you or someone you do know happens to go and catch it just let me know and I can let someone know you will be bringing it in to the shelter.   Thank you XXXXX

I sent the email when I got home and then I did a quick internet search.  Chinchilla behavior, I learned, is a lot like that of the common rat… probably because they are the common rat in the Andes. I learned they can live 15 to 20 years.  I learned they like dust baths.  I learned they are super cute as babies.  Actually, the baby chinchilla images really just made me feel guilt… I imaged the poor little animal in the city park enduring the cold, cold night all alone.

How then, could I say no when my father was like, ‘We should go catch it!’

The plan was to capture the chinchilla and keep it over night in the garage. In the morning, we would hand it over to the animal shelter.  Before we left for the park my mother shouted something about chinchillas liking peanuts and as we walked out the door the comment trailed behind us like a flag. I couldn’t decide if it was a red or white flag.

My father carried a huge cardboard beer box and we wandered through the park to the shelter by the picnic area.

In the faded light of the afternoon, the temperature was already falling…that’s life in the Rockies. The sun goes down and you freeze, no question. 

I called for the little animal…

‘Here chinchilla! Come on little buddy!’ 

Hawks and house cats were killing it in my mind. 

I was afraid we were too late but a moment later I spotted the creature huddled at the base of a tree. 

As I slowly approached, the furry animal sort of glanced over its shoulder with a look not unlike the look I once got from a man on trial for the brutal murder of a woman. In his orange jumpsuit and handcuffed, all that sat between the man and myself was a waist-high wooden barrier and my black metal camera complete with zoom lens. I snapped his photo during a silent portion of the trial and he glanced over his shoulder and…well…if looks could kill…..

In the moment it scared me to even move my finger to trigger the shutter. It was as if the judge and lawyers and courtroom officers were not even there and the only thing that existed was this man, my camera and little old me. After the initial image was snapped the man turned his neck, head, body. It was no longer a glance.  He looked directly at me with such venom. I couldn’t ignore this interaction so I deployed the shutter once again…another loud ‘snap’ rang out… and, I’m not kidding - I was terrified.  Because of the rules of the courtroom, I was only allowed to shoot one frame at a time - no machine gun shutter like I would use for sporting events. Even with the one frame, the sound was so loud and jarring in the absolute silence. 

I kept the camera between the man and myself. Once the man turned away from me, I turned my head slightly to look over my shoulder at the reporter sitting behind me and I mouthed ‘Whoa!’

The crime reporter sat wide-eyed and returned my ‘Whoa!’

I will never forget the hate in that man’s eyes. 

I should get back to the rodent story. I am talking about a tiny rodent….. I mean, I’m telling you about a rat in the park - in the city park. If the rodent were a human, perhaps his look would’ve been saying ‘Shut up you idiot!’ and not ‘Die bitch!’ But, still….this was the thought that flashed across my mind’s eye. This memory, for whatever reason, just hung there in the fading light between the creature and I. It was a weird little spell cast out during the bewitching hour… perhaps like how one might cast out a pot of steamy dish water… a murky and dirty burden in the pale blue light.

A sign, I think.

Once we located the animal, my dad came over and dropped to his knees.  He wore leather work gloves.  He looked at the little animal and said, ‘Come on, buddy.’ He made a little motion with his hands.  The animal sort of loped around the tree.  I went the opposite direction in an effort to herd the creature into the box. This tactic worked until the rodent saw my dad on his knees. It responded by bouncing into the tree where it peered at me, arms splayed like it was ready to pounce. It looked a little mean again.  I backed off.  It bounced down. 

My dad rose to his feet and walked in the opposite direction. 

“I think it’s a pack rat,’ he said. 

My dad crossed his arms and the rodent bounced to my father’s feet, looking my dad straight in the eye. A standoff… like some kind of odd old western film. All that was missing were the tumble weed and guns. After an intense and prolonged period of eye contact, the animal turned and bounced across the lawn occasionally looking over its furry little shoulder at us.

We let it lope off to freedom — a little hole in the concrete structure where it disappeared into black nothingness. Sometimes it’s just best to let a rodent be — no rescue necessary.