Fur Flew Over the Animal Tales of 1998
This was the Year of the Tiger, according to the ancient Chinese calendar. But in the San Fernando Valley, 1998 was more the year of all critters warm and fuzzy, plus a few cold and slimy.
Into the news burst bats, cats, newts, greyhounds, horses, turtles, bulldogs and iguanas, as well as a “Yogi” bear, peacocks, mountain lions and a rattler. And even a tiger or two.
The year began with a roar--of the human sort--for humane treatment of animals.
First into the spotlight was Bootsie, the wretchedly scrawny Burbank tabby whose mewing so disturbed the television viewing of the man of the house that he broke her jaw and severely damaged her tooth.
Readers’ reactions were akin to the howls evoked by a 1964 incident in which a smiling LBJ hoisted a White House beagle by its ears.
Amid the uproar, Bootsie was whisked off to an animal hospital and safe haven in Palm Springs, while her attacker was sentenced to pay the veterinary bills, perform 80 hours of Caltrans work and undergo anger management training.
A startled motorist who spotted a fuzzy black bear clinging to a Newhall telephone pole was at a loss for words to describe the creature. Coached by a sheriff’s deputy, the driver finally blurted out that the culprit was the size of the cartoon character, “Yogi Bear,” rather than his sidekick, “Boo-Boo.” Despite the description, deputies never did find their bear. Perhaps he was smarter than average.
A baby pit viper slithered into the news in January, of all unlikely times, and struck a toddler.
Unlike 1997, when many mountain lions were seen prowling the urban areas, the big cats this year made only a few quiet appearances, in both the East and West Valley. Far noisier are the mysterious peacocks of Van Nuys, which reportedly are often heard but never seen.
A tiger was the star attraction in an exhibit at the annual San Fernando Valley Fair, held at the Los Angeles Equestrian Center.
El NiNo rains contributed to practice sessions by rescuers trying out a new sling. Designed by a UC Davis veterinarian specifically for the rescue of horses, workers used the sling and a helicopter for months, practicing rescues by plucking up a life-size, feed-store-variety plastic replica of Old Paint.
Then they got to do the real thing three times in separate incidents. Tapes of the muddy rescues, aired on national television, prompted calls from animal rescue teams throughout the country searching for duplicate slings.
Like freeway pursuits, rescues of hapless animals inevitably capture attention. Volunteers from all walks of life got caught up in one cause or another.
Maggie McCurry of Studio City lost her heart to a greyhound and now spends much of her time flying other retired racing dogs in her private airplane to new, loving homes of leisure. Dozens of other volunteers pitched pets for adoption at shopping malls, on television and in pet supply stores.
Reports of attacks by pit bulls and other fierce dogs made the news again this year. But so too did the disappearance of a growing number of bulldogs, which owners suspect are shanghaied into the underworld of fighting dogs.
Speaking of the underworld, virtually extinct terrapin--the western pond turtle that once thrived in creeks all over California--reappeared in--where else?--Topanga. Unfortunately, the rare creatures decided to hit the road, literally, and a few ended up flattened. So residents raised funds to post signs: “SLOW (illustration of turtle silhouette) XING.”
The funky folks of the canyon didn’t stop there. They went on to conduct the first-ever bat census--counting the furry fliers the old-fashioned way--1, 2, 3 . . . . --in an attempt to tally the bats living under wooden bridges due to be replaced beginning next spring.
News of the bat count traveled all the way to Capitol Hill, where one congressman demanded to know how bat counters could count bats on the wing accurately, given the presumption that America’s human inhabitants cannot be counted accurately for the 2000 census.
In other reaches of the Santa Monica Mountains, California newts reappeared, grazing on green algae in streams. The resurgence of the amphibians was attributed to El NiNo rains that swelled the rivers and swept nonnative predatory crayfish out to sea.
Pacific and California tree frogs and two-striped garter snakes also returned to the scene when the crayfish numbers dwindled. The comeback delighted ecologists, including Lee Kats, who described an encounter with a dying crayfish: “My goal was to just smash the smithereens out of that sucker. But it hid in a crack.”
A similar sentiment has been demonstrated by owners of iguanas. Although when little, they look fascinatingly like miniature, bright green dinosaurs, the once-fashionable reptiles quickly outgrow their popularity when they reach 3 feet or more in length, which takes only about two years. Zoos and rescue groups have exhausted their capacity to shelter all the unwanted lizards.
Where will all the outcast iguanas go? We might find out in 1999.
