Heroine vs. heroin

On Sunday, I was letting the dog in the house when I noticed an immobile creature on the back patio that didn't belong.

Liam said I started screaming for him, but I swear I merely called out. Screaming is what you do when you win the lottery. Calling out is what you do when you find a dead animal in your back yard.

We soon discovered the fly-covered carcass was a raccoon. Being ever so dutiful, I called up the health department. OK, I was hoping that they'd come get it off my back patio. But they advised me to bring it to them.

"Double bag it," the woman on the phone told me. "And if you can, refrigerate it until you can get it here."

"Honey," I told her bluntly, "I'll bag it as many times as you want, but I ain't bringing that shit in my house and putting it in my fridge!"

Liam and I stood on the back patio with garbage bags trying to determine how to get the damn thing into a bag without sickening ourselves. I can't remember what movie it was, but I keep conjuring up a scene were two guys are standing over a body and slapping their foreheads wondering how to dispose of it. I was nearly sick with thinking I could possibly be dealing with death and disease.

Liam busted out sticks and shovels, and not only did he bag the thing, he actually offered (reluctantly) to transport the thing in HIS OWN CAR to the health department.

The woman on the phone told me that because it was the weekend, I would have to go to the back of the building and find the guard, who would refrigerate the raccoon until they could test it. Liam parked at the end of their driveway in Oakland, and I took the stinky, fly-filled garbage bag out of his trunk and marched into the back parking lot, hoping no one would be alarmed by the sight of this and stop me, because all we wanted to do was unload this fucking raccoon and get on with our day.

I found an open door and went in. There were college-age kids milling around in groups, but I saw no guard. One of the girls turned around and greeted me, as I'm standing there with this plastic bag an arm's length from my body.

"Have you been here before?" she asked.

I couldn't say that I had. "No. I called about the raccoon."

"There's.... there's a raccoon in there???" she practically shrieked.

"It's dead, don't worry," I said, reacting to the alarm that spread through the corridor. "They asked me to drop it off for testing."

"Oh, you must want the health department."

I looked at the ALLEGHENY COUNTY HEALTH DEPARTMENT sign just above my head. "Um... this says 'health department.'"

"You want the next door down," she told me. "This is the needle exchange program."

I looked at her. I looked at my garbage bag. I looked back at her.

At that moment, I realized she thought I was carting in a bag full of needles.

I turned and walked out. There was no joke I could make that would have diffused that situation gracefully.




Today the health department called me with the good news: The raccoon tested positive for rabies.

The department of agriculture is paying us a visit this weekend, and I'm not sure why because when I spoke to the man who called, I was so flustered to learn that a rabid animal had been on my back porch AND MY DOG GAVE IT A TONGUE BATH that I couldn't wrap my head around what exactly it was he was trying to tell me. That, and he talked really fast. I heard "quarantine" and "exposure" and stuff like that.

But after I calmed down, I realized, if this was some kind of emergency, the guy wouldn't wait to show up until Sunday in the middle of a Steelers game.