(Undercover) PET TRACKER

Chapter 9, Part 1: Undercover Pet Detectives (Part 1 of 2)

NOTE FOR THE VISUALLY IMPAIRED: This story is also available as an audio recording, read by Kat, the author.

This post is Part 1 of the 2-part Pet Tracker story where my search dog Rachel and I responded on our first “under cover” pet detective search.

You are actually about to read a section from the middle of my memoir PET TRACKER. To read the FULL Substack (free!) version from the very start, go to this link, scroll down until you see the Scroll Down > icon-thingy and click on it. Then, scroll all of the way to the very bottom and you can start reading the beginning of the book with the “Dedication & Introduction.”

Thankfully, the serious nature of my pet detective work was sometimes offset by charming and bizarre events, a fact that served to save my sanity and arm me with ammunition for interviews. In one case, a woman who found an unwelcome “package” of dog poop on her property called and asked me to bring a search dog out to backtrack the scent trail to determine whose rude dog had left a deposit on her lawn. In another case, a documentary producer asked if I would fly with my dogs to Florida to track “Skunk Ape,” the Everglades version of Bigfoot. We did not respond to either of these cases.

But we did respond to search for Bret, a bearded dragon on the lam who had jumped from his owner’s arms and disappeared in heavy brush. Bret’s owner was a former Hollywood actor who dressed his lizard in doll clothing because Bret was a “star.” Bret had once appeared in an MTV music video. I know this for a fact because Rachel and I had to sit and watch his video before we could start our search.

And then there was Barry. In this case, I was called and asked to work an undercover pet detective operation. Every cop loves to go undercover. The thrill of police work combined with the danger of being exposed means double the excitement. Throw in a deadly snake, and an adrenaline junky like me is having the time of her life.

Barry was a large (very large) boa constrictor who slithered to freedom from his glass enclosure at a California zoo. The entire staff of the place spent three weeks frantically looking for their missing snake—with the zoo still open to the public—before they called to see if I could help them. To this day, I’m still sworn to secrecy about the name and location of the facility.

“Every cop loves to go under cover.” (photo credit: depositphotos - )

One of the zoo supervisors heard about my pet detective work and called to see if Rachel could search for a snake. She made it very clear that this was sensitive information and that they did not want the media or the public to be aware that they had a boa constrictor loose in their zoo. Once I explained what I would need and what they could expect of Rachel, we made arrangements for me to show up the following morning. The supervisor told me to enter a particular gate and look for the security guard kiosk. I was to park there and ask the security guard to page Darla Robbins, who would come and meet me at the gate. And there was one more thing…the supervisor asked if I could respond as discreetly as possible. I agreed.

I left my orange pet detective vest at home. I took Rachel’s harness but left her orange “Search Dog” shabrack behind. I skipped the magnetic “PET DETECTIVES” business signs that I normally slapped on the doors of my truck as I headed out to search for a lost pet. I didn’t even take my yellow backpack that had a tiny blue “Search Dog” patch on it. Instead, I stuffed all my search gear into a plain khaki canvas bag, loaded my pet Weimaraner into my civilian truck, and hit the highway, ready to spend a day at the zoo.

There was only one problem. My personalized license plate read “PET HNTR” and my bumper was draped with a reflective SEARCH & RESCUE sticker from my old search-and-rescue days. I wasn’t about to scrape off a sticker for one search, nor was I willing to cover my license plates. After traveling for a few hours, I finally pulled into the designated gate and spotted the kiosk with a Security placard above the door. I walked up to the security officer.

To the left of the kiosk, standing only 15 yards away, was a group of about 30 young adults. I suspected they were waiting for the rest of their group since none of them were purchasing tickets and entering the zoo. But I was very aware of their presence and wanted to make sure I did not indicate to the security guard just why I was there. Undercover means undercover—I wasn’t even going to let security know what I was there for.

“Search and Rescue?” he asked. I wasn’t sure if he had a reading problem or if he simply wanted me to explain why the words were on my bumper.

“Yes,” was all I said. I didn’t want him to know that I had a dog in the back of my truck until after I had met with the zoo employee. She could explain to him later what the nature of my visit was about, if policy would permit.

“I’m here to see Darla Robbins,” I said as I showed him my driver’s license. The guard smiled, wrote down my name, and told me he would page Darla for me. I turned and walked only five steps toward my truck when I heard a blaring voice come across the public address system, reverberating through the entire zoo:

“Darla Robbins, please come to gate three. The lady with the dog trained to find lost snakes is here.”

I froze in my tracks!

Dooooooooooooooh! My cover was blown! I just knew that someone in the crowd of people standing by the kiosk was already calling the local news station. Before I even had a chance to unload my dog from my truck, I had exposed the zoo’s dirty little secret!

To be continued…