2001-03-21 - 09:59 p.m.
"an intelligent boy!" said scrooge. "a remarkable boy!"

I was walking down the street in semi-residential Mill Valley when I saw an unhappy small furry thing huddled at the edge of the paved part of the sidewalk, near a narrow plot of grassy soil that runs between the sidewalk proper and the curb. I stopped, realized it merited closer attention, set down my backpack and looked at the little being more carefully. It was an injured little mole. Moles are not designed to locomote aboveground on pavement, so it was a pretty unhappy, immobile little mole.

I didn't want to touch it for fear that a) I would inadvertently hurt it or b) it would have some icky mole disease, so I sort of nudged at it with a dandelion stalk, trying to make it stumble back towards the grass. I only succeeded in turning it on its back, making it much worse off than it was in the first place, so I gave up on that tactic and picked the thing up in one hand, quickly setting it down in the grass. It still looked pretty damn unhappy and immobile. When I picked it up, it felt like picking up a pet rat or other warm friendly rodent, only this one was undomesticated and dying.

At about this time, a couple of joggers passed by, stopped, came back to take a look at the situation, and inquired as to what had happened. I filled them in and we all made sad sorts of noises about how there wasn't much else we could do about it. What, after all, does one do for a dying mole? They don't have owners to be returned to; they are, strictly speaking, household pests. Anyway, the joggers moved on, and so did I after a moment. I walked on for a while, then I decided that I couldn't leave the little thing like that, and that I should go back, pick it up and take it to Old Mill Park so it could at least die in a quieter place. So, I turned around and went back.

As I was crouching down, considering how best to transport the mole, a kid on a bike rode past, stopped, came over and asked what I'd found. I explained about the mole, and my general sense of helplessness about the situation. "Aww, how cute," the kid said, immediately picking up the mole and gently examining it. "I don't know of anywhere to take him," I said. The kid, who was about ten years old, thought for a second, then said, "The Tamalpais Pet Hospital." Of course, the Tamalpais Pet Hospital. That was a pretty good idea. But getting it there was a problem--it was not a great distance, but it wasn't walking distance wither, and I was without car. The kid volunteered to put the mole in his backpack and ride down there. He took out a box of about the right size, moved the couple of dollars and change that were in the box to his pocket, and we placed the mole inside as carefully as possible along with some grass for padding. I told the kid he was doing a good deed, and we parted ways.

It is a valuable characteristic of our younger citizens that, for situations in which constructive options are not immediately apparent, they have not yet learned to set their default option to "Gee, it's too bad there's nothing I can do."

Of course, now I feel kind of responsible for the mole. I think tomorrow I'll go by the Tamalpais Pet Hospital and see how it's doing.

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