With Bell’s invention of the telephone it became possible to contact almost anyone, anywhere, for any reason, at a moment’s notice. When the phone rings in our office, I’m fairly certain someone needs something from me.

Often it is a request for hunting information or someone with questions about local wildlife populations. These conversations are usually enjoyable - the callers are mostly friendly and their requests are easily fulfilled.

At other times when the phone rings, there is a problem.

Problems concerning people and wildlife come in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes it’s a homeowner concerned with noises in the attic or worried over the appearance of mysterious holes in the lawn. By asking a few simple questions I can usually identify the wildlife culprit and offer guidance toward a solution. Typically these calls end in customer satisfaction.

There are times though when the voice on the line is frantic: There is something wild in the garage crashing and howling, bent on invading the home and harming its occupants. The caller is panicked because it’s 3:00 p.m., and the kids will be home soon - certain to be carried off, eaten or both.

In college my wildlife management classes focused on biology and population analysis. I studied the muscles and bones of all manner of beast and dissected everything from earthworms to sand sharks. When the frantic caller comes on the line, all my higher education becomes basically irrelevant, leaving me with some common sense, prior experience and a little Psychology 101.

I begin by assuring the caller that the problem, big or small, can be resolved. Frequently, the animal is a common visitor like a garbage-grubbing raccoon or a fox fond of dog food. Such looters can find their way into a place but have trouble getting back out.

Most callers are relieved to learn that the animal is probably more frightened than they are and as eager to leave as the homeowner is to have it gone. Using these two facts to advantage, the animal intruder will almost always depart on its own if offered an open door or window. Most such calls end here. Other times a physical response is necessary. Between nets, catchpoles and chemical immobilization equipment, the uninvited is removed.

My favorite calls are the more unusual (sometimes bordering on bizarre). I once spoke with a man concerned about a large bird that had perched in a tree snag near his home. The bird, a great-horned owl, would appear each day when Ginger, a three-pound Pekinese, went out for her morning business. The ambitious owl had apparently swooped at Ginger, intent on making a meal of the small dog. From then on, Ginger had to be leashed and pulled grudgingly into the yard.

To the dog owner I advised that until the owl moved on, Ginger was safe if accompanied by an adult (human). To myself I mused on how quickly predator can turn prey even in the not-so-remote jungles of suburbia.

White-tailed deer, being large and plentiful, are often the subject of our calls. Recently a woman reported a deer in her yard with a bucket on his head. She explained that the deer (now known as Bucket) had been coming into her yard with several others to eat the shelled corn she offered each evening. Somewhere during his travels the button buck poked his head into a small bucket (probably looking for more corn!) and managed to get his head stuck. As she continued, she explained that the bottom of the bucket was missing so the deer was able to see and breathe. This I had to see.

The new appendage was surely a nuisance, causing Bucket some unique social problems. I don’t know if they laughed or called him names, but all of the other deer wouldn’t let poor Bucket join in any “reindeer games.” He was forced to feed by himself, far from the others in the group. The young deer was losing weight and the bucket had rubbed a sore on his neck.

We elected to help Bucket because his survival seemed compromised (not to mention the fact that he looked ridiculous). With some shelled corn and a little patience, we lured young Bucket into range for a quick dose of sedative. Once his headpiece was removed, we tagged the deer for future identification and released him into the herd. Months later I learned that Bucket was doing well and had acquired yet another type of headgear, his first set of antlers.

The tale of young Bucket is a prime example of why we continue to discourage people from feeding wild animals. Still, in this business, there are just some situations that cannot be anticipated.

Once a distraught person called to report that “the seven horses of the Apocalypse” were in her front yard and asked if someone would please come out to remove them. A coworker, much older and more seasoned than I, calmly assured her that she must be mistaken because, as he recalled, there should only be four horses of the Apocalypse. She seemed content with his answer, his interpretation of ancient prophecy, and his recommendation to contact Domestic Animal Control.

Of course, some of our calls are unpleasant and every ending is not necessarily happy. Sick, injured or nuisance animals are often uncooperative, and some of the people we deal with can be rude and irate. I’ve been bitten, scratched, kicked and urinated on all in the line of duty... and not just by wild animals.

Answering the phone in our office is sort of like reaching into a box of Cracker Jacks - sweet or nuts, it’s anyone’s guess. The good, the bad, and yes, the ugly too, are all part of the job and the uncertainty that keeps it interesting. There’s also the fact that in wildlife work, like in the Cracker Jacks box, there’s bound to be a reward in the end.