This past Saturday, there was an Animal Festival at the wildlife museum. The first thing I saw was a woman holding a very large and bright green frog. I asked her what kind it was, as the hoards of children around me stared and hesitantly touched its moist skin. It was a Pixie frog, a species which is gargantuan once it's fully grown. Dewey the Frog was only a baby, even though his body filled out her entire hand and then some. She also had a kinkajou, a cane toad, a South American Tree Porcupine, an opossum, a raccoon, and an albino African Pygmy Hedgehog. I watched her take out all these animals, and tell the public a little bit about each one. And the first thing I thought was, "What a cool job!"

So when her break came up, I introduced myself, and asked her some questions about her work. She had attended Moorpark's EATM program, which I have been interested in for quite some time. She graduated in the late 80s and began her own wildlife sanctuary with her husband, dedicated to educating the public about wildlife. A girl about my age was there with her, helping out with various things. I soon found out the girl is a current student of EATM, soon to be graduating. I talked to the handler about her current work, as well as what she thought of EATM. Then I asked her what the most difficult part of working with wildlife is. She answered, "Hands down, the time commitment." She told me she often works 12-15 hour days, and that it's next to impossible to go away for a weekend, or even one night, much less go on any kind of extended vacation. She also said there are times when animals get sick, and even if no one is requiring you to stay with the animal, you want to, and end up sleeping at whatever facility or zoo, etc, that you're working at. That made a lot of sense to me, because I've been known to stay up with many a crying kitten and puppy in my day.

I talked to the student, who had good things to say about Moorpark, but she had plenty to complain about as well. She described it as having, in her opinion, a clique-ish, high school atmosphere. She mentioned what she thought was a lack of real direction in the animal training portion of the program. She didn't seem as fond of the program as the animal handler did. The student said she thought it would be better to just go to EATM rather than get another degree first. She'd spent four years at Moorpark getting several associates degrees, including three from the EATM program. It was interesting to hear her perspective on things, and hear about what she wished she'd been told before entering the program.

During the course of the day, I talked to each of them about many things, and it was a really cool experience. I also got to see the same animals taken in and out of their crates over and over, as well as observe their behavior while sitting in their crates. And at the end of the day, I helped the two women load the animals in their van, received a hug from each of them, and the handler wished me well in all that I do. I felt really good.

But then all the day's events had time to sink in, and suddenly, I was enveloped in confusion and anxiety. Do I want to go to a program that's so cliquey? Do I want to get a Bachelor's and then three certificates, or do I want to go to EATM and get three degrees? Do I want to work 12 hour days?

I talked things out with Joe, and felt a trillion times better. That man is the coolest, I tell you!

Here's what I realized from our conversation...

Any intensive program will be cliquey, because you're with the same small group of folks every day for two years. It's harder for the first year people to hang out with the second year people, so everyone sticks to hanging out with their friends in the same year as them. No surprise. No biggie.

Finishing my Bachelor's at UCLA is a good thing, any way you look at it. So that's what I'll do. Doing two years of intense coursework in zookeeping and animal handling, etc, afterwards is like going to grad school.

I also realized that even if at the end of my EATM program I decide not to go into that kind of work, I will have just had a massive amount of great education, and will have just spent a full year caring for and training my own group of zoo animals. It's an experience in and of itself, regardless of what I do afterwards.

But again, do I want to work 12 hours days? Do I want to be on my feet all the time? Do I want to clean animal poo for years before I do any actual animal handling? My brain hurts...

What I do know is that spending two years at UCLA while volunteering at the L.A. Zoo, followed by two years at Moorpark's EATM program should probably give me a pretty clear idea of what the heck I want to do. Before then, it's totally up in the air.

I've dreamed of being the one to care for all the baby animals whose mothers won't or can't care for them. I've imagined myself as a dolphin trainer. I've thought about starting my own wildlife rescue center. I've seen myself as a private, professional dog trainer. I've wanted to train zoo animals, work in a wildlife park, feed and observe zoo animals, train exotic animals for movies and t.v., or even teach school children about wild animals (like what I do now).

I've also thought of other non-animal-related careers I might be interested in. Psychologist. Forensic scientist. Interior Decorator. Wedding Planner. Pediatrician. Sales Director with Mary Kay. All of which I've since dismissed...

The one and only non-animal-related career I've ever considered and not dismissed is being an elementary school teacher. Some folks were recently discussing it on a message board I frequent, and I was surprised at how drawn in I felt while reading about their experiences. I was surprised to find myself daydreaming about my very own kindergarten class, complete with "Way to Go!" rubber stamps, gold stars, and a wooden apple for my desk.

A few weeks ago was the last day of my "Eggs, eggs, eggs!" class. The day before that, I'd subbed for a teacher for the "Fizz, Foam, and Slime" class. And let me tell you, those kids love fizzy stuff! We had balloons spill baking soda into a vinegar and water solution in plastic bottles. The carbon dioxide produced blew the balloons all the way up! It was awesome!

I'd also boiled red cabbage to make blue water. When you soak paper in the water, and let it dry, it becomes litmus paper. So if you dip it in acid, it turns green, and if you dip it in a base, it turns pink. The acid we used was lemon juice. The base, baking soda. It was really cool!

At one point, the kids were complaining about the smell of the cabbage water. "It stinks!" one boy said, holding his nose.

I said, "Okay, okay, it stinks... But let's all just ignore it and listen, okay?"

One boy said, "It doesn't stink! I like it! It smells like Chinese SOUP!"

I tried to keep from laughing, and told him that's because cabbage might be in Chinese soup. Somehow I ended up telling them vegetables are good for them, and one boy said, "I hate vegetables! Well not all of them... I like carrots... hot dogs..."

"Woah, woah, wait! Hot dogs aren't vegetables!" I said, laughing.

Those kids were cracking me up!

The following day was my eggs class, and we talked about insects' eggs. I had live walking sticks to show them (a big hit!), and then we made popsicle-stick walking sticks. My favorite student (I know, it's so wrong to have to have a favorite, but I couldn't help it!), was so excited about his popsicle-stick walking stick bug. He was going on and on about how he was going to make a shoe box house for it when he got home.

"Really? That's a great idea! What's its name going to be?" I asked.

"Walking Stick," he said definitively, like I was some sort of crazy person to ask that question.

Oh my god, it was so cute! So I came home, telling Joe all of these stories and he smiled and said, "You should just be a teacher! You love it so much!"

And that's when I told him the thought hadn't left my head all week long.

So really, I'm more torn than ever when it comes to career decisions. For so many years, I've thought of working with animals as my dream job. However, I thought of it in the sense of holding animals, feeling their fur, being up close and personal with them. Just like the animal handler's job on Saturday. But you know, I saw her pick up the same animals about seven times each, and there was not one time that those animals seemed happy to be picked up. The opossum growled and threw a fit, holding his body tense as onlookers pointed and talked loudly. The porcupine made a constant, pitiful crying sound while out on the table, protesting being out among humans, which must have looked like freaky predatory animals to her. The little hedgehog kept making his "hiccup" motion, to keep people from touching him (that species' defense mechanism), with every hand that came near his tiny body. And my heart sank...

How can I feel good about handling animals who aren't happy to be handled? How can I feel okay supporting zoos, when I don't believe it's the best life for them? How can I work 12-15 hour days when I want a family of my own someday?

Maybe my concerns aren't as bad as I think. Maybe there's more to working with wildlife than meets the eye. Maybe it really is my dream job. I can't know until I'm more involved. And maybe it's just a great job for me to have for a few years before moving onto something else. Who knows? Maybe teaching is that something else. Maybe teaching is my dream job and I don't even know it!

The crazy thing is that every single job has its downsides. My dad told me it's important to just find something that you love enough so that you can live with the bad parts. That's probably some of the best job advice I've heard yet.

I'm hoping that getting back in school and volunteering will open my eyes a little more to the choices ahead of me. And I hope whatever choices I make, I'll be happy. That's the most important thing, after all. To just be happy. Happy and healthy. And rich. Okay, fine, just happy and healthy. Yeah.

~~Meg