I once was a wrangler of bees. True story: as part of a film crew shooting a little independent feature, I was asked to wrangle bees. In lieu of the props department (and by department I mean one twentysomething woman with anaphylaxis and an epi pen) and in absence of a true animal department, I was given a small collection of bees and a Coles notes version of how to train a honeybee.

The shot involved the POV of a driver looking out his cracked windshield into the far dirt road, with a focus shift to a bee crawling across the outside of his windshield. And it was up to me to get the bee to track camera left or right, according to the DOP’s instructions. We shot a number of takes, and I was able (full disclosure: with the help of a lot of sugar water) to get the shot.

Fast forward to the days of early parenthood, and my young children were gifted an aquarium. We took great delight in our first goldfish until one and then two went (literally) belly-up. Off we went to the big-box-pet-store, and secured two replacements.

Replacement fish that brought in their own pets: soon all the fish were infected with worms. Back we went to the pet store for some tetracyclene and instructions. Helpful Pet Store person illustrated how I should capture the fish one by one, place them in my palm, and remove the offending worms with tweezers.

“Won’t they die?” I asked the obvious.

“Oh no, they’re (the fish) good out of the water for ten seconds or so!” I was confidently schooled. (the worms died immediately)

Off home I went, to spend five days de-worming my fish. I broke on the sixth day. The aquarium was retired.

Fast forward to yesterday: I was handed a little orange-lidded bottle and told to get a urine sample from my dog.

Seriously.

I had no faith in myself, and no clue as to how this was going to go down.

So I hatched a plan. I snuck out beside her for her final pee, in the darkness of our backyard. Totally unsuspecting, she nosed around and started to drop her hind. I took my moment, dove to the ground and positioned the bottle in the right spot.

“I DID IT!” I squealed: total victory! I could not believe it had worked, and save for a slightly embarassed dog who wouldn’t look at me for the next hour, I got my sample to the vet.

A small aside!