“
Is this the Mallard residence?” he asked.
“Who is it?” Mr. Mallard called from the kitchen.
“A conservation officer from the state Department of Fish and Game. I have an order here to pick up some animals,” he called back.
Now I was on my own. I was so scared that I thought my legs would give way. And when I opened my mouth to speak, no words came out. Fortunately, Greta’s dad came up behind me.
“Is this your daughter?” the man asked him.
“No,” he answered.
I could tell by the look on the conservation officer’s face that he thought Mr. Mallard was lying.
“This order says that your daughter, here, is harboring wild animals in your home.” Then he looked straight at me. “Are you aware that what you are doing is illegal?”
“This is not my daughter, I told you. My daughter is in school,” Mr. Mallard said.
“What’s your name, young lady?” the man asked.
I was still speechless. I guess it didn’t matter, though, because he went right on talking to me, as if I were Greta.
“This order says that you have at least two mammals and a bird in your possession, namely, Tamiasciurus hudsonicus, Procyon lotor, and Otus asio. It further says that you have been informed by telephone conversation that holding these animals in captivity violates a state statute, which prohibits unlicensed individuals from harboring wildlife. You were further informed that keeping a migratory bird is prohibited by federal law. You were also ordered to deliver these animals to our headquarters on Saturday, but did not appear. I am now here to confiscate them.”
Even if I could have gotten some words out, I was saved from having to do so by Mr. Mallard, who really sounded angry.
“First of all, I told you that this little girl is not my daughter,” he said. “In the second place, I don’t know what language you speak, sounds like Greek or Latin to me. This girl and I aren’t versed in those tongues, so you’d better come back with a translator.
”
”