National Park After Dark - Trail Tales 98: Spooky Sleuths, Tentacle Bunnies & Shaming Monkey Owners

Episode Date: July 16, 2026

Today’s stories include spooky sleuths, tentacle bunnies, satisfying curses, bully grouse, and shaming monkey owners. Outsiders Only bonus stories available for Patreon and Apple Subscribers! For the latest NPAD updates, group travel details, merch and more, follow us on npadpodcast.com and our socials: Instagram: @‌nationalparkafterdarkTikTok: @‌nationalparkafterdark Support the show by becoming an Outsider and receive ad free listening, bonus content and more on Patreon or Apple Podcasts. Want to see our faces? Catch full episodes on our YouTube Page! Thank you to this week’s partners!Bilt: Download the Bilt app and join the membership for where you live, at http://joinbilt.com/parkFora: Become a Fora Advisor today at fora.com/npadWarby Parker: Buy one pair of glasses and get 20% off any additional pairs at http://WarbyParker.com/NPADWhatnot:  Download Whatnot today and get $20 Off and free shipping on your first purchase Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hello everyone. Welcome back to National Park After Dark. We're excited to have you here. I'm Cassie. I'm Danielle. And we're here to read you your stories. Yeah. Our favorite episode of the week, Trail Tales. We don't have to do any work. We just sit here and bed and hang out and get to read fun stories. Well, I feel there's work. But we have to filter through all of them and pick them and decide who reads them. But aside from that, it's a breeze. It's way easier than researching. And thank you guys for writing into us. We really appreciate it. If you are looking to write in and have a story that you want to share with us, you can go to our website, M-PADD podcast.com. There's a submission link on there and you can submit it and maybe we'll read it on the podcast. Yeah.

Do you want to go first or would you like me to? You can go first. I'm ready for a story. Okay. Do you have to me, me, me, me, me, me. You got to warm up a little bit. I'm just seeing what the vibes are before I start going, you know. Okay, yeah.

You're set in the tone. Yeah. All right. Well, the tone is set with this first story titled the Tenticle Bunny of Nebraska. A Bunny with Tentacles. Yes. And it's a very real. Okay.

We'll get into it. But I hope you have your phone so you can look it up because you need to look it up. Bodies have tentacles. Let's get into. We'll let this person tell us. Okay. I'm scared already. Hi, Danielle and Cassie.

my name is Jesse and I'm a medical laboratory scientist and a longtime National Park After Dark Listener who recently... Oh my God, they do have tentacles. Sorry. I didn't look it up, but you just said they're from science. So I believe them. Continue. Oh, okay.

I'm like, I don't see a phone in your hand. I don't see you looking it up. Okay. What was I saying? I'm not even through the first sentence. Okay, medical laboratory scientists and longtime National Park After Dark Listener, who recently packed up my life. and drove from northwestern Colorado to Kentucky for my first travel contract.

After 11 years at the same hospital and 29 years in Colorado, I had somehow decided to leave everything familiar behind me and start a new chapter several states away. My husband and kids stayed behind in Colorado while I headed east. Along for the adventure were my docks in Jade, who served as navigator, emotional support, and occasional judge of my life choices, Five frogs, olive, martini, snowflake, jalapeno, and moo, who spent the trip riding across America like adorable little stowaways and my pitcher plant because apparently I wasn't moving enough living things already.

Great names. Quite the menagerie you have going on. The drive took four days and over 21 hours. I grew up near Dinosaur National Monument where an hour-long drive is often just the beginning of getting somewhere interesting. so road trips, wide-open landscapes, and stories from the past have always felt familiar. Maybe that's why, when planning my route, I decided to drive through Nebraska instead of taking the boring route through Kansas. As evening approached on my first day, I made a last-minute decision to leave Interstate 80

and head north towards Scott's Bluff National Monument. Mostly because I could. I wasn't in a hurry. I had the time, and I'd been recently becoming mildly re-obsessed with Oregon Trail history after playing the organ trail on the Nintendo Switch. Looking back, that detour feels strangely fitting. Here I was, 33 years old, leaving the only state I'd ever called home, carrying everything I needed for the next chapter of my life,

following a route that was once traveled by people making life-changing journeys of their own. Granted, they were crossing the continent by wagon and the threat of dysentery, and I was traveling with a barking dog, five frogs, air conditioning, and an unhealthy dependence on Dr. Pepper and gas station snacks, but still. The universe seemed determined to lean into the theme. By the time I reached Scott's Bluff, I had arrived exactly late enough for the visitor's center to be closed, and this would become a recurring pattern. Jade barked heroically at a set of oxen statues, apparently determined to defend Nebraska

from pioneer livestock, while I wandered among blooming prickly pear cactus and took photos of the landscape and some super adorable bunnies. The next morning, I returned when the monument was actually open, collected my obligatory magnet and pressed pennies, and continued east through chimney rock, ash hollow, and a tiny pony express station tucked into a park in Gothenburg. This sounds like my dream trip and you're just living it. Literally. Wide open spaces, you're by yourself. No one telling you where to go and when. The open road. The open road, it calls to me. Somewhere along the way, I became unexpectedly invested in the Pony Express history.

I collected stamps, souvenirs, read recreated newspapers, and learned that most Pony Express riders were teenagers and immediately decided they were all completely unhinged. Honestly, after two days of driving alone across the Great Plains, same. After two days of truck stop sleeping, parking lot outfit changes, Nebraska wind assaults, and turning my vehicle into a mobile frog habitat, I wanted a real, bed and a real shower more than almost anything. The open road. I love it until I want a nice fluffy bed and warm water. Like, oh wait. Oh, wait. Luxury is relative. At that point, luxury meant indoor plumbing, sleeping horizontally without recognizing the backseat of my car and not waking up

every time a semi-truck drove by. The drive into St. Louis got unexpectedly heavy. About a mile before my exit, traffic slowed around what had clearly just become an accident scene, a small car sideways in the lane. A semi was pulled onto the shoulder. The truck driver was standing outside looking around like he was trying to figure out what had just happened. Apparently, the driver of the car rear ended him and then fled on foot. What struck me the most was that nobody had stopped. Sure, car slowed down, people looked, then kept driving. And honestly, what were they going to do anyway? I don't know. I just felt someone should be the one to check on the driver, or have their hazards on for the cars behind them to know something was up.

Turns out, apparently, that someone was me. I pulled over and checked on the truck driver while we waited for law enforcement to arrive. For a few minutes, it felt strangely surreal, flashing hazard lights, damaged vehicles, traffic continuing past as if nothing had ever happened. Eventually, the police arrived, asked if I had seen anything, I hadn't, and let me continue into the city. The whole thing stayed with me longer than I expected. road trips can really make you feel vulnerable sometimes.

You realize how temporary everything is out there. Entire lives moving alongside one another at over 75 miles an hour, everyone trying to get somewhere. By the time I finally reached my hotel, I think I was carrying more exhaustion than I realized, which may explain why the shower felt life-changing, the bed felt heavenly, and Halapeno the Frog became the unexpected soundtrack of the evening. Apparently crossing into Missouri activated something deep with, in his tiny amphibian soul because he immediately began singing the song of his people with absolute confidence.

Halapeno is such a cute name for a frog. For anything. I'm like if I get a dog or a cat, I'm naming them Halapeno. I'm now part of the small dog club and I'm just waiting for you to join us. I know. I want to be called it's so bad with Halpinia. The combination of laminate floors, hotel acoustics, and one extremely enthusiastic frog created what can only be described as a swamp-themed opera.

At 11 p.m., I am absolutely certain people down the hall could hear him and some exhausted businessman was probably lying awake wondering why his hotel suddenly sounded like the Louisiana bayou. The next morning, I finally visited the Gateway Arch. After driving past it at least five different times throughout my life and never stopping once, the experience felt surprisingly emotional. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was everything I had left behind, maybe it was realizing that I was actually doing this.

29 years in Colorado, 11 years at the same hospital, my husband, my kids, my home, all waiting a thousand miles away, and somehow there I was, standing beneath the gateway arch with five frogs, a dog and a plant, and everything I needed for the next three months packed into

tiny plastic containers. It felt like a checkpoint, proof that I had crossed into a new chapter. After that, it was time to haul booty to Kentucky. No more museums or historical landmarks, no more scenic detours just highway. By the time Jade, the frogs, my pitcher plant and I rolled into Kentucky. Everything smelled faintly of road trip, gas stations, humidity, and frog tank condensation.

But everyone had made it safely, and honestly, that was enough. Looking back, the organ trail ended up giving me exactly what I was hoping for. A memorable story from the road, it just wasn't the story I expected. But wait, I promised you tentacle bunnies. To explain those, we need to put this story in reverse and head back to day one to score. Scott's Bluff National Monument. Back to the moment, Nebraska's rabbit population started acting, suspicious. There were rabbits everywhere. Not one rabbit, not a few rabbits, but entire tiny rabbit civilizations hidden in the grass. At first, I just noticed how many there were and snapped a few photos because they were ridiculously cute. Right when I was about to head back to my car and find a

place to park for the night, I spotted another rabbit. But this one looked wrong, not injured, not sick exactly, just wrong. It felt like I was looking at a rabbit that was somehow out of focus, like I'd taken my glasses off and then decided to go wildlife spotting. Its face appeared to have several long, dark growths sticking out around its head and mouth. It was one of those moments where you stop and stare because your brain can't quite decide what it is looking at. Why does this rabbit look like static? And then it hit me. Oh my God. It's a tentacle bunny. Thank you, social media, for filling my brain with enough random facts to identify a rabbit virus in the wild, but not enough information to do well on jeopardy. The rabbit likely had chope papilloma virus, a disease spread by mosquitoes, ticks, and other

biting insects. The virus causes hard, wart-like growths around the rabbit's face and head, creating a bizarre horn-like or tentacle-like projections. Those growths are believed to be one of the real-world inspirations behind the American jackaloupe legend. For those unfamiliar, a jackaloupe is basically a rabbit with antelope horns. The creature has been part of American folklore for generations, particularly those throughout the Great Plains. Stories of jackaloupe spread throughout the West, eventually becoming one of North America's most recognizable cryptids. Entire gift shops have been built on the backs of these weird little horned rabbits. And there I was standing alone at the monument, accidentally

staring at one of the real-life animals that may have helped inspired a legend in the first place. Interestingly, that same rabbit virus has helped scientists prove that viruses could cause cancer and became one of the earliest animal models used in cancer research. Decades later, that research contributed to discoveries that helped pave the way for the modern HPV vaccine. So my bizarre roadside rabbit sighting somehow managed to intersect American folklore, virology and cancer research. The Oregon Trail, Pony Express

History, a doxin, five frogs, and a sole cross-country relocation, which feels like a very specific square on a bingo card. And honestly, I guess that's exactly the kind of National Park After Dark Story I should have expected. Please feel free to share my name, story, and photos on the pod.

You guys are my favorite to listen to and I hope I can make it on one of your trips someday. Suggestion, New Zealand, please? Maybe then we can share more crypted stories. Enjoy the view, but watch your back for tentacle bunnies on the prairie, Jesse. You know, now that you say that and I looked it up, I have seen tentacle bunnies before and I have heard of this before. It was just like way also on social media, but it was way back in my

memory. And it is creepy. I feel bad for the bunnies. Yeah, I mean, obviously she stated at the end how it stretches back a long time. You know, this isn't a new virus. But I think, social media-wise, it came up on into our worlds. A couple of summers ago, I feel like it was everywhere and everyone was freaking out over tentacle bunnies. But it's, I guess, not new. But if I was to describe it, I would say it looks like, what's that guy from Pirates of the Caribbean? Oh, yes, I totally know who you're talking about, maybe. Because doesn't he have a locker, Davy Jones' locker or something?

Yeah, something like that's been forever. since I've seen it, but I know exactly what you're talking about, yeah. Yeah. Tenicle face. Tenical face. That's his name and Pirates of the Caribbean. In case you didn't know. Well, thank you for telling us that story and your road trip.

Very exciting. Moving on to my next story, or my first story, I should say, is titled, Ignoring the Signs to Find the Murder House in Sleeping Bear Dunes National Seashore. Hi Danielle and Cassie. As always, I need to start by telling you how much I love your podcast. I am always informing the people in my life about the latest NPAD story I listen to and my husband is often puzzled by how a girl with so much anxiety could love a podcast all about how dangerous her favorite places are so much, but life is full of mysteries. I was so excited this week when I finally felt I had a story worthy of trail tales. This story, however, requires some personal lore. About a decade ago, I visited Sleeping Bear Dunes National Seashore on a trip to visit a friend living in the town of Glen Arbor. Having been a nature-loving Michigan girl all my life, I was completely shocked to find this magical land that I barely knew existed. Thus, this quickly became my favorite park in the world, so much so I got a tattoo of the coordinates on my arm, and I'd make several trips a year to explore more and more of everything the park had to offer.

The area is best known for its natural beauty, enormous sandy bluffs, hidden lakes, gorgeous rivers, rolling woods, abundance of flora and fauna, and of course expansive views of Caribbean Blue Lake Michigan, with the famed Bears, aka the South Manitou Island raising from its crystal waters. But as my mom, my go-to travel buddy and I soon found in our trips, is that Sleeping Bear is home to an expansive preservation and restoration of historical structures and stories. Driving north of the more popular parts of the park, you'll find Port Oneido Historic District, which is home to 22 preserved farmsteads and various other structures all maintained by the MPS. My mom and I are fascinated by the stories of people who lived before, and we luckily found a local author who shared this passion and has compiled two and counting anthologies of maps and stories from the locals that has left us with a scavenger hunt of exciting historic and sometimes spooky things to find in the area.

Some of our favorites include the 1950s Buick parked deep in the woods and a sugar shack tucked behind an expansive row of 100-year-old maples and a doghouse built for a man's best friend hundreds of years ago. Through this, we've also learned some signs that help identify sites of former homesteads. These include heirloom apple trees, rows of ancient oaks, patches of myrtle, gnarly lilac bushes, and overgrown whispers of driveways traveled mostly now by deer. We've been using these signs in rough maps to sleuth out sights of homes we've read about in the anthologies. Last year, my mom, sister, and I read a story that immediately got us to our feet to go searching for our next remnant. We read of a large ornate house belonging to the Jen family. This was tucked deep in the woods at the end of the road that locals feared walking by. The Jens kept to themselves and it was believed that they were bootleggers.

They abandoned their house one day and the night and local legend took over. Some believed that the Jens murdered two people and buried them in the cellar. Others say that they kept their servant boy chained up in the cellar for years. This speculation led the Jen placed to fall apart to disrepair until it was nothing but a foundation. Using clues from the book, we figured out a general location where the foundation of the house could be, and we set off down a narrow two-track to search for it. It was nearing dusk, not an ideal time to travel deep in the woods in search of a supposed site of murder, but we considered ourselves to be a bit feral and we went for it anyways.

Just when we thought we were about to get to the site, the road was rendered impassable by a fallen tree. We all remarked that this was probably the woods telling us not to venture further, but our curiosity and faith in the Subaru forester fueled us, and we broke off enough branches to make a path around the tree and were able to continue. We made it to where we suspected the location was, and found many of the signs that it was in fact the location of a home, homestead, but we could not find the foundation. Darkness crept in, and we had to abandon our mission for the night.

My mom and I returned the next day, only to find the road impassable again, this time due to a truck parked all the way across the narrow two track. Discouraged, we turned around and thought maybe we were being sent signs that this was not an adventure that we should be on. Flash forward to this year, my mom's sister and I were once again spending the week in the area and on a snowy, winty day, we decided once again to go searching to the foundation. We drove back on the winding two track, and just as my mom said, I swear I'm going to be really freaked out if something is blocking the road again,

we turned the corner and came upon a large down branch. We had to back all the way back down the two track and to the road, and we decided to try accessing the site from another direction via a hike called Kettles Trail. Trying to convince my mom we weren't ignoring bad omens, I said, maybe nature isn't trying to get us to stop looking, maybe it's telling us we need to look somewhere else. So we embarked on our hike and as we cut further into the woods, I noticed a driveway like clearing leading up to a hill. We drove off the trail and investigated the clearing and noticed some dead fruit trees and lilac bushes

as well as the telltale ancient oak trees. I saw a suspicious depression in the ground, only about six to eight feet wide, surrounded by lilac bushes and joked it could be the seller, but recalling the story that spoke of a grand house, we brushed it off as a deer blind and continued on. We made it all the way back to the site we explored the first time, we went looking and once again came up short. We assumed that maybe it had simply become buried over time

and we wouldn't be able to see it poking out of the overgrowth. We turned around but thought maybe we should check where we found the hole on the way back. This time we explored in more detail as we approached, my sister and I venturing off the beaten path. As we approached the hole in the ground, we thought it could be a clue, contemplating whether or not we should even be out here, given that the universe has been blocking us each time. I saw something so absurdly creepy that all I could do was laugh. Are you familiar with the Blair Witch Project? All those creepy stick people hanging from the trees?

Yep, there they were, right in front of us. I still haven't decided the context in which they would be there, either a practical joke or someone is up to some freaky stuff in the woods just off the trail, but the moment I saw them, I froze and screamed no fucking way. My sister, whose spooky tolerance is much higher than mine, wanted to get closer, but I grabbed, and like the 28-year-old adult I am, I ran for my mommy. We ended up back in the deep depression and looked closer at it. My sister even going as far to jump down into it. Good luck with whatever curse comes with that, Kels. But it wasn't until we walked around to the other side that we could clearly see it. The foundation.

A stony one as the house was built in the 1850s, but we knew that we had found what we had been fondly referring to as the murder house. We found other signs, such as broken antique bottles and the clear path the driveway would have made. We were so tickled that we persisted and actually located something we had been determined to find that we nearly forgot the cursed objects mere yards away from the location of the cellar. I am happy to report that as far as we know, no curses have followed us post-murder house exploration. My main takeaway from this experience? Never underestimate some feral women on a quest. We are already on the hunt for our next historic sleeping bear exploration, or maybe next time

we'll just relax and lay on the beach like regular tourist. As always, thank you for all that you do, and for being my favorite asbestos I've never met. Thank you for taking the time to read my tale. My mom and sister will be thrilled to hear this. Enjoy the view and watch out for signs of the people who came before you. Ooh, spooky. That sounds like such a fun pastime. Who needs to lay on the beach?

Who needs to lay on the beach when you can go to a murder house? In the woods. Which are you going to remember? How many beach days have you had? And can you remember the details of them? Right. They all blend together at a sense. certain time. If you go to a murder house, unless you go to like so many murder houses,

then they all start to blend together. Pick your poison. Yeah. I don't know. I think it reminds me of when I bring up metal detecting a lot, but when I was really into it and just going into the woods after researching where historic homes were and just looking for those telltale signs of homesteads and things like that. And it's really hard, especially in the Northeast, you know how the forest just takes over everything so quickly. And it's, unless it's a pretty obvious stone foundation remnants. Like, I don't know if I would know to look out for like fruit trees and just different things like that, but it's smart. Now we do. Now I know. I clocked it. As someone who has rented my entire adult life, I know a thing or two about monthly rental payments and wish so badly that Bilt existed sooner.

Bill rewards you for paying your rent or mortgage and being a member means earning points on every housing payment. The points can be redeemed for so many different things like flights, which is clearly my favorite. Hotels, fitness classes, looking at you soul cycle friends, lift rides, future housing payments, and more. Another cool benefit Bilt gives every member access to is its agenic neighborhood concierge in the build app. It doesn't just give you information about your home and neighborhood. It executes. It's connected to your home and over 50,000 merchant partners so you can ask it to pay your rent, make a dinner reservation, book a fitness class, schedule a lift, and more. It makes things happen while automatically applying your member benefits along the way. And the process is so simple. First,

download the built app, then link any credit or debit card to the app so purchases at your local spots become even more rewarding. And lastly, ask the neighborhood concierge in the app pretty much anything. It'll tell you about exclusive member benefits at different restaurants, fitness studios, or lift rides, and more around where you live. And for the homeowners out there, Bill works for mortgages too. Your housing payment is one of your biggest monthly expenses, so why wouldn't you want to earn points on it? Download the Built app and join the membership for where you live at Joinbilt.com slash park. That's J-O-I-N-B-I-L-T-com slash park. Use our link so they know we sent you. There is always that one person in the friend group that is planning the group trip.

They're gathering inspo on TikTok. They're making the reservations, organizing everyone in a group chat. And if that sounds familiar, if that's you and you already think and act like a travel advisor, why not just be one? I present to you, Fora, a modern travel agency built for people who love to plan travel and help others travel well. Their tech platform, training, and community give you everything you need to turn a passion for travel planning into a flexible, meaningful stream of income. As a fora advisor, you get best in class

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doing all of this stuff. So here's your sign. Become a fora advisor today at forat travel.com slash N-P-A-D. That's F-O-R-A-Travel.com slash N-P-A-D. And make sure you tell them we sent you, Foratravel.com slash N-P-A-D. Okay. Well, my next story is titled a monkey named Tucker. Aw. That's my dog's name, Tucker. Hi, Cassie and Danielle. My name is Lydia, and I am, of course, a huge fan of the pod. In fact, it was the first podcast I ever listened to and you guys fully converted me into the annoying friend who won't shut up about the things they learned on a podcast. Yes, welcome. Perfect.

It's working. It's working. I especially love listening while I'm at work, which is where my story takes place. But it's going to require some context. I am a keeper at a sanctuary for rescued exotic animals. We have a huge variety of over 60 different species, primates, reptiles, birds, tigers, bears, and a bunch of other random stuff in between. Yes, I am a psycho who listened to the night of the night of.

the grizzlies while actively taking care of bears. Safe to say I was triple checking all my locks that day. Shameless plug, we are called Black Pine Animal Sanctuary, and if you are ever in the area of Northeast Indiana, you should absolutely come visit us. We are a non-profit and accredited by the Global Federation of Animal Sanctuaries. We are a true sanctuary, so by our standards, we do not breed, buy or sell any of our animals, nor do we allow any public contact with our residents. It is definitely definitely not a roadside petting zoo situation and a lot of our animals actually come from those kinds of places where they were used and abused for profit without ever being given proper care. All of my homies hate Joe Exotic for real.

That's a perfect way. You could have just said that instead of all that other stuff. And we're going. We get it. But thank you for explaining nonetheless. And fun fact, this is where I did my. first ever working interview out of college. No way with the cats.

Before I decided to work at the Colorado Wolf and Wildlife Center. Nothing against Black Pine Animal Sanctuary. I loved it. I just didn't want to be in Indiana. No shade to Indiana. I'm digging myself a whole. Yeah, you just said that so matter factually. Like, obviously they wouldn't be there.

There's nothing wrong with Indiana, Daniel. No, I get it. But I'm just saying that was my personal reasoning. But the sanctuary itself was very nice, is what I'm trying to say. Anywho, you get it. It's just fun because I can picture this place. Anywho. Okay.

Many of our animals come from private owners who either surrendered them or had them legally confiscated. Indiana, unfortunately, has very few laws when it comes to owning exotic animals. The only animal at the sanctuary that we require a permit for is our American an alligator, Gus, who was raised in a frat house bathtub at Indiana University. I wish I was making that up. There was an alligator at my college, too, and not in a bathtub. It was in a little pool. And I wonder sometimes where that alligator went.

Where he is now. Yeah. Hopefully I had a really nice accredited sanctuary and not just released somewhere. Yeah. I mean, it's been a long time now. So I think we'd know if there's an alligator running loose. northern New Hampshire. So hopefully it went to a good home.

A good home, yeah. Crocodilians are actually legal to own here. Crocodilians are actually legal to own here, but need a permit once they get over five feet in length. Crazy stuff. And just when you thought it couldn't get crazier, in comes the star of today's story, Tucker. Not Cassie's dog Tucker.

She knows. You didn't have to say. But a monkey named Tucker. specifically he's a long-tailed macaque and if you know anything about monkeys you know macaques can be scary as hell tucker came to the sanctuary in a very indiana-coded sort of way which was being confiscated from a meth trailer during a drug raid what's going on in indiana okay and i didn't want to live there's why daniel didn't want to go okay so don't come at me poor tucker was found locked in a dog kennel wearing a leash and a diaper It just gets worse. It just keeps getting worse. It's awful. He was very young at the time, and because he was likely bred in captivity and then taken from his mother at a young age, he never got the chance to learn normal monkey skills or behaviors.

So a few years ago, when we got the opportunity to bring in two female snow macaques for him, we jumped at the chance. The two girls had been raised in a troop of monkeys and could teach Tucker how to be a real macaque. Enter Mary Lynn and Julianne, a mother-daughter duo that Tucker instant. fell in love with. However, there was one problem. Before we could fully introduce them, Tucker had to be neutered. In general, when we house males and females together, we try to neuter or vasectomize the males rather than spaying the female, since it's a less invasive procedure. We have an amazing vet tech team who oversees the care for all of our animals and works with multiple vets in our area to cover care across species. She is truly a rock star, as vet techs generally are.

However, finding a local vet who is comfortable performing surgery on a macaque proved to be a bit difficult. Maccaques are aggressive, extremely strong, and they can be carriers of a virus called herpes B, which is fatal to humans. PSA, they absolutely do not make good pets. While our tech searched high and low for a vet who could come through for us, we had to make preparations to be able to safely sedate Tucker. connected to his habitat is what we call a shift chute, which is pretty much exactly what it sounds like. It's a large chute that we shift the monkeys into so we can safely enter the habitat to clean. In order to safely inject Tucker with a sedative, we needed to turn the chute into a makeshift squeeze cage that was sturdy enough to contain an adult male macaque while also giving keepers enough distance

to not get swiped at by said macaque while operating it. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention that this is an overhead shoot. which means that in order to operate the squeeze mechanism that keepers had to stand on ladders, which was not sketchy at all. Finally, after six weeks of waiting and many dead ends, our vet tech finally managed to convince one of our local vets to perform the surgery. We were all ready for the ordeal to be over with and to get Tucker introduced to his ladies. At last, the day arrived and it was time to sedate him.

The squeeze cage worked as intended, though it wasn't easy and Tucker tried his best to swipe at the keeper's operating it. They managed to restrain him enough for the sedative to be injected. Yay, now we wait. 45 minutes later. Tucker is still very much awake. Y'all, we ended up having to dose this boy with ketamine three times before he went to sleep. He grew up in a meth house. What do you expect? He has tolerance. So true. You should have worked that into your pre-op protocol. Anyway, he knew something was up and was fighting the drugs as hard as he could, but eventually he gave in and could be safely moved down to the vet clinic. Now it's the moment we've all been waiting for. The vet team has prepped Tucker for surgery.

As the veterinarian finds where to make the first incision, he notes that Tucker's balls seem to be oddly deflated. Huh, that's strange. Wonder what that could mean. Maybe they never descended. that happens sometimes, especially when bad breeding is involved, like in Tucker's case. So the vet searches and searches some more. But alas, no balls are to be found. As it turns out, he may have never had any in the first place.

Is bad breeding to blame? Who knows? But there were no scars to indicate a previous surgery, and we all found it hard to believe the meth heads were concerned with getting their monkey reproductive care. Which is true. Valid. So there it was. almost two months of planning and this monkey didn't even have balls and all the drugs and like

the whole process of things and we've been there not with monkeys obviously but yeah just waiting for drugs to kick in and the fight and the back and forth i remember this is totally like a different i would just i remember it was like one of my first neuters that i was in and i shaved this dog like a spay where you shave half their stomach. On purpose or were you just like vibing? I just, it was my first time I did it and I had only been in space prior to that. So I think it was just like muscle memory like we're in it. And I just started shaving.

And then I remember I shaved their whole stomach and then I looked at their balls and I was like, oh, no. And then the doctor came in and was like, well. All scrubbed up waiting. You're like, oh, shit. At least you've noticed. We did. Like, oops. It's just so funny, like, sending a pet like that home to their owners.

And it's like, why is their whole abdomen sheet? Hopefully they didn't notice. And they're just like, oh, it must just be like part of the sterile field was just extra care. I remember it was a dog that had like fur too. It wasn't like a pit bull or something with really short fur. It was like, hey. Whoops. Well, if you from the years 20.

16 to 2019 in southern New Hampshire ever had your male dog come home like that. You know who's to blame. He's probably me. Okay.

Anywho. On the bright side, he got a physical exam and is in good health other than his mysterious missing gonads. Tucker was given a week for his entirely pointless incision to heal before he was finally able to be united with the girls. And in the end, it all turned out

okay because they love each other. This was in early 2024 and now over two years later that love hasn't faded. Sadly, Marilyn passed away from heart failure this past fall at the age of 29, but her daughter, Julianne, still lives with Tucker. They spend their days playing with enrichment, snacking on fresh produce and grooming each other to sleep. Tucker attacks will of course be included with this email. This is just one of the many insane stories I have from the three years of working at Black Pine, but I know you guys would appreciate this one as Vettex. Working with animals is always a toss-up. It doesn't matter how much you plan, they will find a way to surprise you.

That's what makes working with them so much fun. But animal care is hard. It's exhausting, mentally, physically, and emotionally. At the same time, though, it is so fulfilling. At the sanctuary, giving these animals a second chance at a good life means everything to us. It's the most rewarding thing ever to build relationships with animals that were once traumatized to see them happy, safe, and nourished, to be able to give them a dignified end when their start was so terrible.

We experience many losses, but every animal that comes to Black Pine knows what it feels like to be loved and cared for, and that is the most important thing. Sorry for getting sappy, but I know y'all will understand me as fellow animal lovers. You guys are awesome, and if you're ever in Indiana, hit me up and I'll introduce you to Tucker. The tooth and glott boys can come to. Braxton cut that. Just kidding. Just kidding.

They can come, I guess. P.S. Danielle, I am also including a photo of our wolf dogs, karma, and Minko. For your viewing pleasure, feel free to share them on socials. Enjoy the view, but always make sure you have enough ketamine on board, Lydia. Wow, Lydia. What a cool story. And that's so funny. At first, I thought it was going in the direction of, and that's when we realized Tucker

was not a male, you know, like I thought they were going to think and find out it was a girl. I could see that direction for sure. But I thought it was going to go in that he was neutered already. But with no incision and no like reason to have been neutered before, especially with a procedure that would be difficult to find someone to do. It sounds like maybe bad breeding. Yeah. Bad breeding in macaques. Yep.

I didn't know they could live that long. I didn't either. Speaking of monkeys, I saw another shout out to I love this nail salon, local nail salon, Blackheart. But I follow their Instagram page. And they're like, in this episode of things you see out the window of Blackheart nail salon, and it was a person waiting to cross the street and they had a monkey with a diaper on their shoulder. I'm like, why are we doing this? Why?

Why? It's 2026. Why do we have monkeys? As pets. I don't get it. Sorry to all our listeners who own monkeys for shaming you, but... Shame. Shame.

Shame. Okay. Sticking with the animal theme, my next story is titled Animal Attack Survival Story. Hi, Cassie and Danielle. I've been a big fan of NPA from the beginning. I work in the outdoors industry and am an avid lover of our public lands where your podcast keeps me company on trail. Having worked on trail crews in conservation and backcountry guiding, I have no shortage of trail tales. I've navigated whitewater and leaky canoes, portaged around massive

waterfalls, cowboy camped in the high desert, and slogged through the reptile rich lusts of the Everglades. But recently, I survived the most terrifying ordeal of my travels. I'll take you along with me. I've been dreaming of doing a through hike for years, but there's always been some obstacle, usually time or money, and the dreams remain just that, a fantasy. Not this summer. My current job coincides with the typical academic year, leaving my summers open for other seasonal work or adventuring. This summer, I chose adventure. I would hike the approximately 300-mile Superior Hiking Trail, S-H-T, a stunning footpath that runs through the north shore of Minnesota, beginning just south of Duluth and ending just short of Canada. It runs through a handful of state parks

as well as the Superior National Forest, boasts incredible views of the sea like superior, and lots of opportunity for stumbling across wildlife, such as beaver, fox, groundhog, deer, bobcats, and a handful of animals that, while majestic, are not to be messed with, bear, wolves, moose, and as I learned quite recently on trail, at least one other critter capable of unleashing terror

on unsuspected hikers. This story begins about 240 or so miles, into my trail, not far from Grand Maris on the map. The SHT is a series of some of the most spectacular vistas, rugged cliff face, stunning river gorges, and at least in early summer, lush corridors fragranced with Canada plum, wild rose, and Lupin. At least along much of it. On this day, the trail meandered along flat, muddy terrain intersecting with ATV trails and dense vegetation.

Without any grand views to entertain, I focused on looking out for wildlife. I had seen plenty of signs of moose and wolves in the miles previous, tracks, scat, and today I had stumbled across what couldn't have been more than a few hours old wolf poop on the trail. I would keep my eyes peeled. Another mile or two passed uneventful, and I was in the zone hiking with my earbuds in when there was a sudden caruffle in the woods just left of me. A bursting, beating of wings close enough to the ferns around me shook. I startled, then settled. it's not uncommon to encounter grouse along the trail and in nesting season the mama grouse will make a commotion to those passing unwittingly too close to their chicks i have never deemed them

much of a threat i still hear fuss behind me and i turn around to see the grouse now in the middle of the trail staring me down not just staring me down it is running towards me if you don't know what a grouse looks like they're chicken-sized birds with short legs and more turkey-like plumage They don't look particular fast or intimidating, and I scurried away from it without a second thought. Surely it was just being territorial and would leave me alone once I was out of range. Most people know with predator encounters, you shouldn't run or you'll trigger a chase. I did not realize these rules would apply to a gamey little bird as well. The grouse did not relent upon seeing my retreat.

If anything, it started after me faster. These birds can move, or I'm severely lacking in car. I swivel on my feet and make a false start towards the grouse as if I'm going to charge. I am a massive primate. This is a small bird. Surely it will notice the inequality and strength and leave me alone now. This only angers the grouse. Another beating of wings, a jump into the air, a flurry of feathers.

It lands on the ground ready for hot pursuit again. It gets low and charges on. I have not learned my lesson that running is only triggering it more, so I run again. The grouse pursues. I stop wheezing now and turn again to stomp my foot at the bird. It beats its wings, jumps, and pursues again. I turn, I run, I swivel, I charge, I'm chased. I turn, I run, I swivel, I charge, I'm chased.

If you've ever seen self-defense videos when they're talking about, if you're ever being approached or threatened in the street, you should make your voice as big and bold as you can and assert stop. Make it clear that you're a threat and are prepared to defend yourself. this is what I am doing with this little grouse now. I am sick of being chased. So after maybe the third or fourth unsuccessful sprint, I turn once again to charge the bloodlusty grouse,

hey, stop, back the fuck off. I scream at the bird. The bird beats its wings, jumps, pursues. I said, back off. Does it sense my fear? Can grouse have rabies? This story would be way cooler if it was a wolf. The grouse hears all my thoughts,

ignores my threats, beats swings, jumps at me, and pursues again. I really am an animal lover, and I do not want to hurt this bird. I think even as I'm realizing that this bird definitely has murder on the mind itself, it is closing the distance I've put between us, undeterred by my charging, stomping and yelling, oh my God, am I going to have to kill this grouse? I raise my trekking poles and start swinging wildly. I'm not aiming to hit the bird at all, just hoping it would be wiser not to leap at me seeing the metal sticks I am brandishing. But I am not encountering an average grouse. This one is a villain and it just doesn't care. It's leaping. It's flapping. I beat the trail with my poles, jabbing at the soft ground and holding my ground against this tiny enemy. Stop, get back.

I hope you're reading this in the guttural voice I was channeling in the moment. I don't know if I could do that, but stop, get back. I'm sick of running from the grouse. My My French seats swinging and screaming have finally startled the bird not into turning and running away, but it's at least stunned enough that this time, when I turn on my heels and run down the trail from it, it does not pursue. I pause to catch my breath and check that I am not being followed. I see the grouse still in the middle of the trail, but I'm relieved that it just appears to be watching now from a distance and not chasing. I survived. For a while, every rustle in the bushes has me on edge. the grouse stalking all along.

But of course, I eventually settle and the rest of the hike continues gorgeously without any further angry bird attacks along the way. Still wish I had seen a wolf. To be clear, I never actually hit the grouse with my trekking poles. I just wanted it to think I would. Perhaps it knew

to call me on my bluff. Also, northern Minnesota is home to the most visited wilderness area in the U.S. and another very special place to me and the wildlife that call it home, the boundary waters. These lands and waters, some of the cleanest in the country, are now under threat of copper mining agreements. If plans go through to mine around the boundary watershed, the ecosystem becomes more susceptible

to toxic pollution, water quality is threatened, and outdoor recreation in the area will be harmed as well. This is a haven for hunters, fishers, canoes, as well as incredible wildlife, even including bully grouse. Please, please, please, support friends to the boundary waters and spread awareness to this cause. Happy trails, stay safe and watch your back, Lauren. For so long, I have stuck with Aviator-style sunglasses because that was just my go-to since forever, but I've been trying to branch out.

I was shopping around but quickly realized how in the world am I ever going to figure out if this new style I'm trying is going to look good on my face, especially from a tiny reference photo. Warby Parker had the solution I was looking for with their virtual try-on feature. It allowed me to virtually try on so many shes. shapes and styles and colors, and I realize tries I might, I'm just not meant for a rectangle.

Stop trying to make a rectangle happen. It's never going to happen. But cat eye frames are my new best friend and I love them. Nothing comes close to Warby Parker's quality, price, and customer service. Their prescription glasses start at $95 so you can actually get quality and stylish frames at an affordable price. They have everything you need for happier eyes, including contacts, online eye exams, and sunglasses. And if you'd rather go in person, they have a lot of over 300 retail stores across the U.S. I actually just popped into the Portland Maine one last week. I also love supporting a company that gives back. Through their buy a pair give a pair program, Warby Parker has distributed over 20 million pairs of glasses to people

in need. Right now, buy one pair of glasses and get 20% off any additional pairs at Warbyparker.com slash N-P-A-D. That's 20% off any additional pairs when you purchase one pair at W-A-R-B-Y-P-R-B-R-B-R-B-R-R-B-R-R-R-R-R-R-A. There's no rush that hits quite like the one you get when you find a really good deal. And once you get a taste for that, you will always be on the hunt for one. When I found out about What Not, I knew I'd find what I was hoping for. Real Good Deals and a connection with a seller. What Not is the number one live shopping app in the U.S. With What Not, shopping happens in real time with real people and incredible deals.

Essentially, on What Not, you're connecting with other shoppers and sellers who go live 24-7, meaning you can view products. Like, I'm talking everything. We got makeup, pet products, antiques, vintage clothing, and more all live. It's so cool because sellers will show you a close-up of the items. They'll explain the product and answer any questions you have in real time. You almost never pay full price, and it's a great way to find new brands and connect with other shoppers in the live chat.

There are so many items and sellers and categories to choose from, which is a relief because I have been on the prowl for a very very good. specific type of bag. Brown leather with fringe, but not too much fringe, and big but not oversized. And it can be really tricky because these types of bags can get really expensive. But Whatnot has over 10,000 fashion and handbag sellers that allow me to shop brand names without the retail price. So the odds are definitely in my favor. Download What Not today and get $20 off and free shipping on your first purchase. Search What Not W-H-H-A-T-N-O-T and the app store, sign up and start finding the best deals on the products you love with $20 off

and free shipping on your first purchase. Thanks for the shoutout at the end. I think it's important to continually remind people that these places receive a lot of threats consistently. And I think they'll come up in waves, you know, like with big bend in the wall and then the boundary waters with the mining. And it's kind of like a flash in the pan on social media. and then it kind of fizzles out into the next thing, but it's a continuous issue.

So thank you for reminding us. And glad you survived. Yeah. Glad you survived the grass attack. Yeah. I mean the trekking pole whipping around thing is very funny. It's like, don't make me hurt you. I don't want to hurt you.

It's like you're crying. You're like, I love animals. I just like throwing this. I love animals so much. Get away. Okay. My last story is titled Hometown Curse, question mark. Dear Danielle and Cassie, love the podcast.

It keeps me company in the lab. I thought this story could be a trail tale. It doesn't occur in a national park or on a single trail, but it is closely related to public lands. I have a bizarre track record. Certain types of research instruments glitch and fail on me more than anyone else. A computer literally died mid-test just this morning in a way no one has ever seen before. My supervisors and colleagues have watched it happen so often without any user error that they

have jokingly wondered if I am cursed. To which I reply with, yes, I am. I just don't know how to fix this one. My first curse is related to my hometown, Grand Junction, Colorado. Grand Junction itself is not a national park or forest, but it is surrounded by them and integral to the story of the Manhattan Project National Historic Park. Additionally, Grand Junction is the quote-unquote big city support for many traveling to canyon lands and arches as it has the largest population between Salt Lake City and Denver and is only an hour and a half away.

I feel like you are trying to, I feel like this writer is trying to link in national parks like we do. It's like, please let me tell the story. It's linked to a national park. I know, it's okay. It's okay. It's totally fine. We're traumatized too. We get it.

Wait, hold on. Next line. We love our public lands there. It's like, it's okay. It's okay. We believe you. You're welcome here. But tucked away in Grand Junction's story is an enduring myth that anyone born there is cursed.

Supposed this was done by the Ut tribe when they were forced from the Valley Grand Junction is in due to settler expansion. While that would be understandable, there is no proof of it, and most signs point to the curse being fabricated much later. The curse goes that if you're born in the valley, you can never truly leave. You can try to move away, but circumstances will always drag you back, unless you collect dirt from the mountains in the four cardinal directions. This would mean collecting dirt from the Colorado National Monument in the West, the Grand Mesa National Forest to the east, the little book cliffs wild horse range to the north, In the Dominguez Escalante conservation area to the south, which are all public lands. Once you have said jar of dirt, like Captain Jack Sparrow, you can move freely.

The catch? Gathering that dirt is highly discouraged, and in one direction, outright illegal. Almost no one actually collects the dirt, we just take our chances and try to leave. But despite the curse's questionable origins, the valley has a weird way of pulling people back. I used to be more of a skeptic, but the number of stories, with absurd circumstances, including my own, makes me pause. I'll let you decide. In 2018, I moved abroad for a two-year graduate program. I submitted my last final at the end of the first year in May of 2019 and started thinking about next steps. A week later, I got an email from the professor

for my last final saying they didn't receive it. So I forward the successful submission confirmation to them along with the assignment explaining that some glitch must have occurred. The professor graded it and said they would submit the grades. No one else in the class had this issue, but I figured everything was fine. Fast forward another week. I got an email from the scholarship office saying that I did not pass enough credits to maintain it and that it would be canceled for the next year. But here's the thing. I had taken enough credits. As it turned out, a completely separate technological glitch had blocked my final grade from sinking with the main system on their side. To their system, it looked like I had shortened my credits

even though I had passed enough. That missing grade appeared in their system a couple of days after that scholarship email. But by the time we got that straightened out, the scholarship had been given to another student. Without that funding, I didn't have the financial proof required to secure my second year visa.

I was forced to wrap up my research early, leave the country, and finish my degree remotely. Eight months from that initial glitch, I landed back in Grand Junction in February of 20. I spent the next one and a half years trying to leave, but the pandemic locked me in. It was mid-2020 when I was able to move away again and continue with my career.

Without those relatively small glitches, I likely would have kept my scholarship, secured my visa, and continued my research. Sometimes a series of odd specific events happen, and sometimes it seems like a curse. But what can you do to continue on? When I returned to Grand Junction, my brothers and I reasoned that if the curse really existed, then it was not accounting for modern technology. Perhaps a jar of dirt could be digitized so that the curse could be satisfied without destroying nature. Today, I keep backed up photos of dirt from the four public lands around Grand Junction in my phone as a digital jar just in case.

And honestly, we had a lot of fun getting them. It has been over five years and I have not been dragged back since. Now, if only I could find a way to make the research instruments happy to. Thanks for reading Casey. What a unique solution. Innovative. They're just thinking on their feet and being like, you know what? I want to get out of here, but I don't, I need to leave no trace.

You know, I can't be picking up things. And I love it. I think that's great. I've never heard of the Grand Junction curse, even though I've been through it a few times. It's really pretty out there. But, you know, sometimes. Sorry you're cursed. Yeah, sorry you're cursed.

Sometimes things feel like a curse, but maybe it's just a nice redirection. I hate to say that because everything happens for a reason is very grating to hear. And I feel like I just said that to you. So I apologize. Yeah. Just sorry you're cursed. That sucks. Yeah.

What Cassie said. Well, I have one last story as well. Mine is titled. Sorry. Mine is. Excuse me. Excuse me, I'm speaking. Okay, mine is titled, when my mom asked me to pray with her.

Hi, Danielle and Cassie. First of all, I love the podcast. I've been listening for a few months. I'm a truck driver, formerly over the road, but currently driving a local route. And I have long hours and lots of time to listen to podcasts. This is the same consolation for the fact that my job often keeps me from enjoying the great outdoors. Thank you for keeping me company for all of the work that you do and for letting me live vicariously through your story. The event at the center of this trail tale might make for an interesting full episode complete with mysteries, cover-ups, and conspiracy theories, but this is my very personal experience.

This was my first time in my memory that my mom asked me to pray, to really pray with her. After dinner on July 17, 1996, my mother took my sister, then six years old, and me, then 12 years old, and our grandmother to visit the ocean at Smith Point Beach. Smith Point County Park is located in Shirley, New York, on Fire Island and is part of the Fire Island National Seashore, which I believe falls under the jurisdiction of the National Park Service. We lived very close by. It was a 10-minute drive. We often went to the ocean on mild evenings when my dad was working night shifts so that the house would be quiet and he could get a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep. My sister and I got to play in the sand and look for shells and used some pent-up energy, and my mom and grandmother got a quiet walk. and to enjoy the onshore breeze. The sun sank low in the sky and the mosquitoes started biting, so against my and my sister's protests, we left the beach and drove home.

As we were walking up the concrete side steps of the house, on the north side of the house, opposite from the ocean to the south, a massive explosion rang out. I'd never heard anything so loud. The door and windows rattled, the iron railing we were holding on to, vibrated, and the four of us instinctively ducked. Remember it feeling like it reverberated in my ribs. We shook it off and my mom suggested that someone had really good fireworks.

They might be illegal in New York, but then never stopped anyone in our town. After my dad left her work and my grandma and my sister and I gone off to bed, my mom was watching the late news. She came into my room to see if I was still awake. Of course, I was, snows in a book. She told me that she found out on the news that the explosion we heard earlier was not fireworks. works. She told me what happened and then asked me to pray with her. That night, my mom and I prayed for the souls of the people who had surely been killed when TWA Flight 800 exploded over the Atlantic ocean 10 miles south of us and we prayed for the safety of the people braving the dark

Atlantic waters to rescue or recover them. We also thanked God, the angels and our loved ones who had gone before us that we left the beach when we did because if we had stayed another 10 minutes, like my sister and I were begging to, we would have seen the explosion. Smith Point County Park was closed for quite some time after the crash as some of the debris and part of the body washed up on the sand. Memorial service were held at Smith Point Beach. Mourners placed roses in the sand and let the waves wash over them. That image will never leave my mind.

Today the park is home to a permanent, beautiful memorial for those killed in the crash. The official cause of the explosion was poorly insulated wiring in or near the fuel tanks, which arched and ignited the jet fuel vapor. Still, conspiracies abound. I remember people in the news being interviewed and saying they saw something go from the surface out of the ocean up to the air before the plane exploded. I remember there being home video footage from someone filming a birthday party, inadvertently catching in the background something go from the ocean upwards before the plane blew up. I scour the internet and I cannot find any of it. I know memory is not to be trusted. Eyewitness accounts are statistically the least accurate,

but there are many people, even 29 years later, who don't believe the NSTSB report. I'm one of them. I moved away a decade ago to landlocked country in a different state, but that beach will always be bittersweet for me. Enjoy the view, but remember what you saw, even if it doesn't match the official story. best regards

Casey Oh It's a tough one That is a tough one I don't know anything about that incident At all This is the first time I've heard of it, yeah Did it say a year?

I don't remember Oh okay Yeah I wonder Maybe I'll ask my stepdad If he knows anything about that Seizing air traffic control Something that'll never leave you That's for sure

And we hate to leave you on kind of a sad note. But that's the way the cookie crumbles. And if you're an outsider, we don't have to leave you right now. Yeah, because we have two more stories. That's right. Mine is titled A Fatal Love Triangle. And mine's titled The Great Adirondack Flood.

All right. Well, I'm ready to get into, it feels spicy. And dark. A love triangle. Well, that too. Love Triangles always aren't going to work out, you know, if we've learned anything from oxygen. It's true. So we'll see what this is about.

But thanks, everyone, for hanging out with us and being here for another Trail episode. Cassie told you in the beginning how to submit stories. Please submit them. We are always looking for funny, unique stories that keep us guessing, keep us on our toes and laughing. that's kind of the best part about these stories because we get to laugh when usually we, in main episodes, it doesn't always feel right to do. Even though we do sometimes. So God bless this in summer.

All right. Anyway. All right. Thanks, everyone. We'll see everyone next week. In the meantime, enjoy the view. But watch you're back. Bye.

Bye. Thanks for joining us. another episode. We hope you learned something new and have another location to put on your list. If you want more MPAD content, make sure to follow along with our adventures on all socials at National Park After Dark. For more stories just like this one with the added bonus of exclusive content, you can join us on Patreon or Apple subscriptions. If you prefer to watch our episodes, head over to our YouTube channel. And if you're enjoying the show, please take a moment to rate, review, and subscribe on your favorite listening platform.

I work in the outdoors industry and am an avid lover of our public lands. Sorry. I wonder how many times we say sorry every episode. Because we say it all the time. Sorry. We just feel bad. Okay. I've been a big, but...

Sorry. Okay, my next one is titled, When My Mom Asked Me to Pray with her. Cater, I'm speaking. Sorry. It's because I'm moving him and he's getting fresh. Okay.