Wendy Spagnola
Realtor^®
Phone: 831.462.4000x208
Cell: 831.234.9174
Email: wendy@mainstrealtors.com

Real Estate Meets Jurassic Park
A War Story

On a summer day mid August, I wend my way through the mountains, the pine trees shading the bright sun. I know the journey well, taking the sharp turns like a master, with no other cars on the road.

I’m a little nervous, as always, with what will greet me upon my arrival, for my destination is Jurassic Park. It isn’t on an island far away, but rather located seven or so miles up Eureka Canyon, one of the more remote roads in the County, almost at the top of a mountain, on about a half-acre parcel with a small hunting cabin as its headquarters. It is close to my thirtieth trip up to the property, this time to meet a nice young couple with their new baby.

I had warned them ahead of time that the property was rugged and most likely not what they envisioned as their dream home, but the pictures were good and the price was right, so they insisted on seeing it. Besides, this was my very first listing and I was determined to sell it, so off I went in preparation.

The cabin was home to numerous feral cats, at least 10 or 15, that were impossible to detach from your clothing. Once you got one sharp paw off, they would skillfully attach another. They had free rein of the entire sub-area of the house, and they were always good about having a nice gift waiting for me in the middle of the room whenever I would come up to show the property—I’ve heard that this is a sign that they like you. It always took about 10 minutes to discard the gift, light incense, and escape to the next level.

There is only one way up, or down, to headquarters, and it is a long, steep rock walkway to the front door. On both sides of the door are housed two enormous birdcages that take over the entire front deck. Inside those cages are four birds: three enormous macaws and a smart-ass talking cockatoo. The owner, who is away at work during the day, likes the cages left partly open so the birds can feel free. My job, among the many others I perform before a showing, is to get there first to close the cages before anyone arrives.

This is one of the scariest of tasks because as soon as anyone drives up, or rides by on their bike, the five dogs, whom I haven’t gotten to yet, invariably start barking out of control and get the birds in the groove with them. The piercing sound of them all going off would be pretty terrifying to the novice.

That job done, I’m in. As I enter the establishment and locate the broom to clean the interior (another part of the job,) I hear the all-too-familiar low growling of the lone indoor dog coming from under the bed in the bedroom. Participants are only allowed to peek in that room. The door must remain closed. All for the best because, besides the growler, that is also where the rat cage resides, in all its glory.

After the obligatory fly-through, I squeeze out the back door, so as not to let any of the four outdoor dogs in. I check to make sure there is nothing to step in and that they have fresh water.

Now the guests are starting to arrive, and tentatively approach up the walkway amidst a total cacophony as I tell them not to worry, the noise will all calm down in a minute. I leave the front door open to let in a small semblance of light and air as I show them around the small cabin, giving them ideas of what could be done. They are enjoying the tour, when all of a sudden, I feel an excruciating pain on my big toe.

I look down to see the smart-ass cockatoo clamped on. I immediately face the door and fling the bird off my foot. The other birds are all screaming now and smart-ass starts slowly walking back towards me like a warrior. I slam the door and turn around, facing the visitors. Everyone’s in shock. My toe’s bleeding. The wife starts shaking, saying she wants to get out of there NOW.

I spring into action, knowing there is only one way out. I grab the broom to keep the bird back. The husband covers the baby’s ears and starts down the walkway as I defend them. The wife stays in the cabin watching from the window. He stops half way down bursts out in laughter, and turns and says, “Tell my wife I’ll be back for her another time.” She doesn’t think that’s funny, when I repeat what he said.

Now it’s my turn to escape. I throw the broom towards the bird and take off down the walkway for the hand-off of the baby. After all, someone has to watch the kid while the husband carries the wife down.

We are all safe by the cars now. We look at each other astounded, making sure we’re all okay. They express concern about my toe but I tell them it was just a flesh wound, and that I am all right, besides my uncontrollable shaking. They are very sweet as we part, telling me that they’ll give me a call…which of course they never do.

I am in disbelief of what I just went through for my client, whom I had warned that the animals were too much. But again, this was my first listing and I was determined to do whatever it took.

I race down the road in exasperation, bleeding toe and all, waiting to get bars on my cell phone. When we finally connect, I yell, “Your bird just bit me!” following with what had taken place.

Her response was, “Wendy, it’s just a bird.”

Luckily, I sold it to the next person who came thru.