Pigs, Snakes & Goats! Oh My!

Join host Lisa Hill as she talks about animals. Geese attacking students. A fox in a classroom. A kid with a snake in a Crown Royal bag. Even HR banning all animals—yes, even the fish. Because if you work in a school long enough, it’s not a question of if animals show up… It’s which ones. 

Realtor Janae Griffith
Janae Griffith has 19 years experience in buying and selling homes in Central Iowa.

Wee's Tees
Custom prints done right—Wee’s Tees brings your vision to life on and off the field.

Disclaimer: This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase, I may receive a commission at no extra cost to you.

Vice Principal UnOfficed website has moved! Boomark my new site: https://viceprincipalunofficed.com/

Email me: vpunofficed@gmail.com 

Check out photos from each Vice Principal UnOfficed episode at:

• Instagram 
• Facebook 

Resources used for Vice Principal UnOfficed can be found here.

Thanks for listening!

#KeepLaughing&Learning

Transcript

Sponsors And Cold Open

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Vice Principal in Office is brought to you with support from our sponsors. Looking for a home in the Greater Des Moines area? With over 19 years in the real estate business, Janae Griffith has the expertise and dedication to help you find that special place to call home. The kind of home where you can drop your bags, exhale, and say, Yes, this is mine. Whether you're buying or selling, Janae Griffith is making it the home for you. Visit Janae. That's J-A-N-A-E at JanaeGriffith.com to get started. Looking for custom team gear or standout promo apparel? Wheeze Tease is your one-stop shop for high-quality, high-impact prints. Based in Ankony, Iowa, Wheeze Tease provides dependable in-house service from screen printing to DTF transfers to heat press work, all done with a passion for precision. Wheeze Tease turns your ideas into gear that performs on and off the field. So head to Wheeze Tease and customize your apparel for your grind, your game, and your glory. Get started today at Wheeze Tease.com. On this episode of Vice Principal in Office, join me, your host Lisa Hill, as we talk about animals. Geese attacking students, a fox in the classroom, and a kid with a snake in a crown royal bag. Even HR banning all animals, yes, even the fish. Because if you work in a school long enough, it's not a question of if animals show up, it's which ones. So let's get laughing on learning. Attention students, I mean listeners, the stories in this podcast are told from the host's personal and farcical point of view. All names and identifiers have been omitted or altered to protect identities. Now get to class and enjoy the show. Hello folks, welcome back to another episode of Vice Principal Unoffist. I hope you're doing well. I cannot believe we're almost through January. On one hand, I want the second semester to fly by, but on the other hand, I'd like to hit the brakes just a little. And yes, I realize that's a bold request from someone who's only months away from a third retirement. But here's why. I genuinely love the team I'm working with. Teachers, paraprofessionals, and my associate principal. They show up for kids, they show up for each other, and they do it with heart. Truly top-tier humans. Now don't get me wrong, we still have days that make you question reality. But overall, this is a good place. The environment is solid, the work matters, and I am grateful for my little corner of the school world. But if I could just cut down on the random drop-ins from adults who show up puffing their chests like they're starring in a National Geographic special, we'd be in great shape most days. Which is a perfect setup for today's episode. Because we're talking about animals at school. And I don't just mean the ones with the backpacks and the attitude. I mean the actual animals, the surprise guests, the uninvited visitors, the ones who show up on campus like they pay taxes here. And honestly, I come by this animal chaos naturally. So let's rewind for a second, because my childhood home was basically the training ground for everything I'm about to tell you. When I was a kid, my dad made it his personal mission to make sure we always had a dog. I got my first dog when I was six months old. I'm sure my mother was thrilled. A baby and a puppy. What could go wrong? My dog was a St. Bernard named Alpi, which is basically a couch that breathes. I mean, I did take naps on that dog. And then, because apparently our house was running an unofficial petting zoo, we also had baby rabbits, which I got weirdly jealous of because I thought my dad loved them more than me, a couple of ducks, they were here, they were loud, and then they were gone, and my personal favorite, a three-legged pig. Yes, a pig with three legs. Meanwhile, the pig was pooping out of the cage the entire ride home. My siblings and I thought it was comedy gold. My mom did not. We named the pig Garber because my brother, who was probably two at the time, couldn't say Wilbur. You know, from Charlotte's Webb. If you haven't read the book, please at least watch one version of the movie so you understand why this story comes with emotional baggage. Anyway, Garber lived outside with our dog, who I think at the time was Champ, a golden retriever, because of course we needed the most wholesome dog breed possible to balance out the livestock situation in our backyard. Garber grew so fast, he went from cute to should we be concerned? in about a week. I remember playing with both Garber and Champ in our fenced-in yard, like it was no big deal. And no, I did not live in the city, and I did not live in the country, somewhere in between. And yes, it was weird. I don't think the neighbors were impressed. They were more like, is that a pig? Eventually, Garber got so big that my dad took him away. And this is the part of the story where some of you may feel nauseous, some of you might feel sad, a few of you might be furious, and others will like me think, wow, that escalated quickly. Because my dad claims we ate garber. My mom absolutely denies this. She insists that she never cooked him, never served him, and would never participate in that kind of family betrayal. Now, do I believe my mom? No, not even a little. But I understand why she denied it. Because she had her own childhood trauma involving a pet chicken. You see, when my mom was little, her older brothers didn't feel like chasing a chicken around the farm for dinner. So they called Willie. Her pet chicken. Willie walked right up to the gate like, Hi, I completely trust you. And wham, Willie was dinner. So if you're wondering why my mom had zero interest in turning Garber into a menu option, that's why. Because nothing says family memories, like realizing your favorite pet is one lazy decision away from becoming supper. Lisa M. Sorry Mom. Okay, back to Garber. I'm just gonna say it. I'm pretty sure we ate him. At least my brother and I are convinced my dad was telling the truth. My sister, of course, sides with my mom and still insists, absolutely not, no way. And my dad, oh he loved that debate. I can still picture him sitting there with a cigarette, wearing that little smirk like he'd just won a game none of us even knew we were playing. Quietly laughing every time we brought it up. So, yes, if you've ever wondered why my sense of humor is slightly off-center, now you know. After Garber, my dad stuck to dogs. Much safer, and also a better plan if he wanted my mom to keep speaking to him. Lisa Anne. Ah shoot. I didn't think you heard that one. Sorry, m I promise, no more family animal stories. Now, fast forward twenty plus years, and the animal chaos didn't just show up again, it followed me. Which is why this episode is titled Pigs, Snakes and Goats, O Mai. Of course, I really wanted to call this episode, but the longer I work in schools, the more I realize the building isn't just full of students, it's also a revolving door of free and feathered visitors who don't care about the bell schedule and who always show up on the exact day an adult made a questionable decision, and I'm one email away from losing my grip on reality. Because seriously, folks, you just can't make this shit up. Lisa. Jeez, Mom, that's three times. I thought she was taking a nap. I guess I'd just better move on to some more animal stories. I worked in one school that had this massive commons area, like an indoor town square, where every student had to pass through between classes. And that year, we had that group. You know the one. Loud, chaotic, always one comment away from turning a normal hallway into a full-blown incident report. Now the principal at the time was convinced that these kids didn't need consequences, they needed a connection. Her big idea? Put a rabbit in a cage in the middle of the commons. Her thinking was, if students learn to care for something small and vulnerable, they'll start treating people better too. And truthfully, that's not completely off base. There's research out there that says caring for animals can help kids build empathy, because it teaches them to notice needs, respond gently, and think beyond themselves. Humane education programs have even shown measurable growth and empathy. But other studies basically say, eh, it depends. Because simply having an animal nearby doesn't magically turn kids into kind humans. The results usually come from the quality of interaction, active caregiving, consistent guidance, and adults who don't treat the pet like a decorative classroom accessory. And here's the problem. Our principal didn't just get a rabbit, she got a second job. Because she was the only one actually taking care of that thing. Every day, carrots, lettuce, fresh water, cage cleaning, little bunny pep talks, the whole routine. And I'm watching this like, ma'am, when are you planning to run the school? I think she believed if she modeled nurturing behavior, the students would follow her lead. They did not. They did the opposite. Those kids fed that poor rabbit everything except a balanced diet. And then they started poking it with pencils like it was some kind of science experiment. The principal ended up in tears, and I'm standing there thinking, yep, this is exactly how this was always going to go. And then, mysteriously, the rabbit was gone. In less than a week. No explanation, no closure, just gone. Meanwhile, my brain time traveled straight back to being four years old, jealous of rabbits, realizing that my dad and this principal have the exact same leadership style. Bring home an animal and hope for the best. And that was the moment I decided, animals probably don't belong in schools. But clearly, not everyone in education shares my survival instincts. I once worked with a school leader who, on day one of their job, decided to decorate their office with a pet snake in a glass tank on display like it was a plant. Now, let me be clear, I do not do snakes at all. Ever. My fear goes back to grade school when I ran around with the neighborhood kids from morning until the streetlights came on. You know, back when kids were feral and hydration was optional. Anyway. Buddy was sweet, friendly, and basically the unofficial mascot of the neighborhood. Wherever we kids went, baseball tag, building forts, Buddy was right there like he was part of the group project. One day we were playing baseball in my front yard, minding our business, when Buddy spots a snake. And Buddy did not hesitate. He pounced on that snake, grabbed it, and started swinging that thing around like he was trying out for an action movie. Just full-on bulldog madness. At the same time, all of us kids reacted exactly the same way. Screaming, sprinting, and abandoning the entire game like the bases were on fire. I ran so fast I think I left my soul behind in the front yard because I was sure I was going to die. And that was it. Fear of snakes unlocked permanently. So when that new school leader proudly displayed their pet snake in a glass tank, like it was office decor, I made a personal decision to avoid the building entirely. I didn't even work there, and I still wanted to transfer. The good news for me, the snake was sent home in less than a week. Fastest boost of staff morale I've ever witnessed. And as a bonus, HR rolled out a brand new policy. No animals in the building. Yes, even the fish. Unfortunately, students don't read board policy, so that would not be my last snake encounter at school. You might remember the snake in the wall situation. Yes, the one where the official plan was basically let's seal up the opening in the wall with the snake still inside. If you want a full recap, that's episode 19. But this snake story is a different kind of nightmare. One time a student brought their pet snake to school in a crown royal bag. A crown royal bag. That deep purple velvet pouch that was designed to carry a bottle of whiskey. Not a living, moving, surprise creature with zero business being in a school. And if I remember correctly, the students made it through most of the day before another kid finally told a teacher, who told a counselor, who told the office, and then eventually landed in the vice principal zone, where problems seemed to go to multiply. I didn't even go near that Crown Royal bag. All I could think was, this is not a school. This is Snakes on a Plane, the Midwest edition. That movie wasn't terrifying because of the snakes. It was terrifying because the snakes were trapped in a small space with people who didn't ask for that kind of stress. And that's exactly what the school felt like at that moment. One kid casually holding a bag of nightmares, other kids whispering like it's a field trip attraction. And the adults are trying to act calm while mentally filing for early retirement. And that's when I wanted to channel Samuel L. Jackson and announce to the entire building I had had it with these motherfuffin snakes in this mother-effin school. Because there was absolutely no chance I was opening that purple bag. Not for curiosity, not for documentation, not for due process, not for anything. Crown Royal? I understand that appeal. But snakes? I'm not built for that. But animals with fur, maybe. One of the school leaders would bring his dog to work, usually after hours. He'd let that pup roam wherever it pleased. Offices, hallways, classrooms, like it was conducting classroom walkthroughs and chucking for instructional alignment. And honestly, once you set that tone, it's only a matter of time before someone else thinks, you know what this school needs? A fox. Yes, a fox. A teacher had a classroom fox. And not like a stuffed animal or a cute poster. I mean a real living fox that treated the classroom like its personal apartment. Daytime, nighttime, it didn't matter. That fox had full access. It only got out once. And in most places that would have been the end of that experiment. But not here. The fox stayed. And here's the part that still gets me. When that teacher took a job out of state, the new teacher didn't walk in and say, absolutely not. Nope. The new teacher just kept the fox, like it was included in the classroom inventory. Desk check. Whiteboard check. Fox also check. Now I Have no idea how long foxes live, so I can't tell you what eventually happened to it. I will say it was adorable and surprisingly calm, which makes me think it had accepted its fate as an honorary staff member. And speaking of animals that truly belonged outside, let me tell you about the school farm. I had the pleasure of supervising a school program in another district that came with its own farm. The program's focus was agriculture. So naturally, farm life wasn't just part of the curriculum, it was part of the daily adventure package. We had pigs, goats, sheep, chickens, and occasionally rabbits. Anyway, the barn was literally falling apart. And why? Because it was also home to a thriving rat population. Not cute little cartoon rats either. I'm talking aggressively confident rat. The agriculture teacher warned me to be careful because the rats were the size of a small wiener dog. And they had the confidence of animals who have never once been told no. Now, I lived with pigs, rabbits, and dogs. I assumed the teacher was exaggerating. There was no way a rat could be built like a small pet. I was wrong. Because one day I opened the barn door looking for the teacher. And the biggest rat I have ever seen in my life ran right across my toes. Me? I didn't scream. I didn't run. I didn't move. I simply became a statue. A very pale, very professional statue. After a few seconds, my lungs remembered to do their job, and I slowly backed out of the barn like I was exiting a crime scene. We eventually renovated the barn and brought in some kind of groundhogish creature that basically handled pest control like it was a union contract. Every once in a while, you'd glance out the classroom window and see a little head pop out of the ground like all clear, I'm on it. And it worked. The rats disappeared. But unfortunately, that little underground hero could not chase children away from the barn. As kids do, one night, right before school started, a small group of teens snuck onto school property and broke into the school barn in the middle of the night, releasing all the sheep, pigs, and goats, because apparently that's how you kick off a new school year with a full-blown livestock jailbreak. By morning, the local news had caught wind of the story and showed up at the barn to film. At the same time, the operations department was sprinting around the farm like it was a county fair, but with worse planning. Grown men used to fixing things inside a school were now running around trying to scoop up school livestock before anyone made it to the highway. I just happened to be watching the news that morning and saw the whole thing unfold on TV. I even posted a picture of that news story on my vice principal unoffice website. Because if your job ever makes the morning news, you might as well document it. And of course, we never caught the kids. But we did catch the animals, eventually. Now, this is not my last animal story. No, unfortunately for you, I have more. And who would ever guess one person could live through so many animals at school situations? But then again, no one is me. So yes, I'm that person. Let's talk about birds. Because if you think school drama is just teenagers and parents, you've clearly never met a goose with a mission. One spring, a lovely goose couple decided to set up their home, eggs and all, right near the front doors of the school. Not in the grass off to the side. Not near a pond. No. Right by the main entrance. Because apparently the official greeting committee that year was two angry birds and a full nest of attitude. And when I say they were protective, I mean these geese weren't just guarding eggs. They were guarding the entire building like they were on payroll. Students couldn't just walk into school. They had to strategize. Kids were literally running from parking lot to the doors like it was an action movie, backpacks bouncing, hoodies flying, trying to make it inside before the geese noticed movement. And it wasn't just students. Visitors would show up, take one step toward the entrance, and suddenly they were doing that awkward fast walk that turns into a sprint when you realize you're being targeted. Even the occasional visit from the district office wasn't safe. Nothing humbles a grown professional faster than being chased by a bird with wings, rage, and absolutely no respect for job titles. It got to the point where the front doors became less of an entrance and more of a wildlife obstacle course. So we did what any school would do. We called for help. The DNR came out to handle it, and they tried everything, including foil flyers. Yes, shiny foil flyers. Because I guess the plan was to convince the geese that the front entrance was suddenly too sparkly to be trusted. The geese were not impressed. They did not relocate. They doubled down. In the end, the geese had to be physically removed because once geese claim school property, they don't move. They take ownership. Then there was the time I opened the doors to a brand new construction lab to show a long-term sub around. You know, trying to be professional, trying to be welcoming, trying to highlight the beautiful new space. And as we walked in, a bird was flying around inside the lab and dove straight toward the long-term sub and me. Trying to stay brave and professional, I immediately radioed the operations department. They calmly informed me they were already on the case. As for the bird, somehow a door had been left open. It was cold outside, and this bird apparently thought, heated shop space, hmm, tall ceilings? Hmm, this feels about right. Operations decided the best solution was to open even more doors to help the bird find its way back out. Which sounds reasonable. And till you remember, it was freezing outside. So instead of leaving, the bird flew deeper into the building, like it had just signed a lease and was ready to explore its new home. At that point, I stopped asking questions and let Operations handle it. And they eventually got the bird out, or so they say. And I can't even talk about flying things at school without mentioning my son. He had his own encounter during a choir concert when bats flew out of the stage ceiling and started swooping down over the choir like they were part of the performance. Most kids ran, some screamed, and a few probably reconsidered their life choices of joining choir. My son? He just stood there like it was no big deal. Completely unfazed. Like, this is fine, the show must go on. I'm pretty sure the choir director changed the concert venue after that, because it's hard to stay focused on a ballad when bats are doing flyovers. Which leads me to this episode's last story. My first day working in another district should have come with a warning label. New job, new building, new people. I walked in ready to make a great first impression, smiling, professional, pretending I wasn't slightly terrified inside. I expected the usual first day welcome, a friendly face at the front desk, someone offering directions, and maybe a quick, we're so glad you're here. Instead, I was greeted by a stuffed, angry-looking raccoon perched on a pillar, staring directly at me. No people, no hello, no good morning, just a taxidermy raccoon, silently evaluating my readiness for this position like, Welcome, this place is chaos, which seemed to match the sign taped to the pillar below the raccoon's butt. It read, raccoon will bite. Just kidding, but the display is fragile. Please do not touch. I stood there for a moment thinking, is this the part of the onboarding process? Like maybe if I made eye contact and nodded respectfully, I'd be accepted into the building. Eventually, real humans appeared and acted like this was totally normal, which in hindsight should have been my first clue. I actually took a picture of that damn raccoon. You can check it out on my full website. Later during the opening meeting, some district leader cheerfully encouraged all administrators to take a walk outside among the wildlife and the river. Which sounded lovely in that fresh air, teamwork, new beginnings kind of way. So I joined my new partner in crime, Haley, and we headed out. We started walking, getting to know each other, bonding, building trust, talking about the year ahead. And I instantly thought, I like this woman. I'm gonna be okay. This feels nice, I can do this. Haley just had that calm, competent energy, like she'd already survived 10 school years and three emergencies before breakfast. And then a snake slithered right across the walkway in front of us. Not a cute little nature moment snake, no. A confident snake. A snake that looked like it had a schedule and we were messing it up. I froze. And Haley? Haley just kept walking like this was completely normal. Like it was part of the tour, like it was a feature, like the brochure said, Welcome to the district, enjoy the river views, local wildlife, and surprise snakes during staff bonding. Meanwhile, I'm standing there thinking, first day, new job, and I'm about to get taken out by a snake in front of my new co-worker. But Haley just glanced back at me with this calm little smile, like, you're fine, I've got you. And honestly, that's when I knew I was going to be okay. Because raccoons and snakes on day one, that's chaos. But Haley, Haley made this job wonderful from the very start. And with that, I think it's time to wrap up today's episode. Before something else crawls, slithers, or waddles onto campus and asks for a visitor badge. There's one thing I've learned, it is this. My childhood didn't just prepare me for a career in education. It basically trained me. Because when your early life includes a pet pig named Harber and a permanent fear of snakes, you don't grow up thinking, wow, animals are cute. You grow up thinking, all right, what's the plan when animals show up uninvited and everyone expects me to stay calm? And sure enough, that's exactly what happened. Somehow, animals have waltzed into my career like they're part of the staff, showing up in the barns and classrooms, at the front doors, and occasionally a bag that was designed for whiskey, not wildlife. And the funniest part is I'm still expected to act like this is normal because that's the job. You can have the best intentions, lead with your values, do everything right, and still end up sprinting through the day while nature freelances as your assistant principal. So if you've ever wondered what it's like working in a school long term, just know it's basically a barnyard with a bell schedule. I don't know. Maybe old McDonald was right. But I'm gonna go out on a limb and say, Eee, EI, nope. Well, kids, the dismissal bell is ringing, so until next time on Vice Principal Unoffist, push in your chair, put your name on your paper, be kind to your classmates, put your phone away, and use your indoor voice. Or not, thanks for listening. And I hope you enjoyed the tales from Vice Principal Unoffist as much as I enjoyed sharing them. And it is also my hope that you were not only entertained by this episode, but that you walked away with a little nugget of knowledge that gave you some insight on how working in a school is not for the faint of heart. And as I've said before, life is short, so you gotta do the best you can to leave the world in a better place than when you got here. And of course, for the love of God, see the humor in life. It's a lot more fun and a little easier to get through the ickin life with a smile on your face. Catch you next time on Vice Principal on Office. Next time on Vice Principal on Office, join me, your host Lisa Hill, as I share the funniest school moments that prove Stranger Things has nothing on teachers. These true stories are wild, ridiculous, and way too real. If you ever worked in a school, you'll be laughing and nodding the whole time. So tune in February 10th on your favorite podcast platform and get laughing and learning. Hey students, I mean listeners, thanks again for tuning in. And if you've enjoyed today's show, please leave me a review. It really helps grow the show. And don't forget to hit the follow button so you don't miss an episode. Trust me, you don't want to be late for this detention. And listeners, if you've got a school story of your own that you think would fit Vice Principal on Office, I'd love to hear it. Just head to my podcast website and send me your story. And who knows, your story might even get a shout-out in a future episode. Thanks so much for listening and for your support. Vice Principal on Office is an independent podcast with everything you hear done by me, Lisa Hill, and supported through BuzzSprout. Any information from today's show, along with any links and resources, are available in the show's notes. So if you want to do a little homework and dive deeper into anything I've mentioned, head over to my podcast website and check it out. And a big thank you to Matthew Chaiam with Pixabay for the show's marvelous themed music. And of course, a huge shout out to my mother. This podcast is for the purpose of entertainment only, like the recess of your day, and not a platform for debates about public education. Though you never know, you can learn something. And just a reminder that the stories shared in this podcast represent one lens, which is based on my personal experiences and interpretations, and also reflect my unique perspective through humor. Names, dates, and places have been changed or admitted to protect identities and should not be considered universally applicable. Until next time, keep laughing and learning.