I Swear It's True!

From time to time I share my crazy work stories. I swear they're true (seriously, I'm not that imaginative). However, I do change names and identifying facts to protect myself. It's a strange job, but it pays the bills so I'd like to keep it. With that in mind, welcome to my crazy world . . .

 

Not my raccoo

I received a call over the radio. The dispatcher said there was a sick raccoon in the backyard of 1410 State Street. I was met by a young woman. She told me she used to work for a veterinarian, so she knew the raccoon was rabid. I grabbed my catch pole and told her to stay back. When I approached the raccoon I saw that it was missing part of its left ear, had a large scrape on its left side, and the left rear leg appeared to be broken. The poor thing was a mess. I gently scooped it up and put it in a transfer cage. As I returned to my truck the young woman said, "It's lethargic, it walks funny and is out during the day. It definitely has rabies." I told her I thought it was probably hit by a car. She was flabbergasted.

 

I had a woman call last week to report that her cat was missing. She was in a panic. She had recently moved to the area and was afraid her cat didn't know how to get home. I loaned her a trap and suggested she bait it with her cat's favorite food. I gave her some tips and told her not to worry, the cat was probably within a three block radius and I suspected it would show up in the next few days. She was still frantic. She called me everyday and I told her the same thing every time. Long story short . . . The woman called a pet psychic. She spent $80 for the psychic to tell her to put the trap on the next street over and the cat would be back in a couple of days. Guess what, the cat came back. She called me raving about how accurate the psychic was -- never mind that I had told her the same thing . . . for free! Sometimes I think I'm in the wrong profession.

 

Bipolar Betty had two dogs -- a big black one and a big white one. The dogs got out on a Sunday and killed the neighbor's Chihuahua. In the dead of night, Betty drove her dogs three states away before the incident was reported the following morning. There was a dispute as to which dog killed the Chihuahua. All the witnesses said it was the black dog. Betty swore it was the white one. She refused to let me see the dogs. She even refused to show me pictures and instructed he vet not to speak to me. We went round and round. Lawyers got involved. Ten days into the investigation she said that her dogs had different bite patterns, so what I needed to do was dig up the dead Chihuahua and compare the wound to her dogs' mouths . . . uh, no. And if even we had agreed to her outrageous request, she said she was not bringing her dogs back to Florida, so I had nothing to compare the wounds to anyway.

 

This is a real toy, and yes, I own one.
I named mine after a local hoarder.

A woman called me at 10 AM saying that she was moving and had to get rid of her cat. She asked if I would take it. When she gave me her address, I realized she was about 5 miles outside of my city limits. However, she was about 20 miles away from the County shelter. I told her that I had one empty cage (I only have 5 cages total) and a pickup scheduled for the following morning. I made a deal with her: if she brought me the cat by 5 PM I would take it. Not only would this save her the trip, but it would save her about $75 in fees. She said that she didn't have a car and asked if I would come get it. I told her no. My truck is on GPS (so the boss knows when I leave my jurisdiction) and technically she does not qualify for my services. I was doing this as a favor and on the down low because I was not suppose to use City resources for people who don't pay City taxes. I told her that the offer expired at 5 PM, at which time I had to notify the County what they were picking up the following day. Otherwise, she needed to take her cat the County shelter between 8 AM and noon Tuesday through Friday, and pay the surrender fee plus no vaccination and no county tags penalties. (I don't charge those fees.) Well, no good deed goes unpunished. Not only did she not bring me the cat, she also called and complained. Twice. I've been told to stop being nice to people. I've never been accused of being too nice before. I don't know how to handle this.

Yes, these are real stories. I have a hundred more, all equally bizarre. Some days I think I'm trapped in a Twilight Zone episode. Other days I just drink.

In honor of Thoughtless Thursday I'm going to stop thinking about my crazy job before I go insane. Thanks Ruckus the Eskie, M.K. Clinton and the pups over at Love is Being Owned by a Husky for giving me a safe place to vent. When you're done with my insanity, click around below to see what others are thinking about (or not thinking about) today. -- K