Penelope

Today I spent a couple hours trying to track down a homeless guy with a dog I had impounded a couple of weeks ago, I had just learned that his girlfriend threw herself in front of a car last week and killed herself.  I gave him a 50-pound bag of dog food to keep him thinking about giving me the dog to find a new home for it, since a greasy tarp next to the rail-road tracks isn’t the best place to live.  For him or the dog.

I was thinking about other dogs related to homeless people I know, and this story came to mind.  I forget if I told you about Penelope.  I was minding my own business watching TV at like 8 p.m. two years ago, and since I was on-call I had to keep my work phone on and it rang, and it was the Sheriffs, and I had to drive down to the parking lot by the big box store, across the street from the trailer park where all the bad stuff happens.

This guy was watching a stray dog that had been wandering around in the road near the freeway on-ramp, and he didn’t want it to get hit.  So I get there 30 minutes later and he still has her hanging near him, no leash, no collar, just chilling.  She is a pit bull, no surprise.  Very light brown, brindle, and dirty, a little smelly, muscular, and scared.  Her teats were well engorged; she had recently whelped a litter and was probably wondering where her pups were.  She let me put a leash on her and run my hands over her looking for any injuries, but she was shy.  There was no way I was going to lift her into a kennel in my truck, that is the moment most animal control officers get bit, so I let her jump into the passenger seat and ride shotgun. She was panting a lot, avoiding eye contact with me, but watching my hands.  This girl got dumped, no question.  But clearly she liked being in the passenger seat of a car.

So I sat there with her in the front seat of my truck as I wrote stuff on my clipboard and tried to get her interested in beef jerky. She let me pet her and licked my hands but she was definitely shy, scared, and sketchy.  And I noticed across the street next to the trailer park there was a black dog running loose, and it disappeared behind the Donut World shack.  So I drove across the street and into the lot and behind Donut World, where there were a bunch of homeless guys drinking and hanging out.  One of them quickly grabbed up the black dog I had seen, leashed it and called out an apology.  I pulled up next to him and said no worries, I told him I was wondering if maybe his dog and the dog in my passenger seat belonged together.  Then some other transient gets interested and comes up to my window, and looks at my impound and says, “I know that dog, she belongs to my friend. Give me that dog, and I will give it back to my friend.”

Now a lot of sketchy people are gathering around my truck.  Mind you, I am well trained for this; I am issued handcuffs.  One pair.  Not seven pairs, and I think there are seven transients interested in my truck, and I’m barely qualified to operate these handcuffs in the bedroom, let alone in the field against seven crack heads.  I explain to the guy, no, it doesn’t work that way.  Tell me who your friend is and I will give the dog to him.  He says, no, man, I will prove it to you, the dog loves me.  And he starts walking around the front of my truck to go to the passenger window where the dog is, while another knucklehead begins jerking on the door handle to my truck. 

My television-training instinct kicks in at this point, and I push the button to start rolling up the passenger window.  The guy gets to the passenger window, tries to put his head inside the truck, and this dog I just picked up, who is still a little undecided about me, but must know that I am good, since I am giving her shelter and beef jerky, comes completely unglued and tries to eat the homeless guy who is coming through the half-rolled up window.  The other idiots on my side of the truck back way off, saying words that rhyme with “holy fucking shit, did you see how that fucker almost took so-and-so’s face off?! and the clown who thought the dog was his friend’s dog says something like “oh, must be a different dog,” and I drove away with my new best friend, “Penelope.”

Anyway, that was two years ago.  Penelope was great with me, for a while.  But you put a dog in a kennel, and keep her there for a year, or a year and a half, or two, with minimal socializing, and things change. Penelope was a red-lock dog from the get-go.  Only experienced volunteers and staff could handle her. She required a lot of vet visits too, developing a bad case of demodex, a skin parasite that is hard to kill and even harder to control in a kennel environment.  Penelope found herself in a chainlink world exactly the same size as a small prison cell, with an itchy skin condition that needed hands-on treatment, and only a few people in her world she trusted who could help her with her medication. Penelope didn’t like or trust all of our officers, nor all of our volunteers.  She was very fearful. For months her appointments were scheduled on days that I worked and could take her.  Eventually, Penelope was even fearful of me at her kennel gate, and soon she no longer would warm up to my efforts to coax her out of her enclosure. One day she showed me a level of fear aggression that I realized I could not overcome, and I passed her on to the few who could work with her.

Over time I admit I didn’t think about Penelope as much.  We had a lot of long-term stays at our shelter, and I was happy I could help socialize those who trusted me.  Some were dogs I had brought in, some were brought in by other officers, some came in over the counter, and all of them needed as much attention and affection as they could get and we could give.  Many were adopted out to new families, some were transferred to second chance rescue groups.  I don’t remember them all, as new ones came in every week.  I recall at some point Penelope was on a list with a few other kennel-aggressive pits to be shipped to a forever-rescue operation out-of-state, where she would have a large dog house and dog run to live her life out in, forever to be labeled an “unadoptable dog.”

And then a few months ago I pulled my truck into the sally port behind the shelter and saw some guy I didn’t recognize inside one of our staff-only dog runs throwing a ball with a light brindle pit.  A big, scary guy, and a big scary pit. Penelope.  Next weekend, he was there again.  And then, it seemed like every other day, this guy was inside the dog run, playing, cuddling, napping, reading, nuzzling, and just hanging out with Penelope. 

I asked him and he told me.  He wanted to be there, at the animal shelter, with Penelope.  He didn’t want to be anywhere else.  He had been deployed to the Middle East as a Marine, he was still living on base, where they didn’t allow mastiff breeds as pets.  He had something like 8 or 6 or 4 weeks left until they would discharge him, and the minute he got his papers, he was going to bring Penelope back to his family home, far away from our state, far away from here, far away from where he had been.  And as I talked to this Marine through the chain-link, Penelope wagged her tail and licked my hand through the fence, barked once at me, and nuzzled the guy like, quit talking, and throw the ball some more for me!  And he turned away from me and went back to playing with his girl. 

Three weeks ago, after living in a cage for two years, Penelope jumped into a sweet orange Challenger and helped her new dad escape his cage to start their new life.  Sometimes I think about looking up the guy’s number to check in on him and Penelope.  But frankly, I don’t think either of them need to look back.

Penelope

one of those days

I had a weird, but good, but still weird day today.

Part of my job in the mornings when I don’t have a rookie scheduled, is Vets Runs, Mail & Money.  This means transporting shelter dogs back and forth to vet appointments for spay/neuters, check ups, whatever, and bringing outgoing mail and yesterday’s shelter receipts down to city hall to the finance clerks.  Today I had this duty.  I dropped a kitty off at one vet for her appointment and drove over to another vet to pick up a dog.  The vet is in a mall that has a grocery store.  Grocery stores sell orange juice.  I haven’t drunk orange juice in a couple of years.  I decided I needed some orange juice, so I ran into the store and got some, and then headed into the vet’s and picked up the dog I was supposed to pick up.  The OJ run cost me about 2 extra minutes. 

On my way out of the mall parking lot, just before I pulled out and into traffic, in my right rearview mirror, I saw a dog running through the parking lot behind me dragging a leash.  I looked out my window and saw one of the vet staff running after the dog.  I watched as the dog and the vet staff guy ran all the way across the huge parking lot to the other end of the block and into traffic at the intersection of two 4-lane roads. 

Fuck. 

I flipped on the overheads, crossed through the parking lot, swerved around the vet staff guy who was running through traffic and yelling a lot, bounced over a curb and sidewalk into already stopped on-coming traffic, u-turned into the intersection, drove over the median curb and grass strip, and followed this little dog for a half mile into the next town (out of my jurisdiction), into a neighborhood, and into a cul-de-sac. 

By this time the dog was tired, so I just parked my truck, crossed the lawn where it was hiding in the bushes and picked up the leash.  I had left my truck in the middle of the street with the door open, and the dog indicated it wanted to jump inside the cab.  I said no, you get to ride in the kennels like everybody else. (I am an idiot.)  I petted the dog, the dog seemed to like me, so I picked the dog up to put it inside the kennel I had opened. 

She bit the living fuck out of my right hand, in the exact same spot that Frank, the psycho vicious Dachshund had bit my right hand when I pulled him out from under a police car near this same freaking intersection two years ago. Okay, so she got to ride in the front seat on the way back to the vet where she escaped from.  Everyone was happy the vet got their customer’s dog back, the vet let me use their first aid kit and their betadyne, and I finished all the other shit I had to do.

Then I had to go to the doctor.  I was going to just go to the ER but my boss said no, ER’s too expensive, I had to go to the same quack that squeezed my nuts when I took my physical to get my job.

So I drove over there, and I got a weird feeling.  I can’t explain it, it was just one of those feelings like I was very aware of what I was doing, where I was, what was going on around me.  I go into the doctor’s office and the front office girls said they didn’t have a doctor in today.  I call my boss and she says now I have to drive to another doctor’s office 15 miles away.  So I drive up there.  I am in the parking lot of the new doctor’s office, and I see a lady fall out of her car onto her wheelchair, which collapses with her on it and her car keeps rolling.  So I get out of mine, stop hers before she gets hurt and help some other people put her back into her wheelchair.  Then I go inside the doctor’s office and there in the waiting room is Cassie, a girl I used to work with during my old career and haven’t seen since for a decade and I got to meet her 2 year old son.

So the point is, if you don’t have 2 minutes to drink some orange juice, don’t fuck around with a stray dog.

bad naked revisited

Just last week I got called back to that same house twice in 2 days- the one where the girl had just gotten out of jail and I surprised her at her house when I went there to ask her to come to the shelter to reclaim her dog.  The first day her tweaker neighbor “M” was visiting her and I had to cite her for her dog being loose in the neighborhood attacking other people’s dogs.  (“M’s” dog is a Belgian Shepherd that I broke out of cars twice last year when it was owned by a different tweaker, “T.”) I hadn’t expected to run into “S," I was only tracking down “M” and didn’t realize I was at “S’s” house until it was too late to call the cops for a follow. (This is the nekkid girl with the shotgun history.) She was very pleasant though.

So I got to catch up with “S” while “M” finished up a screaming fight on her cell phone with someone about a credit card issue.  “S” definitely remembered answering the door nekkid, she told me she usually gets nekkid and plays her drums when she knows the cops are coming over to get her. 

Anyway, the VERY NEXT DAY “S’s” other neighbor noticed that "S's" dog (a small Jack Russell Terrier) had been tied up on her rear, elevated deck all night long and was tangled around a chair and some huge chunk of wood and couldn’t move, and now it was 90 degrees out and the dog had no water or shelter and was tired out from barking all night long.  This time the cops made me wait for them.  I knocked on all available doors and windows (there was new stucco around the metal security door but nobody had painted it yet) and got no answer.  This was not unusual for her, according to the cops.  She was either passed out in one of her rooms or simply didn’t want to talk to the cops.  

It was hot enough that the dog would be injured or killed if left tied in the sun with no water for more than a couple of hours, so I borrowed the neighbor’s 20’ extension ladder, and climbed up on to the deck from the side yard while all the cops pointed their guns at all the doors and windows in case “S” suddenly materialized with her shotgun.  I used the window- and door-checking techniques I learned from watching NYPD Blue and also COPS and verified "S" wasn’t in her house, grabbed the dog and climbed back down the ladder.  The good news is, “S” is now in detox and her dog is in the care of a local vet until she is ready to get him back.

Thor

I was minding my own business driving around when my phone rang, and I recognized the number, it was 5-0.  And I was just about to take a long walk on the beach, too.

So anyway, they said I had to meet them under the bridge between the beach and the town, and impound a dog so they can take his owner to jail.  So I show up, and I see a cruiser parked under the bridge with its lights on and a pile of stuff on the sidewalk.  I get out of my truck and I don't recognize the cops, (it turns out they are switching shifts or some other shit and they don't normally work that area.)

They are busy fooling with radios and clip boards and whatever they do, so I walk over to the pile of paper and plastic bags and stuff and there is a frigging ginormous pitbull leashed to the crash bar up front.  My boy!

Me:  Hey, Thor!
Thor:  (was sleeping on the curb, slowly gets up, shakes his sleep off, sticks out his tongue and wags his tail.)
Cops: How did you know his name?
Me: Is that Phil in your car?
Cops: (A little incredulously) Yeah! He was passed out on the sidewalk, we don't know who the fuck he is.
Me: Can I talk to him for a quick sec?
Cops: Sure! (They open the door.)
Me: Hey, Phil, it's me, Animal Control again! I'm taking Thor with me, he'll be fine, just come up and get him when you get out!
Phil: igjpjg fopgjp gj pgjfs
Me: I'll give my card to these guys to put in your shit so when you get out you have my number, okay?!
Phil: flih dsfihr5 lhfs
Cops: Holy fuck, how do you know this guy?
Me: My third, my partners have a couple each though.  What's his charge?
Cops: He's got warrants for public intoxication, illegal camping, shoplifting, defrauding an innkeeper, resisting arrest, trespassing, simple assault, possession of less than an ounce, possession of paraphernalia, possession of stolen property, and harboring an unlicensed dog.
Me:  The dog's current.
Cops:  (Pause.) He'll be out tomorrow.
Phil:  fsh5ja pif 9jfl

I let Thor ride shotgun, he's the balls. I think it runs in the family though, I was feeding him treats while we were driving around but he was more interested in licking the bottle of hand sanitizer in the center console.

bad naked

I was minding my own business at work today and one of my bosses called, and said that one of the other officers had impounded a dog a few days ago during a Sheriff’s Assist call when its owner got arrested.

Anyway, apparently the owner had been released from jail and hadn’t yet claimed her dog and all the phone numbers we had for her were bad, and we needed to get her dog back to her.  So, I know her neighborhood, and I call Sheriff’s just to make sure I’m OK knocking on the door without getting shot or stabbed.

Sheriff’s: “Let’s see, yup, she tried to shoot her husband with a double barreled shotgun.”
Me: “Does she still have the shotgun?”
Sheriff’s: “I don’t think so, it looks like it broke during the fight.”
Me: “Fight?”
Sheriff’s: “It looks like she fought the deputies who were arresting her, and they confiscated some property including a shotgun, and there is a note about a gun being disabled.”  Pause. “So do you want a follow?”
Me:  Pause.  “You know what, no, I’m there to deliver good news, I’ll play it by ear, I’ll keep my phone in my hand, I’ll call you if it gets weird.”

And then I get to the house, and there is a brand new heavy metal security exterior screen door bolted to the house, there are still stickers on the thing from Home Depot and China, and all the stucco around the door frame is gone, like maybe when Sheriff’s were there a few days ago they didn’t exactly use a key to remove the old door to get this girl.

So I knock and wait. 

As usual, nothing happens so I knock and wait again, and then the interior door flies open and there she is, butt nekkid and screaming at me that she just got out of jail 4 hours ago and I am fucking with her already?! Now I’m thinking WTF, 5-0 just pretty much told me to wait for them and I declined, and now I am going to get shotgunned by a naked girl.

And you know what? When she realized I was from the animal shelter, and I just wanted to get her dog back to her?  Best friends.  Yup. Not necessarily bad-naked either. Angry, but cute.