How I Got a Dog Shot.
Sep. 23rd, 2008 04:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seethingheathenI was going to play Sims, but I drank myself sleepy. I just downloaded a bunch of new shit instead.
And now I'm going to tell you a story. It's a true story. It's a sad story. And a dog was shot.
For the last few weeks, I've been working on and off at a little shop owned by the man I'm not really working for. I don't consider it work, because I don't really do it very often. Officially, I teach English to Indian and Nepali immigrants, but I don't, because they don't need to be taught English. It's just a thing I don't do for the sake of not doing it. And for other reasons, but they're a bit dodgy, so I won't get into them.
Anyway, I was working on Saturday night, because the person who normally works there had a stroke. So, because Lali needed a body, he used mine. But not in a dirty way, you pervs, because he is an old Sikh and I'm a youngish English woman. Oh, and he's married and respectable. I'm not so much, but that's another tale for another time.
So, as I was straightening the incense bins, a man dashed into the shop and pulled the doors closed. He was breathing hard, and generally freaking out. My first thought was What The Fucking Fuck Is Going On Here, so I asked. He said he was being chased by Pit Bulls. I was like Yeah Okay. But then I looked out the door (glass; I didn't open it), and there were three Pit Bulls barking and gnashing their teeth. One was wearing a nappy. And then they were gone.
Man was still Freaking The Fuck Out and clinging to the doors. They're push-from-inside and pull-from-outside doors, so unless the dogs grew thumbs, they weren't going to be able to open them. Anyway, since the dogs had gone, I got Man away from the doors so I could open one and peek round a bit. Big mistake. No sooner had I opened the door than did the dogs come running back, hell bent for leather. I yanked the door closed, and Man and I held them shut. Again, we were in no danger of the dogs actually getting in, but the mind does not function as it should when the body is threatened thus.
I would have been more than happy to harbour Man in the shop until the dogs got tired and left, but it was already twenty past ten, and the shop closes at half-ten. So, you can see the problem. My solution? Phone 999. Only, 999 doesn't work in America, does it? Again, brain death. After engaging my mental faculties, I phoned 911. A cop came out, but the dogs seemed to have gone. Until the cop opened his car door. Then they all three came running back to growl and gnash some more.
In the meantime, a customer had come in to buy cups. It turns out the dogs belonged to the people who live behind the shop, and so he rang them and told them to put them up because the police had been called. The dogs didn't seem to want to eat either the cop or the other customer, so I thought that perhaps Man had been teasing them, so they attacked. I'm not one of those people who think Pit Bulls are vicious by nature, but the way these three were acting had me frightened. They were honestly acting as though Man and I were a threat to them.
The dogs left (I'm not sure if their owner called them back), and the officer took Man's details. Everyone left, I closed the shop, and all was well.
Only, not really.
I was called in to work again today (well, yesterday now), because Lali and Bijay still had not found a replacement for Stroke Victim. As soon as I walked in, I was told that one of the dogs had been shot.
It turns out that the cop hadn't really left. He'd gone round to the dog owners' house and was waiting for the dog warden to come and get the dogs, as this was not the first time they had gotten loose and went after people. These are apparently vicious dogs, and not only do they attempt to om nom nom on people, but the other neighbourhood pets as well. Lovely.
Whilst waiting for the dog warden, the dogs got loose again, and one of them attacked the police officer. He shot it. It died. One of the others was caught, but the third got away. It has not been caught as of yet.
When I found out the dog had been killed, I cried. I know that it's the owners' fault for training it to be vicious, and that they are the ones who are responsible for its death, but I felt so bad for calling the police. I know it was the right thing to do, because I felt threatened, and the dogs really were vicious, but I still feel like it's my fault the dog was shot. It was a victim in all of this as well, and it could have been a loving animal were it owned by someone else.
To make matters worse, since the shop is in a small neighbourhood, everyone found out. And almost everyone who came into the shop asked me if I was the one who was working Saturday, and if I was the one who phoned the police. I just kept crying. And the mother of one of the dogs' owners wants to speak with me. Great. I essentially killed her daughter's dog, and she wants to speak with me.
You have no idea how shitty I feel, even though the dog was mean and vicious. It wasn't its fault. It was only as good as its training, and because of shitty pet owners, it's dead. I just hope it wasn't the one wearing the nappy, because that would be too fucking much.
Edit: Comments are off because as much as I love you all, I don't really need the 'there, there' things right now. No disrespect intended.
Edit 2: God, that sounds self-important, doesn't it? I'm sorry. :( What I meant to say was, I would appreciate the 'there, there' things, but I didn't post this entry for sympathy. I posted it because I feel terrible about what happened, and I just wanted to get it off my chest.
Edit 3: Comments are back on because I feel closed off when I disable them. Stupid, huh? Please tell me stories about kittens and puppies and faeries and sunshine. But nothing else, because I will eat you. Oh, and Hufflepuffs. I want to know about the Hufflepuffs.
And now I'm going to tell you a story. It's a true story. It's a sad story. And a dog was shot.
For the last few weeks, I've been working on and off at a little shop owned by the man I'm not really working for. I don't consider it work, because I don't really do it very often. Officially, I teach English to Indian and Nepali immigrants, but I don't, because they don't need to be taught English. It's just a thing I don't do for the sake of not doing it. And for other reasons, but they're a bit dodgy, so I won't get into them.
Anyway, I was working on Saturday night, because the person who normally works there had a stroke. So, because Lali needed a body, he used mine. But not in a dirty way, you pervs, because he is an old Sikh and I'm a youngish English woman. Oh, and he's married and respectable. I'm not so much, but that's another tale for another time.
So, as I was straightening the incense bins, a man dashed into the shop and pulled the doors closed. He was breathing hard, and generally freaking out. My first thought was What The Fucking Fuck Is Going On Here, so I asked. He said he was being chased by Pit Bulls. I was like Yeah Okay. But then I looked out the door (glass; I didn't open it), and there were three Pit Bulls barking and gnashing their teeth. One was wearing a nappy. And then they were gone.
Man was still Freaking The Fuck Out and clinging to the doors. They're push-from-inside and pull-from-outside doors, so unless the dogs grew thumbs, they weren't going to be able to open them. Anyway, since the dogs had gone, I got Man away from the doors so I could open one and peek round a bit. Big mistake. No sooner had I opened the door than did the dogs come running back, hell bent for leather. I yanked the door closed, and Man and I held them shut. Again, we were in no danger of the dogs actually getting in, but the mind does not function as it should when the body is threatened thus.
I would have been more than happy to harbour Man in the shop until the dogs got tired and left, but it was already twenty past ten, and the shop closes at half-ten. So, you can see the problem. My solution? Phone 999. Only, 999 doesn't work in America, does it? Again, brain death. After engaging my mental faculties, I phoned 911. A cop came out, but the dogs seemed to have gone. Until the cop opened his car door. Then they all three came running back to growl and gnash some more.
In the meantime, a customer had come in to buy cups. It turns out the dogs belonged to the people who live behind the shop, and so he rang them and told them to put them up because the police had been called. The dogs didn't seem to want to eat either the cop or the other customer, so I thought that perhaps Man had been teasing them, so they attacked. I'm not one of those people who think Pit Bulls are vicious by nature, but the way these three were acting had me frightened. They were honestly acting as though Man and I were a threat to them.
The dogs left (I'm not sure if their owner called them back), and the officer took Man's details. Everyone left, I closed the shop, and all was well.
Only, not really.
I was called in to work again today (well, yesterday now), because Lali and Bijay still had not found a replacement for Stroke Victim. As soon as I walked in, I was told that one of the dogs had been shot.
It turns out that the cop hadn't really left. He'd gone round to the dog owners' house and was waiting for the dog warden to come and get the dogs, as this was not the first time they had gotten loose and went after people. These are apparently vicious dogs, and not only do they attempt to om nom nom on people, but the other neighbourhood pets as well. Lovely.
Whilst waiting for the dog warden, the dogs got loose again, and one of them attacked the police officer. He shot it. It died. One of the others was caught, but the third got away. It has not been caught as of yet.
When I found out the dog had been killed, I cried. I know that it's the owners' fault for training it to be vicious, and that they are the ones who are responsible for its death, but I felt so bad for calling the police. I know it was the right thing to do, because I felt threatened, and the dogs really were vicious, but I still feel like it's my fault the dog was shot. It was a victim in all of this as well, and it could have been a loving animal were it owned by someone else.
To make matters worse, since the shop is in a small neighbourhood, everyone found out. And almost everyone who came into the shop asked me if I was the one who was working Saturday, and if I was the one who phoned the police. I just kept crying. And the mother of one of the dogs' owners wants to speak with me. Great. I essentially killed her daughter's dog, and she wants to speak with me.
You have no idea how shitty I feel, even though the dog was mean and vicious. It wasn't its fault. It was only as good as its training, and because of shitty pet owners, it's dead. I just hope it wasn't the one wearing the nappy, because that would be too fucking much.
Edit: Comments are off because as much as I love you all, I don't really need the 'there, there' things right now. No disrespect intended.
Edit 2: God, that sounds self-important, doesn't it? I'm sorry. :( What I meant to say was, I would appreciate the 'there, there' things, but I didn't post this entry for sympathy. I posted it because I feel terrible about what happened, and I just wanted to get it off my chest.
Edit 3: Comments are back on because I feel closed off when I disable them. Stupid, huh? Please tell me stories about kittens and puppies and faeries and sunshine. But nothing else, because I will eat you. Oh, and Hufflepuffs. I want to know about the Hufflepuffs.
