I don’t seem to recall ever being favorably disposed toward humanity, but every year I’m impressed a little less…
Me and a friend of mine were walking home from a bar on Thursday night. A dog was wandering ahead of us, meandering around like a lifelong stray, but it seemed healthy enough and it wore a collar. The worst of my instincts said to leave the whole thing be, but my friend was quite adamant that we do something about this lost dog. Seeing the collar, I rather hoped it’d be a simple matter of checking the tags. If it had been, I obviously wouldn’t be writing this.
We caught up to the dog. No tags. Again, I had the urge to leave things alone. Again my friend convinced me otherwise. We followed the dog for a good ways trying to get some idea of where it might have come from. Passing by one of the various New Paltz bars, a patron recognized the dog. Apparently it was from the building next to my own apartment complex…
Deep down I knew that was too easy. I’m too cynical to believe any good deed could end that well. Sure enough, after sending a 3rd friend out to buy a leash, catching the dog, and bringing them down to my apartment, the house that we thought owned her was empty. No lights, no noise, no one home.
I live a simple life in a small apartment. Pets aren’t allowed and there’s no room anyways. Obviously the dog stayed the night with me…
No barking, no scratching, no making a mess. I’ve never seen a dog quite as friendly or as passive. She plopped herself on the floor and watched me go about my nightly routine. She didn’t even cause problems when we went out to grab some food…
In lieu of describing Alaina Ip (named snarkily after my friend) , here’s a picture we took that night.
The next morning I was moderately optimistic that we’d be able to get a hold of the owners and complete our good deed. Alan took the day off to chaperone the dog around town and do what had to be done. First, a phone call to the house next door. After a few tries he was able to get a hold of them. Verdict: not their dog, but they said they thought the owner had left town. That’s pretty terrible, but at least we were now free to find the dog a good home…
A little later, the postman saw Alan walking the dog. He recognized Alaina as Rosie from the Bed & Breakfast up the street. In the mean time, Alan had called the Animal Control office to ask if anyone had been looking for a lost dog. Figuring he could just take the dog to the Bed & Breakfast, hand her over, and toast to our great generosity, he was somewhat surprised to find the Animal Control officer already at the Bed & Breakfast when he got there.
And here’s where the story starts to suck. Alaina, Rosie, the dog we found walking home from the bar, had been found in town a few times before. The owner of the Bed & Breakfast had presumably been letting the dog go intentionally because … the dog has a most likely benign, but painful and eventually lethal tumor. She’s 11 years old and the surgery that would help her costs $1500. The owner, one of those wretched humans that deserve nothing but misery from now until the end of time, was apparently quoted as saying to one of the previous good Samaritans that she keeps hoping the dog will get run over so she won’t have to pay for anything. Fuck her.
The rest of the story, still somewhat ongoing, played out according to the various rules and regulations that define such things. The animal control officer cited the lady and gave her the dog back. She now has 3 days to take care of the dog, somehow. That doesn’t sound too good to me, but at least Alaina/Rosie won’t be wandering the street in pain all day. I’d like to think that the lady will pay for the surgery. If so, my friend and I are going to see if we can’t buy the dog off of her and start the search for a home again. If she doesn’t do anything, I’ll be posting the name of the Bed & Breakfast on here. It’s about as much as I can do to enforce the karma that should have picked the lady off long ago.
Pretty miserable state of affairs. For once, I would have preferred to have had absolutely nothing to post for this week. Writing has always been a very escapist hobby for me; at least when I’m telling the stories I get the choose the horrors I want to contend with at any given time. No such luck in real life. The only thing guaranteef is that humanity will continue suck in every possible way. Whoever is telling that story is sick and debauched and I hope to hell they don’t get to write the sequel.
