Friday, July 28, 2006
We went to get health certificates for the dogs today. I prepared for the appointment last night, which meant getting their passports together (yes, dogs apparently have passports these days), making sure the dogs all had their collars on, and gathering their poop in opaque containers while Scout sympathetically dry-heaved in support of my endeavor.
So we're on our way out the door this morning, and I can't find the third leash. This obviously means that Foxy will be going without one, since Lewis is a certified nut-job and Winston has serious separation anxiety when he's not attached to my hip.
So we get to the vet office, and everything is going fine. Until the tech takes us back to the exam room.
Winston starts barking at the tech, the vet, and the cabinet. Whatever he feels threatened by I guess. All the while, he is squirting out butt juice because apparently this is the defense mechanism that works best for him. So then he starts stepping in his own butt juice and the whole office starts to smell. Disgusting. So the vet makes me put a muzzle on him for the remainder of the exam. I'm the girl who has a dog that needs a muzzle.
So then the tech wanted to take Lewis' temperature, which obviously means sticking the thermometer up his butt hole. Lewis is not cool with foreign objects being poked around up there (who is, really?). Lewis is emotionally scarred from having his anal glands expressed a couple of years ago, and since then has been aware that strangers are typically not reaching back there to pet him. He freaked out, just like I warned them he would. Scout and the tech were holding him (well, attempting to), and Lewis was thrashing around, knocking over everything in his way (including a fan that I donated to the clinic). The vet, who is a smallish/mediumish size man, had to put Lewis in a headlock while scolding him. Yeah, I'm also the girl that requires other people to scold my "child." Lewis continued to thrash around, but all three of them were able to hold him still long enough to get his temperature.
Foxy of course, was an angel. She even had to get a new microchip because the one she got in May wasn't working. She made a little noise as that 17 inch wide needle went into her neck, but other than that, she patiently stood next to me while the other two threw tantrums.
I felt like that lady at the doctor's office. You've seen her before. She's the really fat one with white spandex pants on (and for some reason, black panties). She is sporting a mullet. It's apparent that she still has yesterday's makeup on. She has four screaming kids (and maybe one on the way - you really can't tell) that are socking each other in the face with the building blocks provided by the doctor. She is screaming, "Shut UP! I'm not going to tell you again!" Then she goes back to reading her US Weekly magazine as she dreams about how awesome it would be to be married to Kevin Federline. Her kids go back to clocking each other with the toys, as you start looking through your purse for a blunt object to poke into your throat.
So yeah. Today, I was that lady.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
So, it might be a couple of weeks before I get around to blogging about my first time back at WalMart, my first purchase of a handgun, or how it feels to drive on the highway.
I will miss hearing from all of you, but I'll be back as soon as I can. :)
Thursday, July 20, 2006
I called Housing today and talked to a really nice guy. After telling him the story, he told me that he would contact the soldier's chain of command and the MPs that I originally spoke to. I asked if I could call back in a few days to get an update from him, and he actually encouraged me to do so. Well, I don't really even have to call back. Let me tell you why.
Scout's unit doesn't exist anymore - so he's basically been put with another one until he leaves in September. He hasn't really gotten to know anyone, and doesn't really prefer to. So, when he was in formation today, he was surprised to hear his First Sergeant say something like, "Specialist _____, I just received a call that you've been chaining your dog up outside. Policy letter 21 prohibits it. I don't want to hear about it again. It is too damn hot for any dog to be tied up."
Apparently, she started stuttering something about the dog only going out when her husband was outside with it, but the First Sergeant shut her down pretty quickly (good thing, since she was lying through her freakin' teeth).
Anyway, this girl is in his company and he didn't even know it! And as a bonus, this particular First Sergeant actually likes (and owns) animals. Yay team!
So I can finally say that today I came home from work and the dog wasn't chained up. Whew.
Thanks again for all of your suggestions.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
You might not believe what the MP (SGT Washerman? Washington? Washburn? I might actually know his name if he spoke clearly) said to me on the phone just now.
I've given the MPs a couple of days of rest - it doesn't change the fact that the dog has still been tied up. But today, I've just had enough. I called again and asked the same MP who I could talk to that would actually enforce the policy. He told me to go to my area/building coordinator. Funny thing, seeing as we don't have one because everyone is gone (besides the Strykers. I don't even have time to go there).
He also told me that the owners swore up and down that they were in the kitchen at all times looking out the back window to make sure he was ok. Yeah, and Courtney Love has never done drugs. Freakin' idiots.
He essentially told me that he can do nothing - and gave me the "please don't call back" type of attitude. He also said that he has a lab mix, and he ties it up in the yard without supervising it. I was in shock, and just hung up. Only after I did so did I think of the tongue-lashing that I should have given him.
My dear Scout grabbed the phone and called him back. It takes a lot for him to get angry - and I think seeing the continual frustration on my face put him over the edge. He did a much better job at getting this douche to hand over a name, but it didn't change the outcome. Scout then got the number for the Executive Officer of US Army Grafenwoehr. Naturally we can't call until tomorrow because business hours are over.
If you all have any other suggestions, please tell me. I've been putting off calling Housing, but I'm obviously going to need to do that tomorrow. You know, I hate to say it, but it's not even about that poor dog anymore - it's about the MPs getting off their lazy asses and doing what they're meant to do. And seriously (imagine me saying this in my high-pitched, extremely frustrated voice), what in the HELL is the point of having these rent-a-cops if they're not doing anything? We might as well run around with no accountability whatsoever!
Hell, maybe I'll get really stoned, take my clothes off, buy a realistic looking toy gun, and streak through their office threatening to take names and kick ass. I guarantee they would find a policy to enforce then. Hmm...That actually sounds like a really good idea. I'm a freakin' genius.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
I called the vet clinic per Patti's suggestion, and ten minutes later had a copy of Policy Letter #21 (the newest version of the family housing policies). The policy explicitly backs up what I thought to be true - that this pet isn't being treated fairly.
In Section 27: Pet Ownership Responsibilities, here's what it has to say:
- All pets, when outside of quarters, must be accompanied by an individual capable of controlling them.
- Pets will not be tied, unattended, to any outside structure, permanent or otherwise (something is wrong with this sentence, but you get the point).
So when I got home from work today, the dog was outside again. I called the MPs and talked to the same sergeant - he is sending someone over right now. He was really nice, and said that the night I called, he had patrols going over every twenty minutes to make sure the dog was inside. I will be calling back later to see what happened.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
I've been doing really well lately with actually going to bed before the sun comes up. Kelly and I have been walking every morning at 6:30, so I've had to actually force myself to get on some kind of schedule. In fact, last night I went to bed at eight because I was tired, and woke up at 4:30 this morning because I wasn't.
However, something is weighing on my mind that I know a lot of people can't understand. Well, maybe they can understand it, but it doesn't eat them up like it does me.
There is a dog chained up outside - and has been for the last few days. This dog is fairly young - I'm guessing maybe a year old or so. The chain he is on is about four feet long. The weather has been extremely hot for the last few weeks - too hot for me to stay outside for more than five minutes. He has one of those automatic feeding devices outside - filled to the top (which is a sign to me that he's meant to be outside, that the owners can't even bother with feeding him once or twice a day, maybe patting him on the head or saying "good boy" as they do so). I can't say whether he has water or not; I'm sure he does, but I couldn't pinpoint a dish specified for that purpose. At any rate, no dog should be tied up in this heat (and I have yet to find a good enough reason for anyone to ever tie up a dog).
I've done what I can do for now. I've called the MPs - once to report it (it's against post policy to chain up a dog), and the second time to see what came of it. The desk sergeant told me that they went to the house and were told by the owners that the dog came in at night and during the day (which supposedly leaves only the evenings that he is outside). All I could say was, "They are freaking lying!"
I also told him about my walking routine, and that I would be up early. I told him that if the dog was still out there at 6am, I would be calling them back. He encouraged me to do so, although I'm sure he was thinking, Who's this freakin' crazy pet lady? Get a life!
I sincerely hope that I'm wrong, and that the dog does in fact have a cushy place to sleep in the house. However, I have a suspicion that the dog will still be outside, waking up to the wet grass and crisp air. It kills me. Or maybe it kills me more that he could live with people that actually want him. Can you imagine spending your days with no interaction of any kind, not able to escape the heat (or any of the elements for that matter)?
So I'm heading back upstairs to count sheep. I just don't know how to force out of my mind that this silly dog is being neglected.