Have you ever noticed that, when I talk about something going on in my work life, I always have a huge amount of background information to cover first? I guess that's what defines this place as "Crazy Land." Okay, I'm going in now. Hang on.
Just as I was going to start taking my handful of medications that keep me sane, able to breathe and breast cancer free, Crazy Employee made an impromptu appearance. (Yes, of course she knocked.) The latest office outrage is the new crop of puppies we've discovered next door. Crazy wanted to get a better look at them.
One of my office windows overlooks the backyard of a woman whose life is a constant source of speculation here amongst the denizens of Crazy Land. She's had three pregnancies in at least the past ten years. We know there were others because she has a son and daughter who don't live with her, but are old enough to have their own dogs. I'll get to that eventually.
Every time she's gotten pregnant, the state (we think) has taken the infants away immediately. We never see them, so they're going somewhere. One day she's as big as a house and, the next time we see her, she's baby-less and back to her old skinny self. Compared to this, of course, the puppy thing isn't even a blip on the Outrage Radar screen. Guess what? You guessed it. Pregnant again.
Most of my co-workers believe Lillian is a crack head. Some of them believe she's a prostitute. There's some basis in reality for the latter belief, because she told one of our painters she's "a ho." Scared the shit out of the painter. He was in her backyard at the time, refinishing that side of our privacy fence. We could never get him to go back and finish the job.
Before we go any further, I need to tell you that Lillian actually worked for us for about three months several years ago. (I bet you're not one tiny bit surprised about that, are you?) I could tell you about that and maybe I will, but not today. As Loathsome would say, must maintain focus.
I'm not so sure about the crack head thing. I think it's just as likely that she could be mentally retarded and/or suffering from a serious psychiatric illness. Clearly, Loathsome needs to go have a wardrobe consultation with her so she can lead a more productive (and perhaps celibate) life.
My co-workers think everyone who lives around here is a crack head or cooking crack or selling it. I don't think so. There's not enough traffic around here to warrant that conclusion. Any crack-related activities in this neighborhood are more likely to be occurring at the day rate motel across the street from us. That's probably where most of the good prostitutes are, too. There's something a little low-rent about servicing patrons out of a house that has no electricity and maybe even no running water. I mean, as a customer, wouldn't you at least want to know those amenities were available if you needed them?
I noticed several weeks ago that Lillian was looking like a woman hoping for labor to start soon. I was once again outraged by her poor family planning skills. Yesterday, Crazy Employee pointed out to me that there are now three puppies in Lillian's back yard. She saw them from the window of the bathroom right next door to my office. This is also Lillian's third round of puppies. She's pregnant and she has puppies. She's never managed to do one of those activities well and now she's doing both at the same time.
We know at least one set of puppies came from her son's female dog. Maybe another litter came from the daughter, but we're not sure. Dogs come and go in her backyard. There's one black adult dog who's been there forever. Several other adult dogs have rotated in and out. They all need better care than Lillian is prepared to give. I'm sorely tempted every single day to go liberate the black dog and any others living in that doggy purgatory.
Crazy Employee and I have, indeed, removed puppies, taken them to the vet and sent them on their way to more nurturing environments. I have scaled the chain link fence a couple of times before to make sure Lillian's dog(s) have food and accessible water. It always flips out my co-workers, who are sure I'm going to get shot in the process. They all gather at one of the other windows offering a better vantage point from which to watch me hit the ground, should gun play ensue. It would be just the kind of thing that would happen to me. Local newspaper headline: Breast Cancer Survivor Shot While Scaling Fence To Rescue Puppies From 'Hohouse.
Luckily, Child Protective Services is rescuing the infants. Things would get a lot more complex for me if they didn't. That is definitely a thing I could get shot for attempting. I am going to take the puppies, though. The other litters we've rescued have been afflicted with a number of ailments related to neglect. So I don't want to hear anybody telling me that I should respect her rights as the owner.
One more thing. I wonder if the fleas over there will be content with gorging themselves on puppies and refuse to cross into our patio area? I may need to pose that question to everyone in Crazy Land innumerable times a day until I get my point across. Or until I feel vindicated. Whichever comes first.
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