Desperate Student, Episode 10: Dog Catcher

This continues the epic, sweeping saga of the Desperate Student. Get caught up here.

I awoke bright and early. The birds were chirping, the neighbor's sprinklers were quietly tap-tapping, and my new roomie Ivan was shaking me roughly by the shoulders.

"Get out of the bathtub, punk. I need a shower."

This was a fact with which I could not agree more. Still a bit bleary-eyed, I pulled my bedding out of the bathtub and tossed it into the hall closet. After a short, waterless morning toilette, I snatched a bagel off the counter and headed out the door. Burke was getting ready to drive in to work (he's a bouncer for a bad guy who smokes cigars and discusses dastardly plans while loose women lounge around his chair). I bummed a ride off him to the city capitol, which is just a block to the east and a hundred feet above Burke's place of employment.

A few minutes later, I knocked at the door to the Mayor's office. He ushered me in and gave me a seat.

"So, you're the Desperate Student," He said, sizing me up. I brushed absently at my hair and noticed it was slightly singed. I couldn't remember how that had happened. Wierd.

"Uh ... yes, that's me."

"Well, the people love you, anyway." He sniffed, reached into his desk, and pulled out a long brown trenchcoat, a plain brown baseball cap, a badge, and a strange device that looked something like what national park service people use to pick up litter. "You're the City Animal Control Officer," Said the mayor, draping the coat around my shoulders.

"I thought I was a dog catcher."

"Will you shut up and let me do this?"

"Sorry."

"Right. Where was I ... oh yes. You're the City Animal Control Officer. The people of this community look to you to protect them from the ravenous creatures that patrol the shadows in search of unsuspecting prey. You are the only defense against the malicious. You are a bastion of safety and assurance. It is in you, and you alone, that we place our trust as ACO." He leaned in close. His breath smelled like Skittles. "I trust that you will not abuse that trust."

"Anything you ..."

"Shut up and let me finish!"

"Sorry."

"Ahem. So ... it is in you, and you alone ... blablabla ... oh yes. You will not abuse that trust. Okay. So." He turned and looked out the window, hands behind his back. The blinds were closed. "It is not just the citizens who must be protected from the animals. It is the animals who must be protected from the citizens. You must ensure that the dogs and cats of this county never meet a fate crueler than they deserve. We have facilities for this sort of thing - animal shelters. Pounds. Hospices. Death camps." He whirled and fixed an eagle eye on me. "You control the fate of our irrational mammalian friends. To them, you are God."

Then he grabbed the litter-picker. It was a yard-long metal pole with a rubberized clamp on one end and a noose on the other. "It's very easy to use," Said the mayor, holding it by the clamp end. I noticed a small button beneath his thumb. "Simply guide the noose over the neck of the dog." He demonstrated by guiding the noose over my head. "Then squeeze the clamps to tighten." A band of pain exploded around my neck. Blood started swelling in my head. My eyes bugged out. I fell to my knees, gasping for breath. The room spun. I heard the mayor saying: "That's strange, this button was supposed to release."

Then I blacked out.

Sometime later - only the mayor knows for sure how long - I was standing at the capitol steps in the City Animal Control Officer garb (now soaked) and clutching the dog-noose like a lifeline. The apologetic Mayor stood beside me, patting me on the back. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. The main thing is to take the job seriously. Goodness knows we don't get taken seriously enough around here. Anyway, you've got a radio and flashlight on your belt, and uh ... here's the key to the car." I perked up. The mayor pressed a tiny key into my hand and pointed at a dull brown van at the edge of the parking lot. It had siren lights and a small satellite dish on the top.

"Obviously, gas and maintenance will come at the cost of the city," Said the mayor.

"Cooooool," I whispered.

"If you have any questions, call my office. It's sixtuforvineeteven." He placed both hands on my shoulder and shook me gently. The back of my neck hurt. "I know the weight of responsibility weighs heavy on you now, but take courage. I know you can handle it." He bit his lip, nodded, gave me one last pat, and fled, snickering, into the building.

I loaded into the van, which felt like a converted ambulance from around 1965 or so. After a few tries, I got the engine started. It was only then that I realized that I had no idea where to go. I turned the engine off, cranked up the volume on my two-way radio, and waited.

Ten minutes later, I revved up 101.9 FM and leaned my chair back.

Twenty minutes later, I gave up on the air conditioning.

Thirty minutes later, I dozed off.

Three hours later, the two-way started going crazy. "This is Whiskey-Hotel-Oscar-Echo-Victor-Echo-Romeo, does anyone read? Come in."

I mashed the talk button. "Uh, hey, this is ... uh ... Denmark-Edison-Santiago-Paris-Edison-Roma-Amsterdam-Tripoli ... uh ..."

"What on earth are you talking about? Over."

"Just ... giving my call signs."

"Who are you? Over."

"Um ... the City Animal Control Officer?"

"You're the new Dog? Over."

"Dog catcher, actually."

"No, that's your callsign: Dog. Over."

"Oh - roger that, sir."

"That's Whiskey-Hotel-Oscar-Echo-Victor-Echo-Romeo to you, smartypants. Now listen up. We've got a dog bite situation on Maple and Main. How soon can you get there? Over."

"Give me five minutes."

"Do you have backup? Ammunition? Over."

"I've got a dog noose."

"Good enough. Get over here. Over."

"Roger that."

"Whiskey-Hotel-Oscar-Echo-Victor-Echo-Romeo out."

"Uh ... Dog out."

I tromped on the pedal and sped out of the parking lot and through the city. The corner of Maple and Main was an old suburban area with tall oak trees and narrow, cracked sidewalks. I found Whiskey-Hotel-Oscar-Echo-Victor-Echo-Romeo standing behind the door of his police car watching through binoculars as two fat white male neighbors yelled themselves hoarse.

I pulled up behind the police car and got out.

"Finally, you're here," said Whiskey-Hotel-Oscar-Echo-Victor-Echo-Romeo.

"What do I do?" I asked.

"You're the man. Get in there and resolve this."

I went up onto the lawn and pushed the two men apart. "All right, all right," I said. "I'm the City Animal Control Officer. Now give me your names and tell me what happened, starting with you, sir."

"I'm Blake Finley," Growled the first man. "I've been keeping my grandma's dog since she passed away six years ago. Little Poochie wouldn't hurt a fly. And now this scumbag wants me to think that a dinky toy poodle went and ..."

"What do you mean, wants you to think?" The second man demanded. He reached down and hiked up his jeans, revealing a massive, festering bite wound. I was amazed he was still standing. "Drink that in!" He shouted. "You think I did that myself?"

"I think that's exactly what you did," Said Blake, taking a threatening step forward. "And if you don't get back on your own lawn in the next ten seconds my dog will be the least of your worries!"

The second man looked down at the street, where a mailbox stood as a marker, apparently differentiating who's lawn was who's. The man took a half-step back onto his own territory.

"Now," Said Blake. "As I was saying ..."

"You've said your piece!" Shouted the second man. "It's my turn!"

"All right," I said. "Let's hear your story."

"Adam Finley," said the second man. "I was in the backyard minding my own business when that mongrel busted over my fence and tore a chunk out of my leg before I even knew what was happening! Now imagine if I had been an old person, or a little girl ..."

"I wish you had been," Shouted Blake. "Then maybe I wouldn't have to deal with all this ..."

"Enough!" I shouted. "I'm taking the dog in to be checked - make sure it doesn't have any issues."

Blake's voice softened. "Look," He said. "Poochie's the only thing I have left from my darling grandma. Surely you wouldn't ..."

"He's lying!" Said Adam. "He's got that gator-skin purse she gave him last Christmas!"

"It's not a purse!"

Blake stepped onto Adam's lawn and they started another toe-to-toe shoutout. I gripped the dog noose tightly and walked to the wooden gate leading to Blake's backyard. A low growl sounded behind me. I took a deep breath, steeled my courage, and reached for the latch. Then I drew my hand away and pulled out my cell phone.

I left a message on Suzy's machine: "Suzy, it's me ... I just want you to know that ... well ... whatever happens ... I love you. I always have. Anyway. I'll ... yeah." Then I hung up and reached for the latch before I lost my nerve. The cutest toy poodle I've ever seen was waiting on the other side of the door. It was about nine inches tall, all white, with perfectly groomed soft white curls. It's tiny pink tongue was hanging from its mouth, and tiny, needle-sharp teeth were exposed. I couldn't tell from the haircut, but I think its hackles were up.

It leapt for my face. I stepped left and swung the noose like a bat. It was foul ball. Poochie sailed thirty feet over my head in a loose arc and landed in the street. Then it charged Whiskey-Hotel-Oscar-Echo-Victor-Echo-Romeo. I saw Poochie disappear behind the car. Then came a quick grunt followed by twelve shots. Adam and Blake let go of each other's necks and turned to look. Poochie came around the corner with an evil grin. Whiskey-Hotel-Oscar-Echo-Victor-Echo-Romeo was nowhere to be seen.

Poochie tamely sat there while I put the noose around the neck and tightened. I hastily stuffed the dog in the back of the van and got into my car.

"Hey!" Shouted Blake. "How do I contact the shelter to get my poochie back?"

"Call sixtuforvineeteven," I said, then tromped on the gas and headed out.

I dropped off Poochie at the death camp without event (at least, without event for me ... I suspect the workers there may have had an adventure or two, but this is not their blog). Satisfied, I turned my car toward the capitol to await the next call. The Mayor was waiting in the parking lot as I pulled in. I rolled down the window. He put his hands on the door and leaned in, obviously very nervous.

"You have to run," He hissed. "When the people find out what happened, you'll be implicated. You have to separate yourself from me."

"How?"

The mayor reached into his pocket and pulled out a checkbook. "Here's ... let's say ... five grand. That should get you on your way." He tore the check off and handed it to me hastily. "Now promise me you'll run from here and never come back." Without hesitation, I agreed. Then I turned the van around and drove west.

I write this post on the lobby computer of the It'll Have To Do Hotel. I intend to put as much space as possible between me and my dark, desperate past.