The Police
Dispatcher has the Last Word
by Niles Reddick
Since I
retired, I had noticed things in the neighborhood
and was compelled to take action. I didn’t
want to be one of those poor citizens who
complained to others without at least trying to
do something to make things better. I’d
called the Post Office because the part time
postal worker left mailbox doors hanging open and
the rain had wet most of the neighborhood’s
mail. I’d called the electric company
because a live wire had electrocuted a couple of
squirrels, not that I was overly concerned about
squirrels, but someone’s pet might get
electrocuted. I’d also called the police
about a neighbor at the end of the street who
should’ve been brought up on charges of
animal cruelty. The fellow worked at one of the
manufacturing plants and all freezing winter,
whether rain or snow, the dog was left outside,
seemed to be tied to or wrapped around a tree,
and didn’t seem to move at all. In fact, I’d
glanced through one section of fence because a
couple of boards were missing multiple times when
I drove or walked by or with my binoculars from
the porch. I’m not a huge animal lover, like
being into rescue or anything, but I felt if
somebody had a pet, then the least a damned owner
could do was treat them right.
The police
dispatcher called me back during lunch the next
day: “The chief wanted me to share that they
had checked on the alleged animal abuse, but it
turns out the dog is a painted concrete dog in
your neighbor’s backyard.”
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