By Wyatt Earp | October 13, 2005
“It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and I’m wearing Milk-Bone underwear.” - Norm Peterson, Cheers
I have been miserable as of late, since the area has been in the clutches of incessant rain, and Philly hasn’t seen the sun in a week. As a result, I have had even less patience for the nonsense that comes with the badge in this town.
Last night didn’t help matters.
The platoon came out of roll call and immediately a priority job came over the air: “All cars stand by. In the *** District, 9455 ****** Road, Burglary in Progress, Apartment 2B, female complainant hears someone inside. The female is out front.”
Three units (including me) respond and rush to the scene with lights and sirens on a wet, slick road. Nice. We pull up to the apartment, and a teenage girl runs out to met us. We follow her inside and up the stairs, when the following exchange takes place:
Wyatt: “What’s the problem?“
Complainant: “My dog died.”
Complainant: “My dog died!“
Wyatt: “Is someone breaking into your apartment?“
Wyatt: “Then why did you call the police?“
Complainant: “I told you, my dog died, and I need you to get rid of it.”
When I calmly told the complainant that “dog disposal” was not in a police officer’s job description, she was dumbfounded. Then she asked what she was supposed to do with it. My backup, Gerry, said (deadpan), “Bury it.”
Now, I know everyone is expecting me to string a long list of expletives together after such an incident, but I just don’t have the energy. I will, however, offer up this little wisdom nugget:
9-1-1 IS FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY!!! A DECEASED DOG IS NOT AN EMERGENCY, NO MATTER HOW MANY TRICKS HE USED TO DO!!!