Only In Citrus County, Florida

So, I’m cruising through a friend’s neighborhood in my car, when I spot an extremely large and ugly dog running around the neighborhood. He had his run line still tied to him, and it was clear that he had broken loose and run away.

Knowing how strict the animal control center is, I decided to do the right thing and bring him to the pound.

After sitting at the pound waiting 20 long minutes, it was funally my turn to speak.  I approached the counter with the beastly flea bag (boy was he a big dog!), and explained how I had picked it up and brought it here, trying to save it from the fate of the evil animal control. They scanned the electronic chip in it’s body, and quickly identified it’s owner, named Joe.  Joe didn’t answer his phone, so I was given two choices – sit here and wait for Joe to pick up his pooch, or surrender Fido over to the authorities and allow them to charge Joe the $75 fee.

Although I thought Joe was a dumbass for not properly restraining his mut, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. At this time, about 35 minutes from the time I first walked into the pound, I noticed a black family outside with the hood of their SUV open.  They were looking at the engine, and I could only assume that they were trying to fix the dead engine with their eyes. They clearly were not having any luck.

Finally about 60 minutes into my visit, I decided that Joe was out of luck.  I was out of there.  I surrendered the dog over and left, smiling and grinning in my mind.  I tried.

This is the closest picture I could find to Large Fido.

But, my good deed was yet to be done for the day.  The young black family was still staring at their engine.  I’m sure they thought that by talking about it, touching random wires and hoses, and checking the oil 1000 times, that their piece of crap Suburban would start.  I said, “I could help, but I thought against it and went home.”

Then my conscience started kicking in, and I somehow kept remembering the story of the “Good Samaritan.”  Most of the stories I write on this blog are stories of doing things, “Against my better judgment.“  This one is no different.

Although I lost an hour and a half of my day, saved Joe from having to bury Fido after getting run over, and was extremely tired, I decided to hop back into the car and bust on back out to the pound to see if I could offer this family some help.

Sure enough, they were still there, checking the oil again, so I pulled up next to them in my car.  I asked them if they needed help, and they started speaking in a way that I couldn’t quite understand at first. After about a minute and a half of listening to them, I was able to catch up and figure it out – their truck was broken down (duh), their cell phone didn’t work because of “payment issues”(duh), and they were moving up to PA the next day.  They had a little black dog with them, and they were trying to bring it to the pound because the place they had rented in PA didn’t allow animals.

What a sad story.

Well, I offered them a ride home, and they were shocked. They lived about 45 minutes away! Why would someone offer them a ride home?

Because I’m an idiot.  Just call me Joe.

Anyways, I loaded the large mother, two daughters, the son, and mini-Fido into the car and headed off on my 45 minute ride.

On the way to their house, about 5 minutes into the drive, we passed an auto-repair place that appeared to still be open for business.  Shaniqua (the mother – that’s her name, I swear!), asked me if I minded turning around and bringing her back there so that she could talk to them.  I said, “No, absolutely not!” and promptly turned around to allow her to talk to her potential saviors.  The kids and I (and mini-Fido), all sat in the car and waited.   ..and waited..  ..and waited..  20 minutes later, she got back in the car, and said, “Alright, sorry about that, do you still have time to bring us home?”

I cringed.  Everything in me thought, “No, lady, I don’t have time. I’m leaving you here with these mechanics.”  I thought better of that, thinking that it was an extremely rude and evil thought, put the car in drive, and we were off!

We cruised down the road, and Shaniqua could only tell me about how evil the pound was for not taking her dog. She was in a fear, thinking, “What am I going to do with him? I can’t take him to PA with us!”  Well, this was pretty constant for the next 40 minutes to her house.

Finally, after she had succeeded in bringing me to a place where I had never been before, she and the kids got out of the car and waved goodbye. (Without saying thank you might I add!)

I put my car in reverse to back out of the driveway, and then I saw it – mini-Fido was sitting in the back seat of the car, trying to get out and catch up with the rest of his family.  I stopped the car and rolled down the window as fast as I could, and yelled, “Shaniqua, you forgot your dog in my car!”

Well, she turned around and said, “Sorry, I can’t take him with us to PA.  He’s your problem now!”

Again, call me Joe.  For the situations I get myself in, just call me Joe.  It’s cool, man, my name is Joe.  And how is Joe spelled? “D-u-m-b-a-s-s.”

After arguing with Shaniqua for 20 more minutes, and losing 20 more minutes of my day, I returned to the pound with my second stay dog of the day.

Only in Citrus County.

This is the closest match I could find to Mini-Fido.