Last Night

All types come in with pets that they love.

In other news, I usually draw something amusing on the drop envelopes that contain the money/checks that go in the safe to give the woman in bookkeeping a chuckle. I have in on her authority that one of the bank tellers kept one of my more inventive works.

Put those two together, and what do you get?

I realize this looks different. I realized that my pic was blurry, so I just re-drew it quickly to show the back of the envelope. Kind of like Zach Weiner's "votey" on smbc-comics.com

...But is it Possible?

I feel like I did a pretty good job in my first veterinary related post explaining the brevity I use in these posts. Today's post is different, however.

Take what I said before and add on that:

Yes, it is truly an awful thing to lose a pet or be in a position that you have to euthanize. 

Very sad, sad indeed.

However.

People call up to deal with these issues all the time, and at some point, you've got to stop dancing around a word you don't want to say.  Like "body". Kind of when you get these 20-something girls trying desperately to refer to the male genitalia on their dog, but not having the adequate vocabulary to avoid the word "penis".

Yet they reallllly don't want to say it.

lol

So let's head to yesterday.

I got one of those calls where bells started ringing in my head. Bells accompanied by sirens and a voice saying, "Stop. Pull over. Go straight to the blog. Do not pass go. To the blog. NOW."

Me: Veterinary Hospital, this is Redgirl!

Her: Do you do euthanasias there?

Me: Yes.

Her: Do you have to have an appointment? How much do you charge?

Me: Twenty-four hours a day, no appointment needed. The injection is $100
Good girl, Red! You remembered to say "injection" rather then "liquid death"

Her: Well darn! I wish I had known about you guys. (pause. Will I get off this lightly?) The vet placed like a shunt in their leg. I'm uses to it being in the arm. Why would they pick one over the other. (ooof course not.)

Me: They need to find a vein. It's possible the hind legs are easier to find one in.

Her: A vein? Why a vein? I would think they would just inject it into the leg.

Me: The injection is meant to euthanize. It would be painful to be released on the tissues and take longer to have effect.

Her: Oh. (Please please please...what do you want? Why are we having this conversation? Do you have an actual problem?) We euthanized my cat yesterday. We took her home because we wanted to bury her. 

Me: (waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop)

Her: She was all stiff, but now she's.....soft.

Me: Okay...?

Her: And I was wondering, I mean the head looks the same, but I was wondering if there was a chance....

Me: (Oh no. Tell me this isn't going where I think it's going.)

Her: I mean, medically, in your experience, is it possible...? I mean because she's soft.

Me: Well, once the rigor has passed, the muscles relax again, so that's normal.

Her: But the head looks the same.  Because we were going to bury her, but if there's any chance.....

Only way around here to get a decent night's sleep!

Me: (Good lord woman! Lets hail back to Victorian times and you can rig kitty with a bell and string on her little paw. That way, when she wakes up buried alive, she can jerk it and alert you!) Well, you took her to a vet, and you tell me they euthanized her. That means they wouldn't let you leave if they hadn't completed the job. They know how to tell.

Her: Yeah, they did listen to her heart and said it stopped. I listened for a heartbeat just now, but I couldn't hear one. Is it possible though, could her heart start beating again?

Me: Like spontaneously?

Her: Yes.

Me: No, not at this point.



And that's how it kept going. She kept circling around and around this idea that her cat would, because it was soft again, suddenly get up and be normal, mewling. Why they hadn't put it in the ground already is a mystery.

Maybe they were doing a viewing?

It makes me wonder if it was something along the lines of a guild manifestation, like she regrets having put down her cat and now hopes for a spontaneous heartbeat that will undo her decision. It was really bizarre.

Thoughts?

Validation

I realize that a lot of my posts lately can be filed under the heading of "people are annoying and make me want to rip my hair out."  It's possible y'all are looking for more variety, but ...

... this is my blog. And I guess I'll write what I darn well please.

And what pleases me is to try to school humanity into thoughtful improvement in their telephone manners.

Cue phone conversation from the other night:

Me: Blah blah vet hospital!

Her: I set out some wet food for my cat this morning before I went to work at 7am. She usually eats it by the time I come home at five, but there was still half of it there. Is it okay to leave it out overnight so she can eat it?

Me: Well--

Her: I need you to ask someone with a lot of experience in this, a lot of knowledge, like a doctor.

Me: One moment please.

This food tastes off. Where is my taster?

I turn to Lola

Lola: What was that?

Me: (explain) I've decided you're very experienced.

Lola: From a can? That's only good for two, three hours tops. It really needs to be refrigerated any longer than that.

Me: (picking up phone) Ma'am? I've spoken with someone who has experience in the subject. Wet food should only be left out two, three hours max. It's not good to leave out all day like that. If you need to leave it out, try using dry food.

Her: Well, my SISTER says that cats eat rotten food in the wild all the time, so I don't see how this would be any different.. 

Me: Things aren't always ideal in the wild.

Her: Well, thanks anyway.


I told Fifi later. Her response, which I wish I would have thought of was "Yeah. And feral cats only live 1 or 2 years in the wild"

Oh snap.



So here we have another case of someone who has already made up their mind calling to validate themselves. The problem here was, I didn't know what answer she wanted.

Was she trying to prove her sister wrong? Usually when someone calls like that, they are trying to get you to back them up against someone, their mom, their uncle, but she was upset when I didn't agree with the third party.

But if she agreed with the sister already, then why did she call?

What was she after?

Doing My Part

I am a good person.


A wonderful person.

Know why?

I have a rescue dog!

I deserve an award.



It all started the day I went into Admin for my daily snark-fest with “Abby” (Welcome to the cast!). Abby is like me, but with ten times the knowledge, seniority, and natural people skills.

Posed playfully on the cabinets, there is an array of animals, mostly dogs and cat. They are all stuffed and are evocative of actual breeds, the idea being that if someone emotionally vulnerable loses a furry friend, we, if the moment is right, give them a plush replacement.

My favorite is the horse with the plastic buster collar.

This is not to say I don’t covet the giant stuffed dog over Abby’s desk.



“Abby,” I say, after giving the low-down on “Ignorant Pharmacy Lady” (coming soon), “when are you going to give that one away?”

“Him?” she snorts, “Never. You want ‘em?”

My heart slows, my breathing stills. “Do you mean it?

“Uh-huh.”

“No, really.” I feel a little excited. “You mean it?”

“Yup. He’s all yours.”

“Yessss. I wonder what I’ll name him.”

Abby says she’s always referred to him as Ike in her mind.



So, for the next couple of nights, I forget.

Every time I go back to Admin, I see Ike and think a little guiltily of when I’m going to sneak him out of the hospital at night after my late shift. Something about removing a large stuffed animal dog that has been a fixture seems to lend itself to the clandestine.

This is our secret, Abby and I.

And Ike’s, though he doesn’t know it yet.

It is like I am removing him from a neglected existence. No one will ever want him! Ever get him! Ever love him like I will!

Two weeks later, I remember at the critical time, mostly thanks to the large word “Ike” written in “tar-ry stool black” on the underside of my left wrist.

“Zounds, Lola!” I cry on the way out, “I have forgotten something of absolute necessity! I will see you again on the morrow!”

Free of questioning eyes, I steal back to Ike’s cabinet top and swipe him. A cloud of dust falls to seal off any chance of a noiseless escape by evoking cacophonous coughing and wheezing sneezing.

I continue my escape in the midst of these involuntary reactions to the material evidence of Ike’s loneliness and despair, zooming off in my car-of-not-so-much-stealth.

The next day, I have a thought.

What if, when she notices, she forgets? What if she was joking? Ike comes to work with me in the passenger seat of my car (no, I did not take the carpool lane….it’s not called that at 2:00 in the afternoon, right?).

I slide into Admin and casually ask Abby what the dirt is.

“I see you finally took him.” She says, not looking up from the collection of scintillating pictures of his cat’s feces one client feels obligated to report on. He does this like any dedicated reporter, tracking the bowel movements to their lair and snapping pictures of PROOF before Rikki can cover them with the provided eco-friendly litter.

I admit that he is out in the car with a set of shades on so that no one will recognize him in case he was breaking parole.

Abby demonstrates how much she misses him by wiping the dust off from the print where he’s been and putting baskets for medical charts on the cabinet above her desk.

I have done a good work today.

I will soon post a picture of the happy pooch and me :)

Who Took the Toaster?

As you all know, one of my biggest flaws is an active imagination.


I see a dog with three legs, and my first thought is bear!

I see three police cars a block to the right with lights flashing and my first thought, which I quash, is turn right!! But secondly is drug bust! Person now fleeing the scene and then…then they find blood spatters in the trunk! And my little fingers itch for a police scanner to turn on.



This brings me to the headlining story for today’s post.

A childhood friend of my mother’s was visiting with her and me one day, and she presented the following:



On the street where she lived, people would put out things that were being offered “free to a good home,” the progenerater of the free section of Craigslist. It was a poorer area, so there was often a lot of random junk accessible to the street…that no one in their right mind would think of taking.

Cue one special week…in the twilight zone.

“Kelsey” had put out the Christmas tree the day after Christmas. The next day, it was gone.

Other people’s junk had disappeared as well, some working, some not.

Someone’s dilapidated couch that was free to take.

Some lawn chairs that were not free to take.

A toaster that was thrown away because it did not toast.

Someone’s porch rug.

A semi-working refrigerator.





Here’s the fun part.

The next week, the things started appearing where they had been taken from.

Kelsey’s tree reappeared on her lawn, somewhat more crispy than from the time it had left.

The couch. The rug and lawn chairs. The not working and semi-working appliances.

Save me!!!
Wait...waiiit...why are you putting me back?!

Kelsey’s thought was that someone needed their place to look furnished, and then had no further use for them. Who could these people be?, I wondered. Drug dealers that needed a house to look lived in, despite the contrary? Someone who wanted to, after having a toaster, see how many times they actually had the urge to toast something? (I sympathize; I don’t use my bright red toaster nearly as often as my toast-making dreams led me to believe I would)

The broken-down couch to persuade a mother-in-law to stay in a hotel room the next time around?

I suppose it was the returning of the items that really sparked my attention.

Anything like this happen in your area?

Ideas for the disappearing/reappearing tree?

My Name, Your Name...Your Name?

Today’s post is about you.


Yes, YOU.

In work or in school, you work on meeting your peers the first day or two. After that, the urge or the fact that you even care starts to fizzle and you just know the names of the people you interact with regularly and it would be rude to not know.

You’re walking down the hall carrying a very important sheaf of papers, heading somewhere very important (because you’re important, yes you are!), and you see a familiar face. You both smile in acknowledgement. You remember meeting him the first week, but not a name.

Ah well, you think, whatevs.

The next day, you see him again. Again with the smiles of familiarity. This time, you both say hi.

The next day, repeat.

Two weeks later, you’ve seen him enough to know he’s getting shaggy around the ears and needs a haircut and that his favorite tie is blue with little gray fleur de lis all over it.

Then you end up at the same table in the break room. He smiles.

You smile. “Hi.”

“Hi, Redgirl.” He says, “How’s that Widget Project going?”

“Great!” Crap! you think.

Because you don’t know his name, and it’s gone on long enough to be awkward. Worse is the fact that he obviously remembered yours, as well as pertinent details about you.



This happens to me more than it really should. I have examined myself and think that my lack of remembering comes from a lack of caring, like I mentioned earlier.

Now, don’t hate me, but the honest truth is that I meet a lot of people (it seems), and if I don’t think you’re going to be:

a) immediately useful to me

b) someone in power I have to watch out for

or someone that does something different or strange to make me recall who they are, I won’t bother trying to remember who you are.

It’s a sad fact that a client who chews me out over the phone may get more brain cell storage than the lab delivery man I see every night and stays to chat, genuinely seeming to like the lot of us night crew. Crazy dog lady? I’ll memorize your phone number and be a tragic few seconds late picking up the phone…sorry, ladies I work with. Lab samples man? Yes, that’s your name to me right now.

The annoying and awkward part crops up later, when you realize that not everybody goes around wearing nametags like they should.

When working in a new environment, you can’t go around calling everyone “New Girl.”

She’ll get confused when you’re not talking to her, but the other New Girl.

You find out that someone was more useful than you thought they’d be. Damn!, you think, Now it matters because they’ll start noticing if I avoid saying their name all the time. Also, I can’t single them out when I need something.

And one that spurs me in particular, the knowing of things.

More than knowing what goes on (either general knowledge or things of interest that are not general knowledge), I like to KNOW. When you work in a hospital without knowing names, it’s like looking at the Marauders’ Map from Harry Potter, with all the little footsteps going around but no little designations on them.

Frustrating!



This may not be a problem for you. You may remember every single name you hear in conjunction to faces and favorite beverages and food order (like the game I play on lumosity.com to increase facial recognition).

That’s nice.

But if you are in a position to need to care or want to know, I have helpful tips for those of you embroiled in this awkwardness.

Tip #1

When staving off awkwardness, be blunt!

Society has not progressed in a way to prepare people for this attack, so success is yours. People have been trained to be polite to a “t”.

Think to when you are standing in line and a grown adult cuts to the front. In a crowd, it’s rare for someone to call them out.

I can think of only a couple reasons why. There is shock that someone would actually do it. There is embarrassment on their behalf. “That poor person is so socially inept that they think doing that is ok…tsk.”

Or…they are a person who is willing to risk the payoff for a couple dirty looks and low chance at confrontation.

When you are blunt with the “name game,” it gets the awkwardness out of the way quickly so you can move on to the subject of intent and distract them.

“Hi! I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name…?”

“Helen…”

“Helen! That’s it! Where did you acquire that spectacular sunburn?”



Tip #2

The friend of a friend is your friend. You’ve already tried being blunt and have forgotten their name again, you scatterbrain you! You know if you try it again, it will make you look like you’re not remembering on purpose.

Enter that new guy you just met by the door whose name your guppy-like brain hasn’t had the five seconds required to forget.

You see the prey. Mr. What’s-his-name-blue-tie. You smile. “Hi!” you shriek in a girlish chortle, “I’d like you to meet John. He just started here!” You step back.

Little suspecting he is being used solely for information he can prize out of the subject, John steps forward, thrusting out his moist hand in anticipation of a networking opportunity. “John,” he says.

Subject steps up and attempts to shake the limp offering. “Jared. Welcome to the team.” He reclaims his dripping hand and wipes in surreptitiously on the thigh of his gray Dockers.

While making a note of Jared’s name and face, you also make a note to never shake hands with … with…what was his name?



Tip #3

The modern age has given us this next tip, though it carries with it the creepy feeling of being a stalker. (In a good way! A good way!) You pull up Facebook and obsessively go through friends of friends and hope that they put up their picture and not a picture of their dog, a flower, or a puddle shaped like their freshman year girlfriend.

Or you can ask me. I know almost everything at this point…

Hello?

*briiing*

*briiing*

*briiing*

*briiing*

*briii-- Hi!

Me: Hello! I --

Them: Hello? Hello?? Are you there?

Me: Yes, I'm--

Them: Hahaaha...but we're not!! Leave a message at the beep! BEEEEP

Me: Ggggrrrrrr....


Or how about:


*briiing*


*briiing*

*briiing*

*briiing*

*briii--BEEEEP

Me: Hi! This is Red--

Them: Hahahahahahahahaha..hah...ahaha...hahaha....ha               ha

Me: O_o

Them: Looks like I found the speaker button! Now....if I can juuust find the message button.....

Me: O_O

Them: Oh well. In case I do, leave a message after the beep!


Attention people. I didn't think we needed to have this conversation, but after the other day doing callbacks, you leave me no choice. The following answering machine/voicemail message is acceptable:

Hi! You've reached Redgirl! Leave your name, number, and a brief message, and I'll return your call as soon as possible!

Notice I did not say, "I'm unable to come to the phone right now." You can include this, but it is redundant. If you aren't answering, then .... you're unable to come to the phone right now. Duh.

I also did not say:

Hi! You've reached Yvonne, Gary, Trevor, Michael, Trudy, Fido, Fluffy, Slithery, Ratty, Froggy, and Bubbles Radcliff! If you want to leave a message, we can't WAIT to hear from you!

Finally, I did not say:

Hewoah. Fank you for calling.....the Shmishs. Mommy and Daddy can't come to the phone ...right now. Pwease leave your name ...........and tewephone..............number. (insert indistinguishable words uttered by a child).

People. Please.

I'm going to clear the air by saying that, as a member of your family or friend circle, there are moments (moments are small, tiny, teensy amounts of time) that I can appreciate an amusing message on your machine.

Once.

I have never seen a positive of letting your toddler either answer the phone or leave the message. I can't understand their high-pitched voices, and unless it was necessary, a lack of respect when someone answers the phone that can't even pass on who was calling to the parent. I was never allowed to answer the phone until I could be polite and comprehensible. I don't find it cute; I find it annoying.

I also don't like being tricked. The "Hello! Hello??" game gets old fast. I'm talking the first time it happens. Many times, I'm calling as a favor to the person to let them know info that they want. When *that* happens, I'm not feeling very charitable.

As for naming every living thing in your house down to the fish in the algae-infused aquarium, it wastes my time. Trust me, I'm not leaving a message for Bubbles. Really.

Now take aaalll these annoying messages and the likelihood you'll get one in your regular day-to-day calling. Move yourself to a professional setting where you are making 30 calls in an hour or two.

Suddenly, simply "annoying" gets a lot worse. There you are, trying to get off the phone as quickly as possible, and some amateur novelist is reading their sample chapter on the voicemail to force at lease ONE person to be familiar with his book. When Susie gives the info and instructions, I don't even know if I've reached the right house because I can't understand a word she's saying.

It's like the baby turtle Squirt on Nemo giving instructions to Marlin.

I feel like I have to flag some of our clients' numbers for a do-not-call list.

So tell me.

How does your voicemail rate?





   

Adventure!

Adventure time for me!

I visited the great land of Bedroom and took a trip on the "Pants" express. On the way down the mountain, the car took a sharp detour and derailed.

Point being, I broke my leg while changing for work. It was like a bad Rice Crispies commercial...

"Aaaaahhh!" *Snap* Crack(le)* Pop*

Glossing over the unfortuate and painful details of dragging myself through a mortifyingly messy apartment with an ankle that flopped back and forth over a lack of stablility in the "hinging" area,

I will tell you that breaking a bone sucks.

I will tell you that I work at an awesome vet hospital. Who did I call as I was sitting on my floor in more pain than I've ever been in my life? (And I have a high pain threshhold...this is how I'm able to gnaw on my fingers like I do in my version of a bad habit) I called my boss, who then called a coworker to take me to the ER. You know who you are!

I will tell you that the firemen that service my area are useful even when they're not looking into my eyes and saying, "All that matters to me is your health," in the pictures that were taken and viewed multiple times since to distract myself from the pain.

I will also tell you that when you are little, crutches look really fun. This is not true. Crutches are annoying. I have named mine "Pain" and "Suffering" and they are by my side at all times. I can not climb stairs with them yet.

I'm going to sum up my ER visit with this:

I wish I could have gone to my work place instead for care. I would have been willing to get down on all fours and bark if I thought it would work. I know the procedures, I know the prices of everything, and I get discounts :D

Ah well.

Took medical leave from school, have to sit while at work (....sadness.... >:), and everything takes three times as long. One coworker, every time I ask her to find a chart or get something, shakes her head and mutters "useless". I can't tell you HOW this is speeding my recovery!

I fear I will have 6 weeks worth of filing to make up for, though.

I got a boot from the orthopedist who, funnily enough, has teh same name as one of the doctors I am rather fond of here. When they said his name in the ER, I got really excited....for about three seconds. Then I remembered he treats animals, and I would be seeing someone completely different.

He seemed to know his business, I guess.

There is a lot that's negative about the whole experience, but as you know, I prefer to dwell on anything but. Silver lining in all this? My little sister came up to visit. She mentioned a conversation in her head that went something like this:

"Oh! Poor Redgirl! I can go up and keep her company, maybe fix her meals while I'm there and situate her stuff. We can chat and watch Criminal Minds or Wire in the Blood together and I can work on my crazy quilt and try to entertain her!"

What she got instead was:

Yup. My sister gave up her three day weekend at the drop of the hat only to clean my apartment when she got here.turn my apartment from mortifying to horrifying, then onto cleeeen. She's pretty awesome.

I'd like to say I've been blogging with all my free time, but when she cleaned, she uncovered lost seasons of NCIS, Castle, and the Mentalist, so I haven't exactly been bored.

But it's back to the grindstone, so onward!

Something New....

As the discerning (and those with actual eyes) will no doubt notice, my layout has changed. A long time friend who, every time he visits my blog winces over the Internet. Today, our convo went something like this:

Him: What was your blog again?

Me: (website)

Him: (redacted)! We've got to get you updated! Your colors are seizure inducing!

Me: I like them...they remind me of a watermelon.

Him: seizuremelon...

I rather liked my amateur efforts at a header. I found it fresh and bright, and I especially liked my renaissance painting graphic of the noble looking lady stooping to listen at the tapestries.

That said, once he put the name of seizuremelon to it, I knew that he was right. So, what you see are his efforts. The lady up top does not have my brown eyes (which I like to think of as "coffee-colored"), but she does do a good job of inviting you in on tidbits of interest. I would have hired her.

If I held auditions.

If I had money.

So, let me know what you think!

People These Days

I think most of you know by now that I reside in the general area of California's capitol, so I'll relate the following phone conversation with the real places mentioned.

Me: Veterinary Hospital, this is Redgirl!

Her: Hi. I just brought my dog home from surgery today, and we didn't think she'd need any pain medication, but now she's hurting and we probably need it now.

Uh huh. When we want to give you pain meds, you should probably accept, especially after surgery. That's when we cut into the body, you know....

Me: Okay, and which doctor did you see?

Her: Dr. Binton.

Ah, not one of our docs. Yet again, I feel like I have been punk'd. For me, this is the feeling when someone calls us and acts as if they're our client. This confuses me until, at some point in the conversation, they mention something that clues me in on the following scenario: they've called their vet and hear our name mentioned on the answering machine for emergencies. Then I get to explain that we can't give them pain medication, look up records left on their doctors' desks, or clarify what their doctor proscribed to a pharmacist. 

We are there for one reason. Something horrible has happened, and you need your pet seen. We are specialty and we are open for you to come in. That's it.I don't have access to the entire database for all the hospitals in the regional area. No, we are not an answering service. Yes, I'm real person. 

Me: Which hospital was the surgery done at?

Her: Sacramento.

Huh?

Me: I'm sorry, which hospital?

Her: Elk Grove.

What? What's going on here? You are providing no information whatsoever. You are just naming cities. This is not helpful. Try again. But not by naming random cities. Try to answer the question.

Me: The hospital? 

Her: Oh. Ummm.... Elk Grove (Aaaaaahhhh) and Florin. That one.

Me: I see. Well, (commence explaining why I can't provide random people with services if we haven't seen their pet and random medication on their say-so).



This was laughably frustrating because I suppose it didn't really matter what hospital she had the surgery done at, we couldn't just proscribe medication without an exam.

What gets me annoyed --and I've touched on this before-- is when the following occurs in some flavor or other:

Oh no, really. Go ahead. I'll wait. 

Them: Can you give me your address?

Me: It's 702--

Them: WAIT!! I need to find something to write with!!

Really? There was nothing else you needed. You called solely to ask for a piece of information including numbers and the alphabet. I find it hard to believe that it was when I said the "2" that you realized, surprisingly, that you wouldn't be able to retain the info. The human brain can retain around 7 pieces of discrete information. This is why telephone numbers are seven digits long.

I blame the digital age. No one has to practice remembering telephone numbers any more. They just hit "call Mom" in their phones.

I guess it all dials (haha...dials) down to a public service announcement.

I understand if you're stressed when you call me. If you don't have that excuse, don't be an idiot.

Singing...when you don't know the words

You walk in to the sanctuary...you sit down...and instead of giving you a book with music, some bright person has the idea to just project words on a blank wall.

Words are great...words are like a poem, right?

 The voice kind of goes up and down when we talk, but that's just normal stuff. HERE, you are expected to have the background knowledge to walk in, look at words and say in your head (or to the person next to you, that's good, too) "Hey, I know this song!! It starts with a half note on B and is in the key of C. And when the chorus starts, it goes down to the 5th, and then the minor 3rd...."

This is the same sort of problem you run into at a bus stop in South Sacramento....or at a vet hospital.

In South Sac, it can sometimes be hard the decipher a person's sex when presented with shaggy hair, no figure, a rawboned face and clothing leaning towards anything that can be salvaged from a dumpster.

There's usually also some withdrawel twitching as well.

At a vet hospital, gender is very important to our clients.

Not just their gender either, but their pets' gender as well. This is understandable, as if you are going in to do a neuter (the general term for either sex), you want you vet's office to be aware of which parts they are cutting out. I suppose it would then be unsettling to hear your dog referred to as a he instead of a she in these circumstances.

The problem is when the client comes with a dog you've never seen before and they expect you to know these details. They also get angry when you don't or you try to assume.

Me: What's his name?

Them: (derisive glare) It's a girl. >:(

What do they want me to say?

Me: What's its name?

That hardly sounds any better. Now I'm equating their dog to a toaster or other genderless appliance.



Good Toaster! You good Toaster, you!

This puts me in the unenviable postion of trying to sound appropriatly adoring and gushy about their pet while avoiding the use of a prounound.

Me: I hope....Gigi feels better! If...Gigi has problems, don't hesitate to call!

Now I sound like a soap opera. If you've ever seen an episode, you'll know what I'm talking about.

In regular conversation, you may get someone saying something like this:

Gosh! I can't believe she drove her car off that cliff! If Mom hadn't been sober that night and able to go to the hospital and let Uncle know she was there, she may have died!

In a soap opera, everyone has to be named because the plots are so ridiculous, and most watchers have no idea who's who:

Gosh! I can't believe Margaret drove her car off ShoresideCliff! If Glenda hadn't been sober that night and able to go to General Memorial Hospital and let Uncle Carson know Margaret was there, Margaret may have died!

It just feels awkward.

What's even worse is that we have tall counters and can't always see the pet...so I don't even know if it's a dog or a cat. I'm still working at the "be nice and sensitive because it's my job" thing, so more often than I'd like, I say:

"What kind of animal do you have?"

People don't like to hear their pet called an animal. Go figure.

Saying "What the name of your little one?" can work...unless the "little one" is a 150lb Saint Bernanrd. Then you have to play it off with "ha ha haaaa....not so little then huh." and try and smile your way out of it.

What's the most annoying, Fifi and I have decided, is the Client who names their dog something androgenous in the worst way. They take wicked pleasure in watching you struggle and inwardly cackle in glee when you get it wrong and they can pounce.

Me: What's this one's name?

Them: Taco.

Me: (thinking furiously and makes a pained guess) He's so cute!

Them: (smirking I am sure) Taco's a girl (you numbscull, can't you see the delicate angle of her jaw????)


*sigh*

You can't win.

The Strange and the Mindnumbing

I was at a meeting the other day for the front desk staff on how to please the client more. We talked about different needs of the client and looked at a poster that represented the client experience. One of the things that was on there was a representation of "Dr. Internet."

Ah, Dr. Internet, you are a bane! You are reason that people now call us up and:

1) Present a problem they think their pet is having

2) Either tell us that they are supposed to see a vet and ask what they can do at home

3) Tell us things that were suggested to do and merely want affirmation that they can do them.

4) Get angry when we won't tell them what to do with their pet over the phone because

• We've never seen their pet
• We don't know the true diagnosis
• If it's a serious problem, home remedies could easily make it worse

They will sometimes offer up strange and unorthodox methods of treatment. Some are even concerning.

My coworker, Fifi, had the following dialogue:

Caller: I think my dog ate something toxic! What should I do?

Yeah, this vs. Gatorade? Gatorade, you got this, man,  you got this.

Fifi: Do you know what they ate?

Caller: He licked some antifreeze.

Fifi: We would definitely recommend you bring him in.

Caller: Would it help if I gave him Gatorade®?

Wait.
What?

I see that some vet over on a website says you can do it, but as far as counteracting a toxin? I really don't see it.

How about:

Caller: My dog ate (anything), I think I need to make him vomit.

Me: Recommend you bring him in so we can induce vomiting.

Caller: I read online that I can use hydrogen peroxide.

Me: We don't recommend that, as it can cause ulcers.

Caller: But will it work?

Me: We can't recommend that. Ideally, you would bring him in.


Here's the thing.

Why are you calling in for advice if you already know what you're going to do and don't plan on listening to anything I say except for what affirms you? Oh. I think I just answered my question. You want to feel like a good pet owner don't want to feel like a bad pet owner. I realize your ideal conversation would have gone like this:

Caller: Blah blah blah

Me: Yes, I agree!

Caller: I read on the internet I can (strange/dangerous procedure).

Me: You did research before calling...how awesome is that! Since the internet is 100% trustworthy, I would definitely go ahead with that. No reservations!

Caller: Glad I know I'm doing the right thing without having to spend $$s for a professional! (click)

I know someone who's gonna want to try redoing their own electrical wiring with possible disastrous results.


Then we have the Grand Parvo Experience. (I can see this will be a reoccurring theme here, so get used to it). This comes in several flavors.

• Ignorance
• Purposeful negligence with lack of understanding about possible outcomes
• Denial
• Rage

We've kind of touched on three of these, but we'll deal with denial now. This is a funny kind of caller. They just want to be right.

Caller: My chihuahua is vomiting and has diarrhea. He seems listless, doesn't want to eat or drink.

Me: Well, has he been fully vaccinated?

Caller: No. My mother thinks he has parvo, but I'm sure he doesn't.

Me: With the symptoms you are describing, parvo would be the first major concern.

Caller: Well, I don't think it is. (Background: It's parvo, you dumba**!) No it's not, Mother!

Me: We would recommend you get him tested.

Caller: Well, I don't think it's parvo. (click)


So, basically, Junior called me up to back him against his mother. Great strategy, my basement dwelling friend. Holding a gun to a fortune-teller's head to make her tell you a different fortune is also a great way to change the future. After all, a conversation going:

Caller: No, no! Say it's not so!

Me: It be not so.

Caller: My God, he's stopped leaking from both ends! Thank you, fairy dogmother!

....is totally feasible.

Caring, or (No) Lack Thereof

Today, I'm going to educate you, the masses, on a theme that appears quite a bit, especially in an emergency setting. I can usually tell that a conversation is going to have this theme when I hear the following buzz words:

really adorable
so nice
the sweetest little thing
rescued her
can't pay now
have no money

They may possibly be arranged in a quickly spoken paragraph resembling the following:

Last week I rescued these two really adorable, cute chihuahua puppies. They are the sweetest little things, but now they are vomiting and I have no money, so I can't pay you now!

The part about no money is usually said a touch aggressively, as if challenging us to say no, daring us.

If the CareCredit thing won't work out, it really leaves me without options. It's a sad fact of the world that money is required for services. At a vet, it's not like in the human medical field where they are somehow obligated to provide service (check me on that, ppl with the knowledge?). At a vet, whether or not you feel that Fluffy is a true member of the family, a child in every sense but the human DNA sequence, we are not obligated to provide service merely because Fluffy is ill.

Even more so, I am not the one providing the service. That is the doctor. The doctor who has spent years of their life and 100k on schooling, putting themselves in debt for years, and hospital supplies which would then come out of a paycheck. The only way they would do anything is if I LIED to them and told them payment had gone through.

It is not as you seem to think. That I took this job solely to sabotage your pet's health.

So when you call with the following, understand that I may be less than sympathetic.

Me: Vet Hospital, this is Redgirl.

Her: (insert sad statement about a chihuahua puppy)!

Me: It does sound like you should come in if you can. It is $138 to be seen on emergency.

Her: One-thirty-eight?!  Can't you guys bill me or something? Do a promissory note?

Me: I'm sorry. We take payment up front.

Her: So if I can't pay, you're just going to let my dog DIE?!

Okay, I'm sorry. I feel for your dog, but it's really your lack of financial planning that is going to let your dog die, if that's what ends up happening. Owning an animal is a big responsibility, not just the food you buy it. They are like having a child, and you have to plan ahead. 

Me: I'm sorry.

Her: All you people care about is money!

Me: Oh, have you found a power company that accepts smiles and good will in exchange for products and services? I didn't know there were any out there! (Well, that's what I wished I could have said. Sorry, things cost money. Actually, I just stayed quiet.)

Her: You guys are all just f**king pieces of sh**!

Me: (Silence. Really, what could I say?)

Her: You know what? F**k you!

(click)


There was a group of employees chatting at the front desk. I walked over to them and said, "Just so you guys know, we're ALL f**king pieces of sh**."

Then they made me tell them the story.

See, when you abuse someone for something they can't do anything about anyway, you're really just sucking any sympathy and goodwill I might have towards you, not even making me wish I could do something to help you. When you yell and curse at me for your own lack of preparedness, you're really just creating a story I tell my colleagues.

You're really just writing my blog for me.

So by all means, carry on.

B00B1E5!

I did not know when I went in to work today what the theme would be. There is always a theme when you work nights in emergency, not always good, but usually there. There are Cat Nights, Large Breed Dog Nights, Hit By Car Nights, and Oh God Will Something Please Come In Nights.

Tonight’s theme was not along the lines I was expecting.

See, I wasn’t expecting “Boobies Night.”

True, one client flashed Dr. Aardvark a boob one night when digging for her wallet in the foothills of her chest. It just popped right out –-pop!— This was seen as the lesser evil when the selfsame doctor reported that the client lacked any undergarments, confirmed with her own eyes, much to her chagrin.

And Dr. Fish told of a time when she worked emergency on the east coast how a well endowed woman came into the ER with a bird that needed care. She plunged her hand ‘neath the plunging neckline and produced a small bird from between the pressing sides of cleavage.

“My bird!” She cried, all aflutter, “My bird needs CARE!”

Observing the crushed state of its feathers and the breathless nature of its wee body, Dr. Fish replied, “No, it’s already gone.”

“No!” she screeched, “He was alive in the car! He needs CARE!”

Dr. Fish gave her a pointed look. “Your bird needs a cardboard box and an owner who knows how to dig a hole in the ground,” or words to that effect that would allow her to retain her job.

Tonight’s tales, however, are a little more direct with their references.

Cue the woman who came in to discuss financing options for a pit bull that her daughter was trying to “rescue.” (Ah, after that last post, it’s all I can do to keep a straight face around that word.)

I suggested Care Credit as an option.

If you don’t know about Care Credit and are trying to finance veterinary or even your own medical needs, this is a great thing; look it up in advance.

The woman paused, then said:

“Yes, she has Care Credit. She used it to pay for her boob job last year.”

Picture Redgirl quirking a small smile, thinking this was something the woman would join her in. Alas, the woman was merely relaying it in the spirit of sharing information, not a laugh.

But it was the phone call an hour later that did it in.

Her: My dog just had puppies three weeks ago. Now she’s like whining and doesn’t want to get up and the puppies only nurse a little bit and her titties are swollen and sore.

CoWorker: One moment.

(Puts call on hold, lets me in on the scoop, and we both try to compose ourselves. I call ER to find out the symptoms of a “retained puppy”, a puppy that never came out and is rotting in the womb. Note: doc on tonight is Dr. Bat, the doctor who made the comment about people who play fetch with rocks with their dogs.)

Me: Does she have any vaginal discharge?

Them: What discharge?

Me: (Must. Keep. Composure.) Vaginal discharge.

Them: Where would that come from?

Me:…..

Them: (to friend) Any vaginal discharge? No.

Me: That’s good.

Them: But what about her titties? They are all sore. Should I rub the stuff they put on cow’s udders on them?

Me: Well, the puppies not nursing aren’t going to help matters…maybe if you came in –

Them: I could just try the cream on her titties first, see how that does. What age can puppies have dog food?

Me: (sigh) Let me check. (I call to ER) Hello? Hi, yeah, we have some first time parents here who really 

don’t know anything.

Dr. Bat: Is this the dog you just asked about?

Me: Yup. Also, quote, “her titties are swollen and sore,” unquote.

Dr. Bat: Well tell her to get down there, he dog might have a titty infection.

Me: You slay me.

Dr. Bat: You have to speak to these people in their vernacular. Those titties need to be looked at.

Me: By a titty inspector.

Dr. Bat: I’m open for business.

Dr. Bat is one of the fun ones, for sure. And as a woman, is in possession, if I may say, of her very own set.

*TeeHee*

So I realize this is my own humor here, but I really just crack myself up:

Coworker: So...Mrs Smith called, she's coming in tomorrow on ER. Dog has vomiting, lethargic, and a loose stool. She can't come in tomorrow for an appoint because it's packed. The schedule is packed!

Me: I bet she wishes the same could be said of her dog's stool.

*snort*

Bragging Rights

One of the things I've come to love is the client who feels the need to impart a certain fact about a dog or cat they are bringing in that really doesn't matter.

Take, for example, this familiar scene from an ER visit. The client has handed over paperwork, and Fluffy has been taken to the back.

Me: Ma'am? About how old is Fluffy?

Her: We don't really know.

Me: Do you have an idea, roughly?

Her: He's a RESCUE dog. Our vet said between seven and nine years old.

Or how about this:

Such-and-such client is checking out

Me: Who's this cute little one?

Them: Zumba....she's a rescue dog.


I guess it's not difficult to figure out why people do this.

First off, they may be trying to make conversation, maybe hoping for the following:

Me: Oh, a rescue dog? Fascinating! Do tell me the particulars, as I am doing absolutely nothing else at this time!

Them: Well, it all started one day in the ghettos of Auburn (Does Auburn even have ghettos?)...


Possibly, this is their reasoning:

Ohmygawd I'd better tell them it's a rescue dog, otherwise, they'll think that *I'm* the reason he has a broken leg and an oozing contusion on his rump when that's not the case. I FOUND him like that, and they'll think I'm a horrible person if I don't clear that up right away!



Don't worry. We don't judge.

Much.

Honestly though? Most of the time? I think this is what they're looking for:

Me: Oh, a rescue dog? You rescued this poor unfortunate? Good for you! You must be a fantastic person, full of goodness and rainbows! You deserve an award of some type!

I realize that I may be simplifying or putting things way over the top, but attend:

There are reasons people actually rescue dogs (and cats), and those are perfectly valid. What I want to know is the motivations for mentioning it constantly for no discernible reason.

Me: Do you have pets?

Them: Yes! Our poodle, Stevie. He's a rescue dog.


Why did you add that? The dog is still just as rescued without you telling the world that you did it, and in my field, everyone can claim to have a rescue dog. Lets pull the definition of rescue, shall we?

1) To free from confinement, danger, or evil.

Hmmm. Okay. This one makes sense. At the pound in danger of being euthanized works. Moving on.

2) To take (as prisoner) forcibly from custody.

This could be stealing your neighbor's dog. Look! Here's Fifi, our new cockapoo!

Them: Hey! But that's our dog!

Them: We rescued him....

3) To recover (as a prize) by force.

You just finished winning the "Greenest lawn in a drought, by golly" contest, and have decided that your prize is the loser's Brittany Spaniel. Good luck convincing the Home Owner's Association of the spoils of war there.

4) To deliver (as a place under siege) by armed force.

This just goes to show that a "rescue" dog can be saved or wrested with the help of canons and land mines from anyone you feel is undeserving. Your mother-in-law. Those neighborhood kids who never fessed up to denting your car with that baseball.


So go forth, rescuers! Go forth and rescue dogs! For how else to make yourself feel good this holiday season but to obtain an animal and then announce to the world your good deeds....

Often.

You can stop now.

I mean it.

Really.

I need a raise.

Baa-aack!

I am a fool.

Here I am, bemoaning my lack of creative outlet when I have all the necessary ingredients for success! What ingredients, you say? No, not hours of boredom with access to a computer (Though that would be nice). Not handfuls of cash to pay a better, more prolific writer than I to lure more readers and actually post once in a blue moon.

Instead, I will utilize the brief period of time between six hours of failing at school and eight hours of charging seemingly exorbitant amounts of money for procedures at the vet hospital only to have owners discover they have to put the family dog down. I will use this time to record work exploits mixed with school exploits, and a pinch of woes I now own having newly joined the commuter wagon train.

Let’s start this new age with a little quiz:

 

1: My ________ (dog breed) ate _________ (insert something strange).


2: My poor little _________ (dog breed) is TREMBLing! Not like normal. I think something’s WRONG.


3: My __________ (dog breed) has back problems and can hardly walk. I think he needs and MRI.


4: My dog was attacked by a ________(dog breed) at a _______(location).


5: My __________(dog breed) is vomiting and has diarrhea. I have no money; what can I do?


6: My dog is so lethargic, I can’t wake him up! He just lays there, trembles, and pees himself. What could possibly be wrong?

 

Got those answers all written down?

Great.

1: Lab. Labs eat anything. Observe the following:

Caller: I think my lab ate a rock!

Me: Why do you think that?

Caller: She brought me a rock about the size of a silver dollar, and I threw the rock away. She went and got it and brought it back (Labrador….retriever anyone?). She had it in her mouth, and then, all of the sudden, she didn't, and it wasn't anywhere on the ground.

Me: (calling back to ER, gives story in dry voice) Would a rock that size be a concern for a 70lb dog?

ER Doc: She probably has no money. Anyone who would play fetch with a rock is an idiot.

2: Chihuahua. I have actually had this happen, people bringing their small dog, especially Chihuahuas in for “trembling.” Maybe the reason I’m so O_o over it is that, to me, that’s a necessary evil with small dogs.

3: Dachshund. Hmm, I don’t know. How could a dog 3 times as long as it is tall *possibly* have back problems?

4: Pit bull, dog park. Caveat here: A lot of people love pits. I have met a number of wonderful, friendly pits. This doesn't change the fact that the physical nature of a pit (larger, muscled, strong) necessitate that people who want to turn those things in their favor and encourage aggressive behavior will exploit this. Police Departments import their German Shepherds from France and other countries because it’s next to impossible to find a suitable strain in the US anymore. Same thing is starting to happen with Malinois (pronounced mal-en-wahs), the dogs that were part of the Osama take-down. People decide they want in on that and start screwing with the breed.

Dog parks are horrible places. It’s like someone said, “Hmm….what would make the worst environment for dogs? How about if we fence a small area, bring dogs in from all over the city who have a range of diseases who don’t know each other, unleash them all and see what happens?” If you don’t live in the country, I guess you need an outlet, but this one kind of sucks.

5: Pit bull or Chihuahua. I realize it looks like I’m stereotyping here, but it’s not stereotyping if it’s true. Most, if not all, of the cases of parvo virus we see are people from the poorer classes of society who have gotten themselves a puppy from a “breeder” and didn't get it vaccinated. It’s ridiculous! At the most, you’re looking at 100 bucks to get the thing vaccinated, and parvo, which can’t be treated, can run you in the thousands. What do your thousands get you? It gets us monitoring your dog and keeping an IV of fluids running for a week or so in isolation. It does NOT get medicine to make the parvo go away. Why? Virus. They just run their course while you stand there hoping your dog will pull through…while we do the same thing.

6: I really wish I could post a video of a dog with this problem. They’re very calm, blink a lot and may be trembling. They also can’t control their bladder. A convo with the ER tech looks a little like this:

ER: Is there anything he could have gotten into?

Them: No! Nothing!

ER: I’m going to ask this question for medical purposes only. Is there a chance that he could have gotten access to any marijuana, medical or otherwise?

Them: I’m going to kill my boyfriend!

Ah, people! I do want to say upfront with respect to future posts a word of caution. When I worked at the Hotel, it was easier to share stories of humorous people and their crazy antics with respect to requests etc. At a pet hospital, it’s a bit more complicated. The devil’s advocate personality I have forces me to see a hysterical person acting out and bad behavior as a person being concerned about their pet. At the heart of it, that really isn't funny, and to make snarky comments about it would be in poor taste. The same as if some poor pet has to be euthanized. I ask you, therefore, to look at things from a new prospective: the prospective of that, in life, things happen. Not all of them are sunshiny and happiness all the time.

For those who know me online or on the outside, you know that I sometimes have to get creative to find a way to keep my head out of these dark places. So, if I cavalierly speak of special parking spaces for people who are euthanizing for a different approach on breaking the bad news (“I’m sorry sir….I’m going to have to ask you to move your car….) and doing a special on cremations for the holiday season, that’s the nature of the business.

Carry on.

Back to the Bench

Found this and realized I hadn't posted it yet.

I give you my most recent court observation write-up!

Picking a floor at random, I stroll down the hall hoping to catch whiffs of interesting legal material. Outside of Department 28, a uniformed police officer sits conversing with a suited man. Both direct me to a preliminary trial going on inside that they will be testifying in. Score! I settle into my plush chair and wait for the games to begin.

I enjoy coming into a case cold – half the fun is figuring out what happened. First thing I notice is that the witnesses had obviously never seen a court show in their lives to know what the deal is as far as the swearing in process. Very similar to depo introductions, the lawyers counsel the witness on the fact that the court reporter cannot take down uh-huhs and hu-uhs…which the court reporter promptly takes down for the record. I find it interesting that the lawyers made a point of finding out that the child (14) understood the difference between the truth and a lie, but such conversation is never had with adults. I’m thinking some adults could use it.

Seeing/hearing that the witness seemed to lack adequate vocal chords for a room of that size, Prosecution asks that the microphone be turned on. Before he is done with the second syllable, Madame Court Reporter is in action. I’m sure she has been waiting for the chance.

Witness is asked if he recognizes someone in the room. I realize that it might be like that in all cases we hear in class…there is only one person in the room besides counsel, clerk, et cetera. How awkward t’would be if the witness recognizes someone they weren’t supposed to!

The witness continues shyly and inaudibly answering questions, hesitating before each “yes” or “no” and I’m thinking that this sounds easy. I pull my air writer out and throw down a few practice strokes. Piece of cake. I’m confused, though, because presumably, the kid had been asked these questions before, yet he seemed to be hearing them for the first time now. Prosecution pulls out his phone while hurriedly saying, “Your Honor, just using the phone for the calendar.” Well played, well played.

I lean forward with anticipation as the story begins to become clear. We have John and Jane. Jane has two kids from a previous relationship (Son 1 and Son 2). John gets together with Jane and they live at Jane’s parents and subsequently produce offspring (Son 3 and Baby). They then move to a house to themselves. Our alleged altercation begins when, around1:30am, John comes in and wakes up Son 1 and 2 to “help clean” the kitchen. His demeanor? “Acting dumb and complaining.”

Prosecution tries to extract the story, but Son 2 doesn’t seem to remember ANY of the events that night…except for the fact that it involved sitting on the couch at some point. Thereafter, the police report states that Son 2 alleged the night in question that the John was pacing and yelling (and acting dumb) about their lack of respect and that Son 2 was “the weak one.” Son 2 then says to back off of the family. John subsequently takes a kitchen knife and holds it to Son 2’s neck and says he will kill them all. There is a scuffle, Son 2 escapes out the door into the street, followed by a large pot thrown by John which subsequently shatters in the street.

Areas of contention seem to be the ownership of the knife recovered by police at the scene. None of the witnesses recognize the knife in question as even coming from their kitchen. Photograph exhibits showing red scratches and marks alleged at the time to have been caused by the knife were from a “skating accident.”

DEFENSE: You told him to sit down. Was he standing up or sitting down?

WITNESS: I don’t remember.

Q: was he walking around?

A: I don’t remember.

Q: Would you tell someone who was sitting down to sit down?

A: I don’t know.

Q: When you walked out the door, did you take a frying pan with you?

A: No.

Q: Do you normally walk out of the house with a frying pan?

A: No.

Q: So you would remember if you had?

A: I don’t know.

Q: Did the defendant throw a frying pan at you?

A: No.

Q: Do you remember telling the officers that your step-dad was swinging a knife around in the air yelling, “I’m going to kill you all!”?

A: No.

I think that Prosecution is getting a little miffed with the witness, and I know for certain when he says:

Q: Do you routinely come up with stories to get people arrested?

A: I don’t know.

Q: Do you normally spend time making up stories to get the police involved?

A: I don’t remember….

When the next witness is called (Jane), I really wonder if there is TV in the house to familiarize the witnesses with the swearing in process. At least Jane seems to want to answer the questions. Too bad she doesn’t remember anything about the night in question except for what John didn’t do and that she and the offspring sat around while she coached them with a story to get John arrested…the details of which are hazy at best.

A: I don’t remember anything that happened that night.

Q: You don’t remember anything from that night?

A: Well, I remember some, but not very much.

Q: You were awake when you woke them up, correct?

A: Yes.

Well, if she hadn’t been, that would answer a lot of questions.

The story appearing to be the one that the witnesses want to spin (possibly with help from the defendant) is that Son 2 got into a physical altercation with the John in the same period of time that he, Son 2, had a case open in court. To avoid getting slapped into Juvie, he fabricated a story about John that was convincing enough that two police officers showed up in court and lied their heads off about how realistic it was.

The bench really heats up when the suited police officer was asked about things that Son 2 had told uniformed police officer (still in the hallway). Defense didn’t like that one bit and put on his objecting pants.

DFNS: Hearsay within hearsay under 115.

COURT: Overruled.

DFNS: Your Honor, that’s TWO LAYERS of hearsay!

PRSC: It was in the police report, Your Honor. Under 115.

COURT: Overruled.

His Honor decides to break for lunch, as it is noon. Both lawyers, having heard I am there for observing, approach me and ask if I have any questions (to my surprise). I clarify what 115* is and Defense tells me that he still didn’t think it should be allowed. Prosecutions confides to both of us that he didn’t think it should either and that he was surprised it worked. When Defense walks off, Prosecution asks me if I think the defendant is guilty.

“Well,” I say, “I doubt it went down exactly like the kid originally said it did, but something happened, and it’s not what they’re saying.”

He gives a shark grin. “They’re all lying right now. It’ll go to trial.”

Conclusion: Domestic abuse cases must be really frustrating for the lawyers and the judge.

*115 has to do with hearsay rules and that police officers are allowed to recount things other officers have said, like a verbal report or something.