My wife and I moved to the extreme westerly portion of Coweta County to have farm animals, have more contact with the grandkids and generally less contact with manic strangers as experienced prior to my retirement from APD.
We have cows and are soon to take a try at pigs.
We have had a Pomeranian for years and when cruising through the parking lot of the Carrollton Walmart a couple months ago, my wife became enamored when she saw a man selling a soft and cuddly Pomeranian out of the bed of a beat-up pick-up truck. It was “her” puppy-dog eyes that caused me to plop down $200 for this fluffy pile of love. It wasn’t long before our newly purchased puppy began to grow a long nose and develop a demented personality.
After serious research on the Internet, it was determined this was a Pomeranian-Jack Russell Terrorist, or “Jackarainian” we now fondly call “Jake”.
I felt a little snookered at the dogie deception, but not as bad as a woman in China I read about who was vacationing throughout the countryside and bought the most beautiful Tibetan Mastiff puppy, bringing it home to her kids. Within two years the puppy was three feet high at the shoulders, weighed 250 pounds, spent a lot of time walking on its hind legs and growled, never barked, when angered. She took it to a local veterinarian to resolve her curiosities who told her the puppy was actually a Tibetan Bear, about the time the authorities showed up with a big ‘ol cage and tranquilizer darts.
While on patrol, I also encountered some strange family pets.
I was called to a burglary call at a lady’s house, and she had an oddly large house cat. She made me laugh when she told me of the surprise anyone got by her attack cat walking along the back of her couch. As I gestured at the bob-tailed cat in question, she told me to try to pet it. I reached in the direction of the cat when a deep growl from the pits of hell came out of kitty causing me a quick retraction of my hand, checking for missing fingers. She pleaded with me not to report her for having an exotic endangered species. I told her, “Nah…it’s cool…your secret’s safe with me.”
I was cruising in a very affluent section of town when all of a sudden, a pig shot across the street in front of my patrol car. I initially reached for my shoulder microphone to advise radio what I had, and then thought of all the unmerciless ribbing I’d get from my highly critical colleagues about a suspicious pig call. I began following the pig on foot, which made it squeal when I got too close, until it walked up to the threshold of a residence. I reached over the pig to knock on the door, when a lady opened it and the pig proceeded inside. She looked at me with no expression on her face saying, “Is there something wrong, officer?” Stunned, and suddenly without a witty come-back, I merely pointed and said, “Pig?” Waving her hands in the air she said, “Oh yeah, I have two pigs I let outside to do their business every day. In fact, I also have two goats in my backyard.” I shut my gaping mouth long enough to wish her a happy farm day.
Researchers have said people who have dogs live three year longer than people without. Unless you own Jake the Jackarainian, then maybe less.
The Precinct Press is authored by W.J. Butcher, a retired 26-year veteran of the Atlanta Police Department. Send comments, kudos, and criticism to: email@example.com .