Yesterday, I headed on over to Williston, Fla., to conduct an interview with an occupational therapist who uses horses as her medium (very cool). This interview took place at the woman's farm, and as you can imagine, was out in the country.
While driving home on County Road 346A, I saw a little something moving in the road in front of me. I slowed down to let whatever it was pass, but even as I got very close to it, it wouldn't budge! That was when I noticed it was a little chihuahua. She looked up at me trembling as if to say "What am I doing here?"
I pulled right on over and coaxed the little thing out of the road. She was wearing a purple collar, but her hair was missing in places and she seemed so dirty and scared. She didn't have a name tag, but she had a rabies tag, so I called the phone number on it. It was the Alachua County animal control, who gave me two phone numbers to call and to ask for Steve or Sandy.
The first number I called had no answer, so I left a voicemail. With the second number, someone picked up: "Hi, thank you for calling Kmart; how can I help you?" I was perplexed, but proceeded to tell the person my story and to ask for Steve or Sandy. The woman told me a Sandy worked for them, but that she wasn't in today. I left my contact information, and she said she would try to get in touch with Sandy and would have her call me.
At this point, I wasn't sure what to do next, so I called animal control again. They told me that since I wasn't technically in Alachua County anymore, I would have to call Levy County animal control. Good thing I had charged my phone that morning! I'm not sure what Levy County expects one to do in an emergency situation, but I called twice with no answer.
So, I decided there was nothing left to do except to sit on the side of the road with the dog, whom I had taken to calling 'Tinkerbell' in my head. We sat and I petted her until finally my cell rang. As I was answering, I noticed that the area code was actually that of my home town in Panama City, Fla., but answered anyway: "You have a collect call from an inmate at Bay County Jail or Correctional Facility." WHAT?!
I had no idea who could be calling, so I opted for the "Press 2 if you would like to find out who's calling you" choice. Just as I was giving the operator my phone number so she could trace the call, a car pulled up behind me. I looked at Tink. Who could it be?
At first I thought it might be someone thinking I was broken down and offering help, but then an older man got out. "Well there she is, thank God! We have no idea how she got outta the gate, but here she is!" he yelled in a southern country accent. This must be Steve.
I asked the operator to hold on a second, and began to explain to the man that I had called a few numbers looking for the owner. He asked if I called his wife at work. I told him that yes, I had, but since she wasn't at work today--
"Whadya mean not at work?! She's supposed to be there 'til five!"
I stammered that I didn't know, and that's just what the people at Kmart told me.
Then he said, "Do me a favor, will ya? Call them back at my wife's work and tell them the dog has been found. You just call them back, now."
Sure, I could do that. "You just saved me a divorce!"
You're welcome.
Meanwhile, the operator was still on the phone, so I talked to her again and explained my crazy day. She told me I was a good person (but I would like to argue who WOULDN'T stop and help the crazy dog you almost hit in the middle of the road??). There was no way she could trace the phone call, so now I'll never know who wanted to speak to me from the Bay County jail...
Last thing, on the way home, I called my Dad to ask if we knew anyone in jail. Then I looked over and saw an Oscar Mayer Weiner truck. What a weird day.
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