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Refuge for the rational.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

My Boss and His Wife Are Legitimately and Undeniably Insane. 

The most recent example of this is evidenced in a rather peculiar event that occurred during the holiday season.

Despite having a number of children and grandchildren in the city, my boss and his wife decided to go away for the Christmas season. It was with great sorrow that they related to a co-worker, well within my earshot, that they had to have their four million year old, deaf, blind and renally incapacitated dog put down whilst they were away. The poor thing was sweet, but clearly had been technologically maintained well past his natural expiry date by the miracles of modern doggy medicine. They were of the persuasion that if they had the dog put down while they were away, it would be easier on them.

Fast-forward two weeks. I was in a cab on the way home from the aeroport (that’s right, aeroport). I called my friend and co-worker M, who had been away for over a month, to ask her whether or not the mouse poison I’d left at her house, in her absence, had managed to do its job (that’s a whole other story—there’s lots of animal killing in this here story). The conversation took a twilight zone turn when she asked me in a wavering voice whether or not I’d heard about what had happened at work.

“No…”
“Greg and Rhonda’s dog”
Apprehension now, though I knew the dog must be dead at this point, and I didn’t even consider the possibility of what came next.
She continued, “they left it with a dog-sitter and she had it put down.”
“Well, yeah”
“What?”
“What do you mean, she had it put down?”
“They told me that she beat it and starved it and went all over town looking for a vet who would have it put down”
“What?! M, they were planning to have it put down. They told Kim as much.”
“...No…”
“……….”
“Oh, god, don’t tell me they’re actually that fucking crazy. I knew it, Rhonda’s back on the drugs again. She cried, she fucking cried.”

When I went to pick up my check a few days later, Rhonda just happened to be there. I had to grit my teeth and ask her how her holiday was, pretending of course, that I didn’t know about the dog fabrication already. She laid it on pretty thick—ten minutes of doggy suffering and inhumane treatment and details of lifelong companionship can sure put a dent in your day. I wanted to make sure that I had the story right so I asked her, in a sympathetic and innocent way, “you mean, you didn’t plan to have him put down?”
Her eyes and mouth got wide: “No! Of course not.”

I’m still baffled.
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