Was driving home today from the store and saw a large dog laying by the side of the road in that peculiarly limp fashion that indicates Bad Things Have Gone Down.

Being me, I turned the car around, pulled into a lot near to it, and checked to make sure it was really dead rather than merely suffering. I’m not sure what I’d have done if it was alive–taken it to the vet, obviously, although lugging a limp, bloody 60lb mutt twenty yards into my car with my weenie little arms would have been an exercise in ingenuity. However, the dog had passed this mortal coil and was no longer worried about such matters.

Also being me, I went into the business established there–somebody or other, Attorney at Law–and said “Hey, did you know there’s a very large, very dead dog on your lawn?”

To which the young receptionist said “Nooo…?”
“A dog,” I said patiently. “It’s dead. Out front.”
“Oooookaaaay,” she said, obviously believing me to be dangerously insane.
“You might want to call someone and have the body taken away.”
Blank, fish-like stare.
“You know, before it starts to smell or something.”
Further blank stare.
“I thought “Hey, if I worked here, I’d want someone to mention it.”
Continuing blank stare.
“I think the humane society may do body pick-ups. You might want to call them.”
Blank stare transferred to phone in helpless horror.
“Alright then,” I said, and let myself out.

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