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Authors: Linda O. Johnston
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seems a bit strange, doesn’t it? I mean, why would Hope’s microchip give information for someone who didn’t own her?”
Carlie shook her head slowly, her blond hair stroking the shoulder of her T-shirt. “I agree. I’ve never heard of anyone putting someone else’s contact information into the database for a microchip. But—”
“Hello, Ms. Vancouver?” boomed a deep voice over the phone. “This is Councilman Randell. I understand there’s some confusion—about a dog, is it?”
“That’s right.”
As I explained the situation about the dog we now called Hope, I heard the politico’s ongoing “hmmmm,” which grew louder as I told him how I’d gotten his name and this phone number.
“Interesting,” he said. “But truly, Ms. Vancouver, I don’t own a dog of any kind, let alone the one you’ve described.” His tone grew a tiny bit curt, which made me wonder…
As we continued the conversation briefly, I did a Google search on the Internet—and learned that there was some controversy about Councilperson Guy Randell’s position on a few issues regarding Los Angeles Animal Services. If the media got it right, the guy might actually be an animal hater. I’d known there was political opposition to some matters recently proposed to further regulate puppy mills and extend the time animals were held in public shelters but hadn’t paid much attention to who was against them.
“You know,” the councilman said eventually, “I think I’ll have someone look into this odd situation. If they find anything, I’ll have them call you at HotRescues. In any case, as far as I’m concerned the dog is yours to deal with as you wish.”
“All right,” I said. “Thank you.”
I had a feeling that had I been in this man’s council district, I would vote against reelecting him.
“What now?” Carlie looked concerned as I ended the phone connection.
“First, I’ll contact Matt. Then we’ll go to Fittest Pet so you can check Hope out.”
I quickly called Matt and explained the situation. “Even though the councilman is purportedly looking into the situation, Hope seems to be a stray. I’ll need to turn her in to Animal Services once her health has been checked. But I’ll want to put a hold on her, assuming Councilman Randell’s office doesn’t contact me with anything helpful and her real owner doesn’t claim her—which sounds as likely as the councilman inviting me to lunch.”
I was glad for many reasons that I was now friends with Matt. For one thing, he helped to expedite this kind ofsituation. For another, he gave a damn about what would happen to the dog.
“You’re sure you got the information right?” he asked.
I had him on speakerphone, and Carlie answered, leaning over my desk toward the receiver. “Why would a microchip service company lie? It’s possible they got their records fouled up, but I’ve never heard of that before.”
“Me neither,” Matt said. “Well, check out the dog’s health, Carlie. If you give me what you got from the microchip company, Lauren, I’ll put that into our system and have someone follow our protocol to confirm the information you’ve got. Let me know if you hear anything new from the councilman’s office, too. It sounds, though, as if you’ve just rescued another unclaimed stray dog, which could be a good thing since she’ll probably wind up at HotRescues.”
“That’s great!” I said, meaning it. But my questions still remained. “I’d still like to know, though, if the councilman was lying.”
“There are ways of checking out whether he had a pet,” Matt reminded me.
“There are,” I agreed. “I think I’ll tell Brooke when she comes to do her security thing at HotRescues tonight to put on her private investigator hat for a little while and find out.”
Carlie had her car here, and I could have just sent Hope with her back to The Fittest Pet Veterinary Hospital. But I’d arranged with Matt to meet him there. He would
Carlie shook her head slowly, her blond hair stroking the shoulder of her T-shirt. “I agree. I’ve never heard of anyone putting someone else’s contact information into the database for a microchip. But—”
“Hello, Ms. Vancouver?” boomed a deep voice over the phone. “This is Councilman Randell. I understand there’s some confusion—about a dog, is it?”
“That’s right.”
As I explained the situation about the dog we now called Hope, I heard the politico’s ongoing “hmmmm,” which grew louder as I told him how I’d gotten his name and this phone number.
“Interesting,” he said. “But truly, Ms. Vancouver, I don’t own a dog of any kind, let alone the one you’ve described.” His tone grew a tiny bit curt, which made me wonder…
As we continued the conversation briefly, I did a Google search on the Internet—and learned that there was some controversy about Councilperson Guy Randell’s position on a few issues regarding Los Angeles Animal Services. If the media got it right, the guy might actually be an animal hater. I’d known there was political opposition to some matters recently proposed to further regulate puppy mills and extend the time animals were held in public shelters but hadn’t paid much attention to who was against them.
“You know,” the councilman said eventually, “I think I’ll have someone look into this odd situation. If they find anything, I’ll have them call you at HotRescues. In any case, as far as I’m concerned the dog is yours to deal with as you wish.”
“All right,” I said. “Thank you.”
I had a feeling that had I been in this man’s council district, I would vote against reelecting him.
“What now?” Carlie looked concerned as I ended the phone connection.
“First, I’ll contact Matt. Then we’ll go to Fittest Pet so you can check Hope out.”
I quickly called Matt and explained the situation. “Even though the councilman is purportedly looking into the situation, Hope seems to be a stray. I’ll need to turn her in to Animal Services once her health has been checked. But I’ll want to put a hold on her, assuming Councilman Randell’s office doesn’t contact me with anything helpful and her real owner doesn’t claim her—which sounds as likely as the councilman inviting me to lunch.”
I was glad for many reasons that I was now friends with Matt. For one thing, he helped to expedite this kind ofsituation. For another, he gave a damn about what would happen to the dog.
“You’re sure you got the information right?” he asked.
I had him on speakerphone, and Carlie answered, leaning over my desk toward the receiver. “Why would a microchip service company lie? It’s possible they got their records fouled up, but I’ve never heard of that before.”
“Me neither,” Matt said. “Well, check out the dog’s health, Carlie. If you give me what you got from the microchip company, Lauren, I’ll put that into our system and have someone follow our protocol to confirm the information you’ve got. Let me know if you hear anything new from the councilman’s office, too. It sounds, though, as if you’ve just rescued another unclaimed stray dog, which could be a good thing since she’ll probably wind up at HotRescues.”
“That’s great!” I said, meaning it. But my questions still remained. “I’d still like to know, though, if the councilman was lying.”
“There are ways of checking out whether he had a pet,” Matt reminded me.
“There are,” I agreed. “I think I’ll tell Brooke when she comes to do her security thing at HotRescues tonight to put on her private investigator hat for a little while and find out.”
Carlie had her car here, and I could have just sent Hope with her back to The Fittest Pet Veterinary Hospital. But I’d arranged with Matt to meet him there. He would
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