You remember that on the Fiscal Sustainability Task Force Survey one of the town services we were to rate was “animal control”. Frankly we didn’t value it very highly, but we also haven’t had much to do with this aspect of town “administration”. We aren’t even sure what “animal control” as a “service” covers. Does it include the bats in our chimney, the racoons in our back shed, or the skunks that dig for grubs in our turf [to call it a lawn is perhaps bragging], or is it another of these misnomers the town seems so prone to? Anyway, there is someone who has had reason to deal with the town on animal matters, our frequent commenter Brian “Sam’s sucker” Sanderson, and he has written another of his priceless pieces about his experience. It’s a tale of fangs and steel, hang ups of several sorts, and bureaucratic SNAFUs.
Here’s just one short excerpt to whet your appetite:
Look, the truth of the matter is that there are only two things that bug me:
- Having some desperate bastard tell me what to do.
- Having to tell some blithering drivel-head what to do.
It’s not my style to train either dogs or people to conform to the dictates of bossy-britches.
I swallowed a lobotomy pill and wandered down to the Council Building to register my dog. Now the receptionist was a very nice lady and seemed delighted to exchange a fist-full-of-loot for a Town of Wolfville dog tag.
“Here’s the number of his micro-chip”, said I.
“Oh, we don’t record that”, said she. [link is the author’s]
Read the rest! Don’t neglect to follow the links. Warning! Laughing while drinking is hard on the keyboard.