Monday, February 10, 2014

Hoarders, Doggy Style

I refuse to even discuss the fact that Snowpacalypse, Round II is getting ready to happen here. Instead, I will try to put into words an experience I had over the weekend. It's a story worthy of a Hoarders episode.

Let's begin. My friend has dog fever. And, being a kind-hearted person (sometimes), she wants to save a dog from the perils of a shelter, or some other kind of rescue organization. However, she also wants a Yorkie, and the shelters just don't seem to have too many purebreds. Or maybe they're just feeding them to the pit bulls. Either way, she has been forced to dig deep for a rescue Yorkie.

Enter Barbara. My friend found Barbara online (of course) through the Yorkie rescue site that Barbara runs. The site showcases all of Barbara's adorable Yorkie rescues, and they look pretty good. I'm thinking Barbara is good with Photoshop. At any rate, I went with my friend tomy hometown to look at Barbara's dogs on Saturday. Now, being from this particular town, I like to think I know the area pretty well. I can tell you for certain I have never been to Barbara's part of town before. In fact, the inner-snob in me does not even claim it.

So we roll up this long dirt/gravel driveway, where we are greeted by multiple signs warning us of dogs. And then, after what seems like ages, we get to the house. It might be 1000 square feet. Maybe. I had my kids with me, so we all walked up and knocked on the door. Barbara and about 100 Yorkies came to the door. Seriously, 100 may be an exaggeration, but there is no way there were fewer than 25 dogs in that house.

My kids were freaked out, but finally came in (after several dogs tried to make a jail break). It was evident that someone had just had an accident in the house, because the stench was nauseating. Davis, being overly honest, announced, "It stinks in here", held his hand to his nose and refused to move it. Then he decided he would just wait outside. I mean, if the child who pees on every surface of the bathroom except the toilet can't handle it, you know it's bad. Barbara, oblivious, says, "Does it smell bad in here?" It was the equivalent of asking if a garbage truck in July smells bad.

To say Barbara was batshit crazy would be the understatement of the year. I'd say she was in her sixties, but it was hard to tell. My friend was trying to play with the dogs, see if she liked any of them. Barbara seemed to know nothing about any of them. She kept sneaking off to the one bedroom in the house to pull the dogs' files. The highlight was when my friend was bonding with one particular female dog, and Barbara started feeling around on the poor dog, saying, "I don't think she's pregnant, but I would want to do an x-ray to be sure." Another key moment was when we asked about the age of another dog, and Melissa looked at the dogs' teeth and said, "Definitely three to four years. Yes, two or three years. He's three. Exactly three."

Other highlights:
- When Barbara started browning some ground beef on the stove mid-visit.
- When a chihuahua made a jailbreak from the bedroom and came out wearing a spike collar and started growling at Ava.
-The dog that had lost an eye but not had the area sewn up. Gross.
-The dog that scaled a puppy gate like it was NBD.
-The husband that sat in the next room watching tv, surrounded by at least 4 dogs, all barking. The husband never spoke to us.

Needless to say, my friend did not rescue a dog from Barbara. It all felt too shady. But it made for quite an adventure.