The puppy and the steering wheel

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On Thursday night, I went to an injury crash involving a parked car on a busy residential street in the central part of the city. When I got there, I saw the driver sitting on the curb with fire personnel. His right eye was purple and swollen shut like Rocky Balboa after 15 rounds with Apollo Creed.

I looked at the scene and could tell the driver was northbound when he veered to the right and hit a parked truck.

I also saw a woman sitting on a retaining wall with a small dog in her arms about ten feet away from the driver. I dind’t pay attention to her because I thought she was one of the many onlookers, who were standing around and watching the show.

After the fire guys were done, I walked up to the driver and asked him what happened. With quivering lips he said, “I had my puppy on my lap.”

I looked back at the woman with the dog and realized the driver’s four-legged passenger must’ve had a rough ride.

The driver said, “My puppy put his head through the steering wheel. I pulled his head out and then tried to swerve away from the truck.”

After the driver was done telling me how the collision occurred, I said, “Doggone it.”

The joke hand grenade was in the air waiting for the driver to get it, but he never did. At least Noggie, who was standing next to me, got it.

After I was done with the interview, the driver sat on the curb and called someone. While he was on the phone, his voice changed and he became upset. I could tell from the conversation that the person on the other end didn’t believe his puppy story.

At one point he said, “I wasn’t fucking texting! The dog was on my lap and he stuck his head in the steering wheel!”

He was in the middle of his argument when I walked over to him and said, “If it makes you feel better, I believe you.”

He looked up at me with the most sincere look and said, “Thank you.”

My gut feeling told me he was telling the truth. Plus, his story was so crazy it was believable. It was the least I could do for the poor guy because his eye really did look like Rocky Balboa’s after a beat down.

You just can’t make this stuff up.

Picasso and his ice cream

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The other night, I responded to a crash and found a car in them middle of the intersection with front end damage and fluid splashed everywhere. There was a man, a woman and a dog from the crashed car waiting at the corner.

The woman, who was in her 20s, was injured and was sitting on the curb with her dog Picasso. He was small and had fur as white as snow. Even though his fur was white, I noticed his head had a Pepto Bismol pink tint to it.

Was this a new doggie hair style? I had to ask his owner.

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It turned out Picasso and his owners went out for a snack that night. He got his own cup of vanilla ice cream, which he enjoyed in the backseat of the car. His owner was in the front passenger seat with a large bowl of strawberry ice cream.

That’s when a truck made a left turn in front of them and they broadsided it. The strawberry ice flew into the air and got everywhere, including on Picasso.

Poor Picasso got a double whammy that night. He was in a car accident and got a strawberry ice shower at the same time. In all my years of working traffic, this was my first case of a dog with a pink hairdo from flying ice cream.

Thanks for the pictures Picasso.

“It wasn’t me”

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Our cat’s name is Jasper and she has a thing for straws. We have no idea when her infatuation for straws started, but if one is out, she’ll get it. Once she has a straw, she’ll carry it around the house in her mouth. We think she’s part dog.

Yesterday, I went to the drive-thru to get some food at my daughter’s request. Right before we left, the cashier handed me three straws. We went home and I put them on the kitchen table.

My daughter and I ate and used two of the straws for our drinks. My son was at school at the time so I I left one straw on the table. After I was done eating I left to pick him up.

When we got home I told him about the food and where his drink and straw were. A minute later my son told me there wasn’t a straw on the table.

“We brought you a straw. It’s on the table,” I told him.

“I looked. It’s not there.”

I walked over to the table and looked for it because I assumed he was being lazy. I looked everywhere, but there was no straw. Where could it be? That’s when I heard the cat doing something around the corner.

I walked to the family room and guess what I found? The cat looking at me with an innocent look and my son’s straw on the floor.

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