Dispatcher, The Return

The family emergency continues.


There I am, meticulously sharpening pencils, when someone, somewhere in the murky depths of Bugscuffle County requires emergency assistance!

*ring, ring*

“Bugscuffle 911, this is Deputy LawDog, what is your emergency?”

Long pause.

“Bugscuffle 911, what is your emergency?”

“I don’ wanna go-go jail.”

“Excuse me?”

Long pause.

“Honey, what’s your name?”


“Jenna, that’s a pretty name. My name is ‘Dog.”


“Jenna, how old are you?”

“I’m six and a haf’ years old.”

“I see. Now, Jenna, is there something wrong? Do you need help?”

“I don’ wanna go-go jail.”

“Okay. Why would you be going to jail?”

“Mommy says if I don’ eat kak-rots, I go-go jail.”

‘Kak-rot’? What the hell is a ‘kak-rot’? Fortunately the Sheriff — father, recent grandfather, hopefully fluent in Small Child — wanders by, coffee in hand.

“Boss,” I say, hand over the receiver mouthpiece, “What the hell is a ‘kak-rot’?”

He pauses, sipping meditatively, “It’s either orange-coloured rabbit-bait, or unlawful in twelve states — depending on the age of your caller.”

Oh. Carrot.

“Jenna, are you still there?”


“Jenna, we don’t arrest people for not eating their carrots.”

“Mommy said I go-go jail.”

“I understand that, honey, but sometimes Mommies get confused. You do need to eat your kak– carrots — because they’re good for you, though.”

“I no go-go jail?”

“No, honey, but you really do …”




I look over at the Sheriff, whose mustache is twitching as he counts the number of meticulously-sharpened #2 pencils embedded in the acoustic tile above my chair.

*ring, ring*

Sensing a great disturbance in the Force, I reach out and hit the ‘SPEAKER’ button.

“Bugscuffle 911, this is Deputy LawDog, what is your emergency?”

“Yes. I need to talk to the officer who just talked to my little girl.”

“If you’re Jenna’s mother, that officer would be me.”

“Yes, hello. Listen, I need you to tell Jenna you were wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m going to hand the phone to Jenna, so you can tell her you were wrong.”

“Is this about arresting your six-year-old for not eating her kak-rots?”

“Yes, now here she is…”

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”


“I’m not going to lie to your six year-old and threaten to throw her in jail for not eating her kak-rots.”

“Why not? Work with me here.”

“Madam, your daughter may need to talk to a police officer sometime. If I terrify her by telling her I’m going to throw her in jail for absolute bushwa, then all cops become the Boogeyman. Small children just don’t walk up to the Boogeyman and tell him about emergencies.”

“Now look here, buddy, I pay your salary.

“Yes, you do. You — personally — pay about two dollars and forty-five cents of my salary each year. Here’s your $2.45 worth: find a way of serving kak-rots that she likes.”

Long pause, faint sound remarkably similar to the grinding of teeth comes over the speaker, followed by a muffled, “Bubba! This smart-ass at the Sheriff’s sassing me!”

Bass rumble.

“Well, Jenna won’t eat … just want them … is all.”

New voice on the line:

“Now, see here, little girl, you better do what you’re told, or I’ll have your little ass fired, do you hear me? Me and the Sheriff is good friends, and if you want to keep your job, you’ll do what my wife tells you to. Now, here!”

I watch the Sheriff’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, as the faint sound of Jenna’s mother in the background says:

“Oh, it’s not that college girl. Its that foreign-sounding dude with the red hair.”

Long pause.

“You know, the one that always wears the black clothes. Put you in the Emergency Room with that busted head last Memorial Day rodeo? I swear, I don’t see how you could forget him, even if you were drunker than a waltzing pissant — he knocked you plumb out with that flashlight.”

Long pause. Sound of a cleared throat.

“Mr. ‘Dog?”

“Howdy, Bubba.”

“I think we’ve taken up enough of your time, Mr. ‘Dog.”

“Sheriff heard the whole thing, too, Bubba.”

“Umm … Howdy, Mr. Kenny.”

“Bubba,” says the Sheriff.

Long pause.

“I’ll just be going now.”

“‘Bye, Bubba.”


Our dispatchers really don’t get paid enough to put up with this.


Louisiana Congresscritter Indicted.
Compact fluorescent light bulbs

26 thoughts on “Dispatcher, The Return”

  1. Makes one wonder if maybe a talk with the little girl is warranted after all.

    With the truth.

    Or maybe Mommy Dearest needs some mag-light therapy:)


  2. Oh my, this rates up there with the scary Chuckie doll story … snort 🙂

  3. Of course, that one needs to go in the book we’re all beggin’ you for.

  4. Maybe they should try feeding her peas…that might go over better!

  5. Bwwhahahahahahahaha…whew[sound of sucking wind] Da– ‘Dog, that has me rollin on the floor darn near wettin’ myself…. For the Book, indeed.

  6. Some people should not be allowed to breed, and obviously Bubba and his wife are a great example of WHY.

    I feel for Jenna. She’s doomed.

    BTW, you handled the situation fantastic, LD. 🙂

  7. Great story. Here’s my question. Where do I sign up to be a dispatcher? It all sounds like hillarious fun.

    What’s the need to know basics?

  8. At one point in my career I was contemplating becoming a dispatcher for one of the local mid-size PDs. Stories like this make me wish that I had. As always superbly written.

  9. Dog,

    My fellow co-workers are now wondering why I’m ROFLMBO!!
    Thanks for the memories my Friend!!

  10. Well if that little gem wasn’t just the study break I needed! Too funny1

  11. It’s surprising how many folks think that threatening their kids with the police if they don’t do _____ is an OK parenting technique. I once witnessed a mother dragging her crying child across a parking lot, shoving him up in front of a police officer, and saying that she was going to turn him over to the police if he didn’t do whatever. (I missed the what, but this was a little kid barely old enough for school.)

  12. I like the “flip-side” story:
    The little tyke comes up to LawDog and says: “My mommie said if I needed help I could always ask a policeman.
    LD: Of course, sweety, how can I help?
    “Sweety” sticks out her foot and says could you tie my shoe, please?

  13. Hey Dog, Ever had a sprog hand you momma’s crack pipe/meth stash?

    Kids… ya never know when they are gonna bust ya….

  14. I thought that was pretty funny too. Not that I’d have wanted to be at Jenna’s parents’ house, but I’d have liked to have seen the look on Bubba’s face when he found out it wasn’t the college-age girl he was talking to. From either side, it really helps when you know up front who you’re dealing with.

  15. OK, just so I can correct my own possible ignorance here, I’m not supposed to call the police to get my daughter to eat her carrots, but can I call the cops on a homeless guy on the side of the street who threw a dog in front of a moving truck?

  16. “but can I call the cops on a homeless guy on the side of the street who threw a dog in front of a moving truck?

    In my opinion, you can just shoot the bastard. If I was the driver of the truck, I would shoot the bastard, or at least kick his ass. Maybe throw him in front of a truck?

    The world would be a better place. Some people just need shootin’

  17. That would certainly be justifiable homicide in my book, unfortunately society often does not follow my book, much to the dismay of all involved.

  18. More evidence of the great need to improve the gene pool. ROFL snort Mark C

  19. I needed this one today…been one of them glass ain’t half empty, its bone dry and broken days…

    But this made me laugh hard and long…thanks “Mr. Dog”. *8P

  20. This is pathetic Lawdog.

    I’ve read this three times and cracked up every single time. 🙂



    Jenna’s dad was a guy named Bubba?
    A guy who got his head cracked by Lawdog?
    EtOH involved?
    With a MagLight?

    Was this . . . . was this “THE Bubba?” Of “Don’t make me hurt you, Bubba” fame?

  22. Too funny…as a dispatcher and EMT in a little country one horser I understand this call all too well!! Crazy how parents threaten with the use of emergency personel not thinking of the lingering fears of the uniform.

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