0720 hrs. -- I've been here before and I didn't like it. At least, now, the poor woman has died and is free from the filth and emotional wasteland that was her home. Such is often the case when your caregivers are addicts...
All the adult members of the family are out on the porch, drinking cheap vodka straight from the plastic, gallon bottle. Walking up the long, winding ramp to the trailer's front door, I'm met by the family dog. The anxious and aggressive pit bull is barking ferociously. Someone, out on the deck, yells at the animal from twenty feet away, but the dog pays no attention and stands its ground. Clearly, no one is going to get up to handle the dog for me.
Okay, deep breath. It's time to draw upon the power of The Dog Whisperer. I quickly remember his mantra... "exercise, discipline and affection". Shit! Wrong mantra. I don't think I have the time for exercise, discipline and affection. Okay, got it. It's "no touch, no talk, no eye contact".
Head up, shoulders back, I walk past the territorial pit bull and just hope that it doesn't bite me in the ass. I briefly greet the members of the "cocktail party" and enter the mobile home. Safe at last. All alone with poor, dead Sally in the midst of almost, unbelievable squalor.
Twenty minutes pass...
I'm done with my reports and computer work and am now just waiting for the funeral home to arrive. Outside, the pit bull is acting up again and the party goers, resenting the interruption to their witty repartee, open the door to the trailer and kick the dog inside. With me. Alone.
I recall the "mantra" that served me so well before and at a time like this, it can't hurt to pray either... "Hail Cesar, full of calm assertiveness. Blessed are you among frustrated humans with bad doggies..."