The property next door…barbed thorn in the brain, stab in the eye, rip in the ear drums for almost two years now.  The place is once again vacant.  It’s a nice house, dark brown wood floors, 2 bedroom, 2 bath, mostly fenced and sets on an acre of land.  But the people that have rented aren’t nice people IMHO. 

When I left for Vegas early on the morning of the 5th to spend a few days watching the final table of the WSOP at the Rio, the cops visited that place that day.  My neighbor Amy had a visit from them too.  The cops had been called due to an ‘open door’ and the front door was definitely wide open when they got there.  Animal Control was called and two cats were taken out of the house, the house was locked back up with a tag on the door from animal control and another card from the Sheriff’s Office.

I arrived back out at home on the afternoon of the 10th.  I believe it was the following day that Amy and I went for an afternoon 2 mile stroll around the roads in our area and I asked her if she wanted to snoop out the house with me. We walked around and looked in the windows and the front window was open with a screen only to keep anything out but the odor was unfucking real.  Nothing but a scavenger would go tearing a hole in that screen.  An old shitty couch sat in the front room, along with some chairs, clothing strewn all over the floor, and along the west side of the house, countless bags of garbage had been heaped there and were starting to deteriorate and come apart, but intermingled with them is clothing, kid’s bikes, shoes, and an assortment of discarded life needs that one would think a family with four kids couldn’t afford to just throw away.

I called Joe, the owner, as we walked around the house, and told him about the gravity of the situation.  He was hellerly distressed and angry at the fact that he had painted and cleaned the house and he rented to a single mom with two kids that were 4-6 years old.  Only to find out a few weeks later that her mom and dad and more kids moved in.  I asked when he would be out because I was concerned for the open window.  He works at my old stomping grounds, Bellagio, and lives in Vegas and it’s difficult to get out here even on days off at times.  He didn’t know.

A few weeks went by and I called him again as I had a son that thought he might rent the place from him, Joe and I talked about it; he was still fuming over the house and the way his last two renters had treated him and we hung up.  Of course if you read here  you know that I have bitched about the renters over there and the continual in and out traffic at all hours of the day and night, the music, and the garbage mess they like to just toss out and figure the wind will carry away.

Amy and I went out for another walk, on the way back I asked her if she REALLY wanted to ‘snoop’ out the house with me.  She said “Yes!”  Yah…I did it when I first moved out to Pahrump – actually my sis and I did it.  We wanted to check out the house as it had a ‘for sale’ sign on it and we were curious.  The back door has an overly large dog door in it and it’s in bad shape so it’s quite easy to open the dog door and stick your hand inside to the door knob and simply unlock it.   Aw-w-w-w-w, come on, Joe knows I’ve done it, I told him.

What we saw inside, and smelled, was enough to kill your nose and your thought of ever having an appetite again…of course I’ve eaten since dipshit, it’s part of life.  Cat shit in parts of the house, mainly in the hallway on the rug by the back door, clothes everywhere, kid’s clothes, adult clothes, towels, shoes, one bedroom has two mattresses stacked on top of each other on the floor, the other has two mattresses stacked on top of each other on the floor and a small toddler bed, with more clothes strewn all over the floors, some toiletries in the bathrooms, water in the toilet bowels that show some signs of mineral stain but thankfully nothing human in them, hairy scary rugs on the floors (they had a good sized black dog too that the kids took out for walks), ugly dark fly paper hanging from the ceilings in two rooms filled with corpses, pop cans, bags with papers and books, plastic bowls and glasses on the floor and the counters, kid’s school bags filled with books and papers, the refrigerator was closed and all of it looks – ugh – but I’m sure it will spiff right up with some elbow grease, mold in the coffee pot, disposable diapers (get this, not dirty ones, unused ones laying in two piles, one on a bed, the other on the floor),  a glass topped dinette table that couldn’t have ever been washed since there’s no place that doesn’t have a smudge/smear on it, dinette chairs that look like they were the table and the kids ate off of them, a 40-60 gallon aquarium setting on the floor with about 4 inches of dark, stinky, scary water in it, and it goes, on and on and on.  The house stunk.  I got the front room window closed and we locked ourselves out of the back door, noting there were two keys on the breakfast counter.

I’ve had an itch in my brain since I moved out here that I would like to own that house, not in the condition that it’s in but still…the itch was planted quite some time ago.  I brainstormed up a rent to own and kept digging through all my brain farts to see how I could work it out.  I had talked to Joe previously about renting to own and he seemed to be open about the idea, especially after two years of two renters shafting him.  I called and left him a message that the front window was closed and we had gone in through the back, etc., etc., etc.  He called me back the next day – yesterday.  I ran through a plan with him.  He said, “OK!”  He’s in CA right now for the holidays and we will do some more workout matters and a contract and he’s helping me, I’m helping him.  I told him about the condition of the place and that I was willing to clean it all up and remove everything as part of my deal.  He was right on with it.

I called my sis and talked to her.  We didn’t talk long but she was OK with it.  By now I was sailing, this was a “YIPPPPPEEEE!” and my excitement meter was on high.  I hit town and got the power turned on, stopped to do a couple of things and made home.  I pinged Amy and asked her if she wanted to come over and check out my new house…always a curious sole, she jumped on it.

In we went through the back door again, careful to step over the cat shit and creepy rug and started looking over things as I explained to her what had taken place.

I picked up the keys and tried them in the door locks, they worked.  We were still scouting around to make sure nothing with power was plugged in or on and I pulled out the refrigerator and unplugged it and threw the remains of some jars and bottles into a garbage bag that was on the floor in the kitchen.  It looked like these people left one step ahead of the law – and like they were total pigs that never cleaned anything either.  The washer and dryer had nothing in them which was a shocker to me given the condition of everything else, the oven is another story.  *sigh*

On the breakfast bar was a notice dated the 3rd, from the power company, it was a termination of service that day.

For the first time, I really looked at the aquarium.  It had some horrible looking, used to be blue, gravel on one end, a kind of a plastic molded shelf that was laying just above the dark water, and that’s where a lot of the smell was coming from, almost an ammonia thing that bent your nose right through the back of your brain.  Then I saw the turtle shell at the bottom with part of it sticking from under the shelf.  It was good sized, but barely discernible due to the color of the water.  I did some, “Shit, there’s a turtle in there…dead I’m sure.”

Amy looked a moment and then discovered it too.  She had thought it might be rock or something.  We were both cursing the dipwads for leaving the turtle to die as we locked up and left the house.

A few hours went by and that turtle kept popping into my head.  I know some will burrow and do a hibernation type of thing and the more the thoughts kept tugging, the more I knew I’d not sleep that night if I didn’t go back and check.  I really was hoping it was dead.

I got my gloves and the key and went back.  The damned tank was heavy, even with only four inches or so of water in it and I slid it across the floor to the front door…AND THE TURTLE STARTED MOVING!  Ugh!  The front steps are of concrete and there are three of them.  I held my breath – partly due to smell, but partly due to trying to hang onto the tank and guide it gently down one step after another.  I went back to the coach and pinged Amy.  “HELP, the turtle’s alive.”

I had no idea how cold the water was in the tank and I had no water at that house since the power wasn’t on yet.  I filled a garden watering bucket with chilly, but not cold tap water, and went back, tipping up the tank and pouring the shower of water over rocks/gravel that had now slid down to the end where it was draining.  The reek was unreal as the fresh water washed some of the accumulation out of the rocks.  I went back for more water and Amy arrived.  She helped me lift the aquarium back into the house and I put more water into it, it took two trips to where I felt it was good.  Naw…the water wasn’t even close to clean but it was a little less murky and as good as it was going to get right then.  I put the creepy shelf thing back in the tank, and we left it for the night.

I was stressed out.  I can’t tell you how irritating it is to me that people mistreat animals and pets.  But then the fact that I would find this one and feel completely responsible to try and save it because someone else was a fucktard made me even unhappier at them.  I slept badly because the wind was doing it’s kick-ass-rock-and-roll-audition again and the turtle was still part of my mental condition.

Today found me going back to the house.  The turtle’s head was up, tucking down when I showed.  I called Amy.  She was in town and I asked her to go by the local ‘exotic’ pet shop with a gun shop in the back…yah…ain’t that cool.  She did and talked to someone that told her a certain type of pellet was good, she bought them and brought them out for me.  In the meantime, I got one part of the floor by a window that gets sun in the dining room swept and mopped with a water/vinegar mix, and I had a rubber maid dishpan with another plastic dishpan type that had a solid bottom but the sides are vented with holes about the size of a dime.  Perfect!  Wet paper towels, my handy gloves with Walmart bags over them, I stealthily reached in and took Mr. Survivor and put him the dishpan, placing the vented cover over the top and taping it in a few places to make sure the Survivor didn’t try to claw his way out while I dredged out his tank.

I did the magic drag again, down the steps and tipped the tank right off the edge and dumped the water and gravel out.  By now the power was on, the tank went out back with me to a faucet and hose I’d brought over and a 2 gallon jug of vinegar with a couple of raggedy-assed towels from the coach, I swabbed the hell out of the tank and rinsed it well.  The smell was gone.  Phew!!!!

After Amy got back from town, the tank went inside the house on another old towel from the coach and we put some water in and let it set for about 5 minutes to make sure the tank didn’t leak due to moving, etc.  And we picked up some stones from outside and I brushed them and rinsed them before putting them into the bottom.  Then came time to put Survivor back into the tank.  It went well or so it seemed, now if he’s dead tomorrow, I’ll know it didn’t go worth a shit.  I think the tank water may have been a little bit warmer than the cold, wet paper towels he was sitting on but honestly I don’t know.  When he got into the water, he was moving around, head out, and really active.  We put some of the pellets into the water and even witnessed him eat one of them.  We left him for the night.

More reading on the internet, I know he needs more water in the tank, although his back is almost covered, which means he needs more rocks in the tank, and that’s a tomorrow project before I head for Vegas for Bird Day.  How in the hell that turtle survived the last three weeks – and who knows what all else while he was under the care of the Animal Mistreaters, I have no idea.  I believe my son will take the Survivor to his home and Riot will get to spend four days a week with him…I hope so anyway.  I don’t want a turtle, if I wanted a pet, I’d find a 35 year old that had a day job and no baggage other than me.

The great turtle rescue isn’t over yet, but  I feel better about it all right now.

Happy Thanksgiving, Kids.  Please don’t mistreat your animals, don’t take one home if you don’t want to care for it, and if you’re going to kill it, do it quickly, don’t make someone else clean up for you.