The Tale of the Three Legged Dawgs

This is an amusing but true tale, based on my encounterrs with some unusuaal wildlife living near a
chemical plant in these great United States. I thought it fun to commeemorate it as a lettterbox, hidden
somewherre on Pyraamid Mountaiin in Boonton, NJ. You willl need to capitalize what appear to be a
bearing.

As a chemical engineer I am often sent by my employer to chemiical plantss nationwide in an effort to

make them run more efficientlly, in a more environmentaally desirable fashion
n (less pollution) and a more
profitable fashion. For good corporate steward
ds such as my employer, these objectives offten dovetail
nicely.

Back in Marrch 2007 I was visiting one of our sites in the heartland to lead a plant trial to immprove
efficiency and reduce emissions from the plant. The trial had only begun and we decided that it wo ould be
a good time to grab some luunch. We were leaving the plant and I noticed d that the Safeety Shoemobile was
parrked out in front. My employer provides any qualified employee with a new pair of Safetty Shoes (steel
toed) on a periodic basis so that wee can be as safe as possible whenn we either enter a lab or a prodduction
facility. Other good companies in the industry have similar po olicies to ensure the safety of their
employeees. Well, as it turns out, the Safety Shoes that I was wearing that particular day were approachin ng
5 years old and were getting kind of rippe. So, I asked my boss if I could get a new paair and he was fine
with that.

We get bacck from lunch and my boss goees into the plant and I head for the Shoemobile to choosse a new
pair and make a purchase. I was trying on some diffferent pairs when I noticed that a dog was trying to get
in the trailer. It was what appeared to be a generic dog with creamy white fu ur, except that it was missing
its right frront leg. It was a three legged dog. I menttioned it to the Shoemobile salesman (now known as
the Shhoemobile Guy) that hee had a three legged dog trying to get into his Shoemobile.

He turrned to me and says “Well, lookit thatt, a three legged dawg!”

I replied “It sure is, but he seems to

o be doing all right hopping around on on
ne front leg like that. It’s not
like hee’s in any sort of pain.”

“Yep, he sure looks like he’s doing alright! Maybe he smells my lunchbox
x!”

So we shooed the three legged dog away and I continued picking out some new safetty shoes.

A few minutes pass and the three legged dog is back, although he seems to have lost some weight and his
fur waas shorter. I blinked, trying to remember what the three legged dog looked like when I saw another
three legged dog hopping around outside the trailer. After a couple moments of thought, I realizzed that
there were two three legged dogs hanging around the Shoeemobile – the original one about 30 feet away
and this new one hopping around at the base of the laddder leading to the Shoemobile. They both were
missing the same right front leg.

I pointed this out to the Shoemobile guy and he exclaimed “Hoo-wee, now there is something you do not
see every day! Two thrree legged dawgs!!”

“And they are missing the samee right front leg!” was my reesponse. “It seems really weird that two nearly
identtical dogs would be missing the same right front leg! We are at a chemical plant, maybe there is
someth hing in the water here!”
(On a side note – Indigo Vulture thinks that the right front leg may bee this is the best tasting part of a
dawg and that the locals know that!)

“Could be – you’ve heard about Love Can nal and all those superfund sites, so maybe there is something
weird in the water here,” replieed the Shoemobile guy.

Well, we shoo the two three-legged dawgs (may as well get into the local vernacular), and I get ready to
pay for my shoees. Just then a tanker truck arrives at the plan
nt, delivering some solvent. The three-legged
dawgs try to slip p into the plant, but the Guaardhouse Guy manages to shoo them away so that the tanker
trucck can safeely enter the plant.

I proceed to pay for the shoes and as I wish the Shoemo obile Guy a nice day a pickup truck with another
dawg in the bed comes pullling up to where the three-legged daawgs are hanging out. A larrge guy gets out
and opens up the tailggate and triees to lift one of the three-legged dawgs into the bed of the pickup trruck,
but the dawg in the truck bed is geetting in thee way. Unlike the three-legged dawgs, he is black and had
fo
our legs. I asked the Pickup Guy if the three-legged dawgs are his an nd he mentions that they belong to
his neighborr and that he has to come to the plant every so often to piick them up. His neig ghbor works here
and he lets the dawgs roam and they tend to miss him and want to come visitt him. He finally gets th he
dawgs loaded into the bed and drivees off.

When n I check back into the plantt, I ask the folks of the gateh
house about the three-legged dawgs. They
told me that theiir owner works at the plant I supporrt and that they miss him during the day and try to visit
him. A couple timees, they even got into the plant and wandeered down to the unit he is respon nsible for.
Then they have to go call the neighbor and he comes and gets the dawgs and brings them home. They
mentioned the co-workers name and I mentioned that I work with the same plant and I’d let him know
that his daawgs came by to visit him. Pretty much everybody in a chemical plant has some sort of
nicknamee and in this case, the operator’ss nickname is Gizmo. Don’t ask me how he got it.

So, I head down to the plant, amused by the whole three-legged dawg sittuation, and pondering whether
there really is something in the water! My more logical half thinks that maybe there was some sort of
coincidental accidents. After a few minutes, I arrive and head into the control room and ask my co-
worker about his dawgs.

“Hey Gizmo, have you got a couple dawgs with three legs?”

“Yes, I do. They sometimees try to come to the plant to visit me because the miss me. Did they try to get
in again?” replied Gizmo.

“I think so, if they were kind of white and were missing the same right front leg. The guard housee guy
called your neighbor to come pick theem up. He put them in the back of hiss truck and he took them
home.”

“Yep, that’s the drill. They come here, we call, and he co omes and gets ‘em! We like to let them run free
because they can usuallly find their ways home, but sometimes they end up here, especially when I am on
days. It kind of breaks their spirrit to be cooped up all the time and I let them run free because I care about
how they feel.”

“Hey Giz, did your dawgs git out again?!” came a catcall from onee of operators on the control panel.
Obviously, the rest of the operatorrs think this is pretty funny as well.
“Yeah, but my neighbor came and got ‘em.”

I asked Gizmo o as to why the dawgs were missing their legs, still half-thinking it was something in the
water, but Gizmo told me that the dawgs had been involved in separate acccidents where they got hit by
cars. I guess that they were roaming around the town where this took k place and kind of tried to beat some
traffic or some such. Gizmo mentioned that for one of the dawgs, he really was not in much pain, but had
lost all sensation in the leg and that it was better to have it amputated, rather than have it get in the way or
in some way hurt the dawg further. They dawgs do all right, and that is the basic theme that a dawg with
three legs can do all right if they are loved by their owners.

That concludes this short, but true story. The stamp for the letterbox whose clue is somehow w hidden in
this tale has the ziip code of the town wh here the talle took placee. If you caan tell me thiis town’s name, you
can ask me for a hin nt/clue for solving
g one of my otther morre challenging mysteery boxees.

Happy Hunting,

Lightnin’ Bug