Followup to the woman who had 100 children

I was pleasantly surprised to come across this post earlier today. As it turns out, my parents were old family friends of Ninety and her children, and I have an anecdote or two to share about their dog This. (The other post wasn't entirely accurate – me and a few of the neighborhood kids actually knew about This, and I still remember him, though I'm not Ninety's kid.)

Now, This was a mischievous little dog, and as the other post mentioned, me and Ninety's kids had a hell of a time hiding him from Ninety. That dog was always causing messes and getting into trouble, and it was really all we could do to keep her from being discovered by Ninety. Still, Ninety's kids loved This and often enlisted my help in keeping her from Ninety.

Anyways… One time, I was over at Ninety's kids' house, playing with them in the living room while Ninety was in her study.

Now, for a bit of context to this story: Ninety was a landlady, and this was around the time of the housing bubble, which meant that Ninety was stressed a lot. Around when this happened, she had just bought a new property a bit hastily, and had just gotten word that the property might not have been liveable. Understandably, this upset Ninety quite a bit, and she was waiting for the results of an inspection of the property to see what the damage was.

Because of this, Ninety had told us kids to keep quiet that day. Of course, keeping This under control had been a difficult task and made quite a bit of noise. I could tell Ninety was irritated already, and though I did my best to help keep This quiet, whenever I was over she always blamed the loud noises we made chasing after This on me. I remember worrying Ninety might not let me hang out with her kids anymore.

Anyways, the kids and I had just gotten back from playing outside. Or at least, that's what we'd told Ninety – we'd actually been looking for This, who ran away from home often. We'd found her in a neighbor's garden tangled in some plants, snout covered in purple stains that made it apparent that she'd been eating berries. We were worried because This looked like she might have been sick, so we brought her inside to see if we could help her. Ninety was on the phone in her study (likely to be in there all day dealing with her new property) and for once This didn't look like she was going to run around the house, so we weren't too worried that bringing her inside would cause any trouble.

Boy, were we wrong. Turns out the berries that This had eaten weren't good for dogs, and as she was lying down in the study, she hurled up a big purple mess. Just as she did so, the doorbell ring. We panicked – if Ninety came to answer the door, she'd go past the living room, so thinking quickly I shouted that I'd answer the door instead. The kids started cleaning the mess in the meantime.

At the door was Old Sam, our local maintenance man and resident old coot. Now, Old Sam was old, obviously – the kind of guy who called all the neighborhood kids "sonny" or "son" or such. He'd sometimes be grouchy and we often didn't help with our pranks and shenanigans, but at the end of the day the neighborhood kids and I liked him well enough. (We particularly found his old-coot swearing funny – Sam often rambled on about those "bastards" he fought in the war, called dogs "bitches", that sort of thing, and though the parents had often tried to ask Sam to keep his language modern, old Sam was, as he often reminded us, "forgettin' shit all the time.")

Anyways, Sam was here to deliver the report on Ninety's new property. One of Sam's many skills as the maintenance guy for the area was a safety inspector – he went around to houses and properties, and evaluated them for property damage and the like. He was actually the one who first heard the Ninety's property might have had problems, and as a favor to her went there and did a full report. Though I didn't mean to, I caught a glimpse of the report as Sam came in – there was red highlighting everywhere.

Anyways, Sam came inside and I led him over to wait for Ninety outside her study, making sure the door to the living room was closed as we went past. As Sam sat down to wait for Ninety, he told me about the report.

Oh man. Ninety's new house was a nightmare – it had major structural defects, not to mention faulty plumbing, bug infestations and a ton of other complications. There were 9 issues in total, all of which were very expensive to fix and meant the house would likely just be demolished.

This, of course, meant Ninety would be furious. I furrowed my brow as Sam told me this, worried that between this and the dog barf in the living room, Ninety was going to take out her troubles on me, and forbid me from hanging out with her kids anymore.

Noting my worried expression, Sam asked me, "What's the matter, sonny?" We were still waiting for Ninety to get off the phone in the other room. Cranky as he was sometimes, Sam had a soft spot when it came to us kids and our shenanigans, and even when he caught us rulebreaking never told our parents. (In all probability, Sam forgot most of the shit we did anyways.)

Sam was also one of the few other people who knew about This, and about how we'd been keeping him from Ninety.

So I told Sam about how we'd found This and how she'd eaten our neighbor's berries. I told him about how annoyed Ninety was today, how our antics often made a lot of noise that she thought was my fault, and how if she found out about This she'd probably say I could no longer hang out with her kids. I even told him about how This had just hurled in the living room, and that the kids were cleaning it up right now.

By the time I got done with my story, Ninety was off the phone, and called Sam into the study. Sam stood up and got his report ready for Ninety. He looked over at me, and patting my head fondly, told me: "If you're having hurl problems, I feel bad for you, son. I got Ninety nine problems, but a bitch ain't one."