It was probably at least 10 to 15 years ago, but I will never forget it. I was appraising a home near the San Diego/Tijuana border, and as I drove down the street I was thinking, “Wow, this is a nice neighborhood,” and then I saw the house I was appraising. It was every neighbor’s nightmare! I said to myself, “The woman sounded nice on the phone…” The door was answered by a man in his 40s, and I explained to him that I need to measure the outside before I came in. As I was in the backyard, he appeared with a Doberman Pinscher on a spike collar with a short chain leash. He told me not to approach the dog, to which I said, “No problem.” The backyard was filled with holes he said the dog had dug trying to get to the neighbor’s dog.
When I entered the house, the stairs were right at the front door with the living and dining room to my left, which was filled from floor to ceiling with stuff. You couldn’t really even see the room. The kitchen was so dirty, the floor was black except where people had walked and the stove, sink and counters were just as bad. The 1st floor half bath was filled with pornography and the sink was black except where the water hit it. The family room was also filled with pornography and the fireplace was being used as a beer can recycling center. The garage had the largest freezer I’d ever seen at a residential property. I keep telling myself, “Do not appear scared, dogs sense fear and Dobermans are known as silent killers, they attack with no forewarning.”
It was now time to go upstairs. At the top of the stairs, the husband, who looked like Jerry Garcia, was sitting at a desk in a bedroom filled with more stuff. Then the wife appeared, who had long grey hair down to her knees and showed me the master bedroom. There was a large red stain on the carpeting next to the bed—and I mean large. The master bathroom was just as dirty as the rest of the house. Then another bedroom door opened and another son in his 40s appeared with another Doberman with a spike collar on a short leash. His room was also filled with pornography. My mind was racing, “Keep calm.” Then believe it or not, the last bedroom door opened and—you guessed it—another son with a Doberman appeared. I thought, “This is it, no one will ever hear from me again. They are going to put me in the attic and then I’ll end up in the freezer.” I kept my cool, at least on the outside, and finished my inspection.
Afterwards, I sat in my car and thanked the lord for letting me get out of there! Since then, I always carry pepper spray on my clipboard.
