Are the best damn dogs, ever.
Here's a map to help explain my story:
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| Don't be jealous of my mad skillz. |
Also, the dog shits everywhere.
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So, in the mornings, when I'm shorter on time, instead of walking the girls to the street and then down the road, I cut directly behind all of the townhouses and go straight to the poopie place. It's a big field/overgrown field/rarely used area and I feel less obligated to go searching for their poop to dispose of it properly. I know, horrible mom.
And I am so fucking proud of them.
They immediately pinned this dog. Normally, yeah, you want your dog to be friendly to other dogs. But a loose dog with unknown intentions? Pin that motherfucker. Dominate. Protect your mom and your sister. They never bit him (I don't think) and they immediately released him when I asked them to. He stayed cowering against the fence with Scarlette giving him the stink eye. He easily weighs over twice what she does and she's missing all four of her canines, but the bitch has moxie. Ugh. Love that dog.
By this time, the owner has run over to get the dog. And I have immediately lapsed into an anxiety attack. He was very polite, as I was bent over, hyperventilating and crying, and asked several times if he could get help for me. Savannah stayed right next to me, leaning into me, whining and licking.
His woman (girlfriend? wife?) walks over, her arm in a sling. Instead of doing what any rational person would do and asking the woman bent over, leaning on her dog, crying and wheezing, if she's okay... she asks her fellow if he beat me, too. And then proceeds to start screaming about how he broke her arm and she's going to tell everyone. Their following shitshow was so amazing.
He immediately grabbed his dog and took Freddy back home and the screams down there continued. More screaming about him beating her. Her broken arm. And a slap. I didn't want to go anywhere near them, but by this time I was already behind schedule (or, on my normal late schedule) so I really had no choice. And I was still a little fucked up*, anyways. As I walk by them, they're doing this strange walk around his truck. Like keep away, almost. He finally gets in the driver side, locks it, and then she tries to open the driver's side door. When it won't open, she starts screaming and beating the glass. He starts to drive. She then grabs things out of the bed and starts banging shit against the side of the truck.
And then I went inside.
When I left for work, they were no longer there.
*Panic/anxiety attacks are a giant pain in the ass. I have medication (which I took afterwards) to help, but if I don't know that shit like this is going to happen, I'm then just pretty screwed. Everyone has different triggers. Mine tend to do a lot with my dogs or Archie or D. The websites tend to say that the person thinks they're having a heart attack. I've never thought that. My heart pounds, I can't breath, and I can't see a way out of it. It's like watching from the outside. I know whatever triggered it isn't a big deal, but by then, my body has taken over and I'm just along for the ride.
Post attack, I feel like I've run miles. Miles and miles. My body is weak and tired. My legs shake. I'm incredibly prone to continue crying for no apparent reason or over things that are relatively petty. (Like, I started crying when Savannah looked at me.) Essentially, my energy is wiped out for the day and my brain functions at a slower pace. I don't know if it's like that for everyone, but that's me.
.JPG)
So, in the mornings, when I'm shorter on time, instead of walking the girls to the street and then down the road, I cut directly behind all of the townhouses and go straight to the poopie place. It's a big field/overgrown field/rarely used area and I feel less obligated to go searching for their poop to dispose of it properly. I know, horrible mom.
I'm also a horrible morning person. I would sleep until at least eight every day and then slowly roll out. In stead, I cram the necessities into about half an hour and then haul ass to give Archie his beet pulp and check on him. And by then, I'm usually late for work.
This morning, I'm actually running a few minutes ahead of schedule. I get the girls out of the apartment at about 7:10, have safely made it by the douche's, and am in the poopie place. Then I hear, "Frrrreeeeeddddyyyy!" bellowed from behind. I turn, and that American bulldog is barreling towards my girls.
And I am so fucking proud of them.
They immediately pinned this dog. Normally, yeah, you want your dog to be friendly to other dogs. But a loose dog with unknown intentions? Pin that motherfucker. Dominate. Protect your mom and your sister. They never bit him (I don't think) and they immediately released him when I asked them to. He stayed cowering against the fence with Scarlette giving him the stink eye. He easily weighs over twice what she does and she's missing all four of her canines, but the bitch has moxie. Ugh. Love that dog.
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| Savannah |
And this is where the story gets weird.
His woman (girlfriend? wife?) walks over, her arm in a sling. Instead of doing what any rational person would do and asking the woman bent over, leaning on her dog, crying and wheezing, if she's okay... she asks her fellow if he beat me, too. And then proceeds to start screaming about how he broke her arm and she's going to tell everyone. Their following shitshow was so amazing.
He immediately grabbed his dog and took Freddy back home and the screams down there continued. More screaming about him beating her. Her broken arm. And a slap. I didn't want to go anywhere near them, but by this time I was already behind schedule (or, on my normal late schedule) so I really had no choice. And I was still a little fucked up*, anyways. As I walk by them, they're doing this strange walk around his truck. Like keep away, almost. He finally gets in the driver side, locks it, and then she tries to open the driver's side door. When it won't open, she starts screaming and beating the glass. He starts to drive. She then grabs things out of the bed and starts banging shit against the side of the truck.
And then I went inside.
.JPG) |
| Scarlette |
When I left for work, they were no longer there.
*Panic/anxiety attacks are a giant pain in the ass. I have medication (which I took afterwards) to help, but if I don't know that shit like this is going to happen, I'm then just pretty screwed. Everyone has different triggers. Mine tend to do a lot with my dogs or Archie or D. The websites tend to say that the person thinks they're having a heart attack. I've never thought that. My heart pounds, I can't breath, and I can't see a way out of it. It's like watching from the outside. I know whatever triggered it isn't a big deal, but by then, my body has taken over and I'm just along for the ride.
Post attack, I feel like I've run miles. Miles and miles. My body is weak and tired. My legs shake. I'm incredibly prone to continue crying for no apparent reason or over things that are relatively petty. (Like, I started crying when Savannah looked at me.) Essentially, my energy is wiped out for the day and my brain functions at a slower pace. I don't know if it's like that for everyone, but that's me.
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2 comments
Oh man I am so sorry :( People really never cease to amaze me... freaky how your neighbor has no common sense! I feel bad for the dog too that he has to live in that crazy of an environment.
ReplyDeleteKudos to your girls for handling the situation so well! Their mom must have raised them well :)
I hope you have a good day at work!
Thanks, girl! Before he moved in, there was another one. I think I'm a magnet for stupid men with large, intact dogs. :)
DeleteAnd thanks for the compliments to the girls. I'm pretty OCD about their training: sits to eat, to go outside, to put on and take off leashes, to get petted. So, occasionally, it's in my favor. :)
Thanks!