No Good Reason

Posted on by
1

Sometimes you can’t really think of a good reason why you did something until after the fact.

Last night, for example.

I was sitting on the couch, eating dinner and wondering why I hadn’t gone over to the Blogger Happy Hour. I had no good reason not to go. Dizzy Issie’s is six minutes away and is one of our usual go-to places. Not exactly outside of my comfort zone. But I stayed in and didn’t really know why.

Then the screaming started.

It was coming from the alley right behind our house and it wasn’t kids. It wasn’t a booze-infused lovers quarrel like you sometimes get. It was my next door neighbor and she was screaming in abject terror.

She had been taking her dog on its nightly walk, with her husband and 10 month old by her side. As they made their way up the alley, a pit bull jumped its backyard fence and attacked her dog. By the time I made it out to the back yard, the pit bull’s jaw was firmly locked on the neighbor-dog’s neck and, I’m sure now, It wasn’t going to let up until neighbor-dog was no more. Without thinking, I was halfway out the gate about to dive in to the fight when I realized that, even if I pulled the pit bull off, when it came free it was still going to be hot for blood and now it was either going to choose me, my neighbors, or their 10 month old. None of those were attractive options to me. So, I ran back to the house, dialed up my friends at 911, and went back outside. When I returned to the alley, the pit bull’s owner was out there and used some sort of Jedi mind trick to separate the dogs. The neighbors piled in to their car and took off to the Veterinary ER.

And the cops? The cops took 20 minutes to arrive. No wait, they took 20 minutes to arrive after our 2nd 911 call. Total wait time from the 1st call until a cop was on my stoop? About 45 minutes. Baltimore finest, indeed.

We talked to the cops and gave a statement on behalf of our neighbors who were still at the pet ER. They talked to the pitbull owner who didn’t want to get sued was very apologetic and admitted that his negligence momentary distraction was what caused his dog to be unsupervised in the back yard.

Through talking with other neighbors over the course of last night, it seems like the house is a pit bull breeding factory/fighting arena. “Animal Control is well aware of that house” one neighbor told me. Consensus on the block is that no humans actually live there, they just stop by to (very rarely) feed the dogs. Sometimes they fight the dogs in the basement, sometimes they take them elsewhere for a fight.

I’m sickened by this and don’t know what I can do other than keep my eyes open and the number for Animal Control close by. (And, God forbid, call 911 again if I need to).

Later, as we were finishing up last night’s Lost (thank you inventor of the DVR and it’s fine, fine, pause button) the neighbors returned. Their dog was ok. A puncture wound in the ear and a scraped and bruised neck, but otherwise no worse for the wear – well, physically speaking.

As we stood there and recapped and talked until we knew we were all ok, their normally-effervescent dog calmly padded around their backyard munching grass; its tail tucked between its legs.

DST, Fightin’ an Old Lady, and Fried Chicken

Posted on by
Reply

Am I getting old?

I don’t think I partied like a rock star this weekend, and yet Saturday’s game-day festivities combined with daylight savings time have me almost totally exhausted.

Yes, that’s right. My ass. Kicked. By Daylight Savings Time.

I am almost too embarrassed to write that.

Friday turned out to not be the balls-to-the-wall going out and getting wasted that it was rumored to be which, in all honesty, I was totally fine with. What it was was an evening of pizza and beer and a warm cozy house filled with laughter. Good times.

Saturday started pretty doggone early, but by design of course. We made it down to kegs ‘n eggs in Federal Hill by 7:30 or so, and I had my 1st beer in hand by about 8. Much good food, many friends, and a looong game of cups later it was time to head over to the stadium and watch the Notre Dame-Navy game.

Luckily, Notre Dame won thus extending their Navy-beating streak to (I think) 43 years and ensuring that I wouldn’t be considered a jinx on their good luck. It was a fun, if windy time in which there were only about 5 minutes where I was considering starting a fight with an elderly woman.

But, honestly, Emily didn’t mean to spill some beer down the back of the lady in front of us and was completely, totally, and sincerely apologetic about the incident. Moreover, the lady was wearing a fundamentally waterproof windbreaker, the likes of which I bet deckhands on merchant ships in the North Sea would be happy to get their hands on. What set me off was when Spilled-On-In-Technicality-Only turned to Emily and said, in a voice that sounded exactly like a yellow sour patch kid tastes, “Well, do you at least have a napkin or something?” In my head, I vaulted over the seat and pile-drove the crone down in to the Club Level. What I said was “Oh, no, I’m sorry we don’t. We didn’t exactly plan for this to happen, you know.” She looked at me, killed me with her eyes, and turned around; nevermore to rotate in our direction. And I? I chalked it up as yet another Victory.

Anywho, after the game, we went back to the site of the earlier kegs ‘n eggs and I, being the hard core, go-get-em, party guy I am – well, I passed out on the couch. And then, later, was in bed by about 9:30.

So Saturday kind of wiped me out and then this whole time change thing through me off and now my body doesn’t know where, when, or anything else.

I do know two things though: I just got a new game for the PS2 which kicks all kinds of ass. And also I am going to attempt to make fried chicken for dinner later this week and am turbo excited about that. I just made up my own recipe too.

We’ll see how it goes. Ok, officially, this is easily the most disjointed post I’ve seen today.

You’re welcome.

Medical Diagnosis: Warm, Muddy Badger

Posted on by
Reply

In case you’re wondering, which I know you are, this is exactly how I feel:

I feel like someone has taken a badger, warmed it slightly, dipped it in muddy water and shoved it up my nose. This badger, being an ornery sort, will occaisionally reach down my throat and draw one razor-sharp claw along the back of my esophogus. (esophagus? esophogas?)

The shower seems to help, what with the hot water and the relaxation and the steam and whatnot, but I can’t really stay in there all day. People would start to wonder what was going on and I bet my boss would be less than understanding.

Besides, I’d get all pruney.