Gone to the Dogs

When you live in an apartment, there are certain unspoken rules by which you live. Codes of common courtesy you extend automatically without having to be told up front that some things are just plain unacceptable. It's for this very reason that I choose not to run my washer or my dryer anytime after eight at night or before nine in the morning. And why I'm always telling KC to turn the TV down or to not clomp her way across the floor as if she is in a small herd of elephants on the way to the watering hole. I keep my space neat and clean, I park my car only in the spot I've been assigned, and my animals certainly don't cause any disruption whatsoever.

Unfortunately not everyone is as neighborly as I think they should be. Take for instance the guy who continually parks and allows his company to park in my assigned spot, and has even on more than one occasion blocked my car in with his own because it never occurred to him that I might have a need to go somewhere. This is also the same man who argues so loudly with his girlfriend - usually in the hallway outside their apartment - that I feel they might ask me to take sides at any moment to settle their debate as it's obvious I can hear each and every word. This fine gentleman is also the proud owner of dog # 1, creatively named D-O-G ( my, how clever) or as I've recently dubbed him Dog Shits A Lot, because boy blunder in the studio apartment doesn't quite have a handle of the whole poop and scoop method of taking care of his dog's waste. I've recently come to the conclusion that there is nothing worse then the smell of hot shit sitting in the sun.

But you can't fault the dog, or can you? Dog # 2 - the beagle breed downstairs in the apartment directly below mine suffers cruelly from separation anxiety and if his owners were ever home, they might be able to figure out that what their dog needs most is drugs... More than once I've considered taping a note on their door with just that suggestion:

Dear People With the Dog Who NEVER Stops Barking When You're Not Home...

Stay home, move or get your pet on drugs! Your dog has been howling for the past four hours. He doesn't stop. He's lonely. And he's getting on my nerves. He's cute, but seriously, the cuteness factor dropped down to nil just about the time I realized that he wasn't going to stop barking until you get home. If you're morally opposed to drugging your dog, consider a trade in... Give muttsy to someone who actually knows how
to care for a dog (somewhere that has open fields and fresh air) and get a hamster, a fish or a pet rock. If
I were you, I'd start with the rock and twelve step my way to a fish before moving on to the hamster...

Don't make me call the landlord!

The Neighbor Who Wishes You All Wouldn't Keep Putting Her In the Position to Be the BITCH And Is About to Go to Bed With a Pillow Over Her Head to Drown Out the Sounds of Your Dog