This morning, for no reason at all, I woke up at precisely 5:02 a.m. I tossed around in bed for a few minutes, figured out I was a little hot, threw my blanket to the foot of the bed, realized the ceiling fan was only on medium, got up and put it on high, crashed back into my bed, and swore that out of the corner of my eye I saw a black cat walk by. It totally freaked me out, because I don't own a black cat. Just a brown-nosed pussy dog, but that's another story. Reminding myself that I am 27 and not 7, I chalked it up to my mind playing tricks on me and tried to go back to sleep.
Ten minutes later, through my open bedroom windows, I heard "POPPOPPOPPOPPOP. POPPOP. POPPOPPOPPOPPOP." I knew immediately it was gunshots. Less than a minute after that, I heard a car speeding down my street, the engine struggling to keep up with the tires.
Funny thing is, I didn't do anything about it. I didn't pick up my phone and call 911; I didn't run across the hall to Jane's bedroom and tell her what I had heard. I just lied in bed, trying to tell myself that the noise was just some kids playing with firecrackers at 5:15 on a Wednesday morning in April, but knowing that somewhere in my neighborhood, somebody just got shot ten times.
About ten minutes later, the police came. There weren't any sirens or flashing lights. The only way I knew they were there was because I could hear the dispatchers from their radios. I went to the window and made a tiny opening between the blinds, but I couldn't see the police. Instead, I saw a couple of young black men walking purposefully down the sidewalk, away from the area of the police and towards H Street. One had dreads and a sleeveless shirt and kept looking behind him. The other was tall with a long stride and stared straight ahead. Not far behind them was another young man, walking in the same direction and rolling a blunt. I knew they weren't killers. They were just young men trying to make a living on the corner of 9th and I at 5:15 a.m. on Wednesday morning in April, and they were forced to take a little break on account of the police being called to the scene of a shooting.
Finally, about 20 minutes later, I fell back asleep. I woke up at 8 a.m., an hour and a half later than I should have, threw on my skirt and black Ann Taylor cardigan set, and tore my room apart looking for the pair of nude Leggs I bought yesterday which appear to have gotten up and walked away. Finally ready to go, I walked out into the bright April morning and made my way to the bus stop, my iPod blasting an acoustic Esthero jam into my ears.
It's amazing how different the world is at 5:15 a.m. than it is at 9:00 a.m.
Showing posts with label the hood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the hood. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Saturday, March 24, 2007
runnin' through the ghetto
Today is the National Marathon. I didn't know it until I woke up this morning and it was all over the news, and all of the sudden, I saw my neighborhood on t.v. Turns out that as part of the H Street Revitalization Movement, the last two miles of the marathon are through my hood.
Being the novice runner that I am, I felt compelled to get dressed and go outside and cheer them on, especially when the newscaster was like "It's the spectators that are on H Street that are really helping these runners get through the last two miles." So I went outside at 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and screamed and clapped at each runner who went by. It was fun. I yelled things like "Go 'head girl!" and "Welcome to H Street!" and "Lookin' good! You're almost there!" and "22 miles down! Wooooo!"
There were hundreds of H Street residents on the sidewalks acting as spectators. You could tell which ones were the newer residents and which ones have lived here for decades. The new ones, like me, were cheering. The long-time residents, those who lived in this area and saw it under siege during the riots of '68 and called it home despite the violent reputation it maintained for years, stood there baffled. I caught a piece of a conversation between two long-time residents that I think summed up their sentiment: "They got these people runnin' through the ghetto."
Ghetto or no ghetto, this is my neighborhood now too, and I never knew it before this morning, but I'm growing kind of fond of it. "Welcome to H Street," I told the runners. And I meant what I was saying. I was truly welcoming them to my neighborhood.
Being the novice runner that I am, I felt compelled to get dressed and go outside and cheer them on, especially when the newscaster was like "It's the spectators that are on H Street that are really helping these runners get through the last two miles." So I went outside at 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and screamed and clapped at each runner who went by. It was fun. I yelled things like "Go 'head girl!" and "Welcome to H Street!" and "Lookin' good! You're almost there!" and "22 miles down! Wooooo!"
There were hundreds of H Street residents on the sidewalks acting as spectators. You could tell which ones were the newer residents and which ones have lived here for decades. The new ones, like me, were cheering. The long-time residents, those who lived in this area and saw it under siege during the riots of '68 and called it home despite the violent reputation it maintained for years, stood there baffled. I caught a piece of a conversation between two long-time residents that I think summed up their sentiment: "They got these people runnin' through the ghetto."
Ghetto or no ghetto, this is my neighborhood now too, and I never knew it before this morning, but I'm growing kind of fond of it. "Welcome to H Street," I told the runners. And I meant what I was saying. I was truly welcoming them to my neighborhood.
Monday, March 19, 2007
he's straight hood, yo
Yesterday, I was sitting outside with Dougie, talking on the phone, when all of the sudden he thought it appropriate to charge a man walking on the sidewalk, jump up on the fence separating him from the target of his barking attack, and hop up and down. This happens sometimes, I guess when there's something about the person that he doesn't like, but I don't condone this behavior at all. As a matter of a fact, when he acts like that, I scream at him and clap my hands and demand that he "GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!" and he always quickly complies with my orders.
So last night he started with the charging, and I started with the screaming. Usually the person he is harassing will throw his or her arms up and make a bee line across the street whilst yelling something along the lines of "You betta get yo' dog," or "HELP!" But not this particular man. This man reached into his coat pocket, presumably grabbing his gat because I live in a neighborhood where it would be expected that many people pack, and screamed right back and Dougie. I was actually really pissed. Like, what the fuck man? You're gonna shoot my dog? And his screaming at Dougie only further aggravated Dougie who continued to bark and ignored my orders. And the man just stood there with his hand in his pocket, bellowing at my dog. So finally I was like "Dude, don't encourage him," and the guy walked off, and Dougie finally got back on the porch, wagging his tail and totally oblivious to the fact that he just almost got a cap in his ass.
Dougie. Almost getting shot in NE DC. Because he's hood like that.
So last night he started with the charging, and I started with the screaming. Usually the person he is harassing will throw his or her arms up and make a bee line across the street whilst yelling something along the lines of "You betta get yo' dog," or "HELP!" But not this particular man. This man reached into his coat pocket, presumably grabbing his gat because I live in a neighborhood where it would be expected that many people pack, and screamed right back and Dougie. I was actually really pissed. Like, what the fuck man? You're gonna shoot my dog? And his screaming at Dougie only further aggravated Dougie who continued to bark and ignored my orders. And the man just stood there with his hand in his pocket, bellowing at my dog. So finally I was like "Dude, don't encourage him," and the guy walked off, and Dougie finally got back on the porch, wagging his tail and totally oblivious to the fact that he just almost got a cap in his ass.
Dougie. Almost getting shot in NE DC. Because he's hood like that.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
crazy
This is how my day went yesterday:
10:00 a.m. – Go downstairs to the retail center in my office building. Buy coffee. Step outside for some fresh air (read – cigarette). Encounter crazy homeless woman who sometimes hangs out around the building. Crazy homeless woman sits down next to me and starts talking about her kids. Ask her if she has kids in the system because I have heard her talking about how they've been taken away. Confirm suspicions that she is severely schizophrenic when she responds that her children have been kidnapped, raped, and beaten by women lawyers who have taken over men's positions whilst wearing witch outfits and have gotten too power hungry since they have taken over the men's positions. Politely excuse myself and retreat to my office.
4:00 p.m. – Leave the office and stop by CVS on my way home. Encounter little old lady in the shower gel aisle. Little old lady comments on the great sales that CVS is having. Politely agree. Little old lady relates story about how she was in the Mac-Donald's earlier and witnessed a crazy homeless woman attempt to rob it. Story takes ten minutes. Little old lady tells me she's actually a CIA agent, and the crazy homeless woman is lucky she didn't have her gun or she would have shot her. Politely agree. Attempt to get away from little old lady, but little old lady follows me down the aisle, imploring me to "listen, miss." Little old lady warns me to stay away from the Mac-Donald's by the courthouse because this is the location of the attempted robbery. Little old lady shares with me that she works at the courthouse as a clerk, a judge, and a lawyer. Finally get away from little old lady. Three minutes later, hear her from the makeup aisle telling somebody else the story.
4:15 p.m. – Get on the bus to go home. Walk towards back of bus looking for a seat. Drunk old man gets up and offers me his seat. Politely thank him and accept the seat. Drunk old man sits in empty seat across aisle from me. Put my nose in my book. Five minutes later, feel somebody rubbing my left arm. Turn around to find drunk old man leaning back into his seat. Resolve to say something if it happens again, but to brush it off this time.
4:17 p.m. – Bus stops at Union Station and I get up to let other drunk old man who is sitting next to me get off the bus. CVS bags remain on the floor, and I see other drunk old man is struggling to get past them. Apologize and attempt to move CVS bags, but other drunk old man says it's fine and that actually, he wishes he could take CVS bags with him. Politely giggle, unsure of the meaning of his comment. Put my nose back in book and wait for bus to continue down H Street. Hear knock at my window. Turn to my right to see other drunk old man standing at window, motioning for me to get off bus. Turn back to book and think to myself that the day couldn't get any crazier.
4:32 p.m. – Get off bus and make my way down H Street. Out of corner of my eye, see drunk young man approaching with bottle in brown paper bag in hand. See him stop short. Continue walking, making extra effort not to make eye contact. Drunk young man grabs my arm as I walk by and proceeds to make the sign of the holy cross and blow kisses at me. Continue walking, resolving not to come out of the house for the rest of the day.
10:00 a.m. – Go downstairs to the retail center in my office building. Buy coffee. Step outside for some fresh air (read – cigarette). Encounter crazy homeless woman who sometimes hangs out around the building. Crazy homeless woman sits down next to me and starts talking about her kids. Ask her if she has kids in the system because I have heard her talking about how they've been taken away. Confirm suspicions that she is severely schizophrenic when she responds that her children have been kidnapped, raped, and beaten by women lawyers who have taken over men's positions whilst wearing witch outfits and have gotten too power hungry since they have taken over the men's positions. Politely excuse myself and retreat to my office.
4:00 p.m. – Leave the office and stop by CVS on my way home. Encounter little old lady in the shower gel aisle. Little old lady comments on the great sales that CVS is having. Politely agree. Little old lady relates story about how she was in the Mac-Donald's earlier and witnessed a crazy homeless woman attempt to rob it. Story takes ten minutes. Little old lady tells me she's actually a CIA agent, and the crazy homeless woman is lucky she didn't have her gun or she would have shot her. Politely agree. Attempt to get away from little old lady, but little old lady follows me down the aisle, imploring me to "listen, miss." Little old lady warns me to stay away from the Mac-Donald's by the courthouse because this is the location of the attempted robbery. Little old lady shares with me that she works at the courthouse as a clerk, a judge, and a lawyer. Finally get away from little old lady. Three minutes later, hear her from the makeup aisle telling somebody else the story.
4:15 p.m. – Get on the bus to go home. Walk towards back of bus looking for a seat. Drunk old man gets up and offers me his seat. Politely thank him and accept the seat. Drunk old man sits in empty seat across aisle from me. Put my nose in my book. Five minutes later, feel somebody rubbing my left arm. Turn around to find drunk old man leaning back into his seat. Resolve to say something if it happens again, but to brush it off this time.
4:17 p.m. – Bus stops at Union Station and I get up to let other drunk old man who is sitting next to me get off the bus. CVS bags remain on the floor, and I see other drunk old man is struggling to get past them. Apologize and attempt to move CVS bags, but other drunk old man says it's fine and that actually, he wishes he could take CVS bags with him. Politely giggle, unsure of the meaning of his comment. Put my nose back in book and wait for bus to continue down H Street. Hear knock at my window. Turn to my right to see other drunk old man standing at window, motioning for me to get off bus. Turn back to book and think to myself that the day couldn't get any crazier.
4:32 p.m. – Get off bus and make my way down H Street. Out of corner of my eye, see drunk young man approaching with bottle in brown paper bag in hand. See him stop short. Continue walking, making extra effort not to make eye contact. Drunk young man grabs my arm as I walk by and proceeds to make the sign of the holy cross and blow kisses at me. Continue walking, resolving not to come out of the house for the rest of the day.
Monday, November 6, 2006
public transportation trauma
Since I sold my Explorer in August, I have become a champion of public transportation, and I have found that it's really not all that bad. At first, I would sit on the bus and fume, reminding myself that I have been through eight years of post-secondary education and I'm still riding the bus. But after a while, I got used to it.
Then this morning happened.
The bus was running late, so when it pulled up, I could see that it was packed full. I squeezed onto it and, as I do most mornings, stood in the aisle, holding on to the pole so that I wouldn't topple on top of the other fifty-seven people standing in the aisle every time the bus went over a bump or took a turn. I was standing there not three minutes when I heard a rather impatient man making his way up the aisle, pushing people out of his way, going "excuse me excuse me." By the time he approached me, I had already resolved that I was not going to let him by. In fact, I was rather annoyed at him. So he reached me and told me "excuse me excuse me excuse me," and I held on to the pole and told him "sir, you're gonna have to wait a minute until the bus stops." He looked at me with disbelief and said "I'm tryin'a get to the back of the bus," and I replied "well, you're gonna have to wait."
And then it happened. He took his dirty hand and grabbed my freshly lotioned hand on the pole, and then with his dirty fucking REPULSIVE long-ass finger nails, dug under my fingers to loosen them from the pole and brushed right past me.
I was and still am DISGUSTED. I got to work and washed my hands like seven times.
My response was "excuse me, please don't touch me." The words came out of my mouth and even as I heard them, I was so pissed off at myself. Why did I have to be so proper and polite? "Excuse me?" "Please?" Why couldn't I be gangsta and bust out with some shit like "Oh, I KNOW you didn't just put your dirty mothafuckin' hands on me, mothafucka" and kicked him in the groin? No, instead I busted out with "excuse me" and "please." What the fuck?????
I spent the rest of the ride to work trying to read my book but fantasizing about Henry Hill being my boyfriend and being on the bus with me and whipping out his pistol and telling that motherfucker "Touch her again and I swear to God I'll fucking kill you" like he did when that neighbor boy tried to touch Karen. Okay, not really, because I'm not a proponent of violence, but at least a big beefy gangster boy with me to be like "Touch her again and I swear to God…" something. Something gangsta. Not "Excuse me, please don't touch her again."
Then this morning happened.
The bus was running late, so when it pulled up, I could see that it was packed full. I squeezed onto it and, as I do most mornings, stood in the aisle, holding on to the pole so that I wouldn't topple on top of the other fifty-seven people standing in the aisle every time the bus went over a bump or took a turn. I was standing there not three minutes when I heard a rather impatient man making his way up the aisle, pushing people out of his way, going "excuse me excuse me." By the time he approached me, I had already resolved that I was not going to let him by. In fact, I was rather annoyed at him. So he reached me and told me "excuse me excuse me excuse me," and I held on to the pole and told him "sir, you're gonna have to wait a minute until the bus stops." He looked at me with disbelief and said "I'm tryin'a get to the back of the bus," and I replied "well, you're gonna have to wait."
And then it happened. He took his dirty hand and grabbed my freshly lotioned hand on the pole, and then with his dirty fucking REPULSIVE long-ass finger nails, dug under my fingers to loosen them from the pole and brushed right past me.
I was and still am DISGUSTED. I got to work and washed my hands like seven times.
My response was "excuse me, please don't touch me." The words came out of my mouth and even as I heard them, I was so pissed off at myself. Why did I have to be so proper and polite? "Excuse me?" "Please?" Why couldn't I be gangsta and bust out with some shit like "Oh, I KNOW you didn't just put your dirty mothafuckin' hands on me, mothafucka" and kicked him in the groin? No, instead I busted out with "excuse me" and "please." What the fuck?????
I spent the rest of the ride to work trying to read my book but fantasizing about Henry Hill being my boyfriend and being on the bus with me and whipping out his pistol and telling that motherfucker "Touch her again and I swear to God I'll fucking kill you" like he did when that neighbor boy tried to touch Karen. Okay, not really, because I'm not a proponent of violence, but at least a big beefy gangster boy with me to be like "Touch her again and I swear to God…" something. Something gangsta. Not "Excuse me, please don't touch her again."
Wednesday, November 1, 2006
trick? or treat?
So I volunteered for this Halloween street festival last night called "Hilloween." A realtor whose office is next door to the restaurant I work at on weekends puts it on every year, and there's a hay ride and balloon animals and face painting for the kids, and burgers and beer for the adults. I was selected to be a face painter (for God knows what reason because I can barely draw a stick figure) and I had to dress up in my fairy costume.
It is the fairy costume part that should earn me a medal. I hadn't really put much thought into how I was going to get to Hilloween, that is, until I was in my fairy costume, wings, wand, knee-high boots, face glitter and everything, looking at myself in the mirror when I was like "Am I seriously going walk down H Street and wait for the bus like this?" (H Street is supposed to be an "up and coming" neighborhood. I once told this to somebody, and that person responded by saying it was more coming than up. I have to agree with that statement.) I figured I had to, because how was I going to volunteer for something and then not show? So, ladies and gentlemen, I ponied up and waited for the bus on H Street dressed as a fairy. It was the most uncomfortable experience in my life. This is my favorite exchange that I had on the street:
Man: Damn, you lookin good.
Me: It's Halloween.
Man: You the trick or the treat?
At this point, I had to remind myself that I was doin' it for the kids, doin' it for the kids.
And it was well worth it. Face painting was so fun, although I was sooooo bad at it. My pumpkins looked more like squash, and my spiders looked like flies. I felt kinda guilty about that, remembering a time when I was like ten and I got my face painted and it looked like shit and I was so upset. However, if any of the kids last night were pissed about my unskilled designs, they didn't show it. On the other hand, I could tell some of the parents were expecting me to bust out with some skills and were sorely disappointed. One even told me "I guess you get what you pay for." (The face painting was free.)
But the little kids were just so cute in their little costumes, most of them too young to even talk. There was one little girl who couldn't say a single word that I could understand, but she was sure having a whole conversation with me. It was the cutest! And then there were the brain eating zombies, the mermaids, so many princesses!, the pumpkins, the doggies, the kitties, and one Spongebob Square Pants.
All of them were giddy with that Halloween magic that only children experience, and I even got a little high off of their highs. It reminded me of when I was little, when I would get elated at the sight of a Halloween decoration, when a plastic pumpkin filled with Baby Ruths and Sweetarts and Snickers was all I ever needed, when the possibility that my neighborhood was really haunted by ghosts who appeared only on Halloween seemed quite real. I would plan months and months in advance what I was going to be for Halloween, and the costume had to be perfect. It was my goal in life to win a costume contest. That never happened, although I remember in second grade, I won a pumpkin decorating contest. I remember they said my name, and I was so excited that afterwards, I actually looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and told myself "You did it." Hey – it was a school-wide contest and that's a big accomplishment for an 8-year-old.
Anyway, last night I got as close to feeling that magic again as I ever will be. It was the first time I had participated in Halloween festivities since I was a kid, unless of course you count the law school Halloween party last year, which was basically nothing but a beer fest and my costume was The Guess Who's classic ballad "American Woman," which was comprised of a denim skirt, silver platforms, a white t-shirt, a red feather boa, blue eye shadow, and piece of strategically-placed masking tape which said "American Woman." The only magic that was involved that night was law school colleagues magically finding each other attractive after a few drinks.
It is the fairy costume part that should earn me a medal. I hadn't really put much thought into how I was going to get to Hilloween, that is, until I was in my fairy costume, wings, wand, knee-high boots, face glitter and everything, looking at myself in the mirror when I was like "Am I seriously going walk down H Street and wait for the bus like this?" (H Street is supposed to be an "up and coming" neighborhood. I once told this to somebody, and that person responded by saying it was more coming than up. I have to agree with that statement.) I figured I had to, because how was I going to volunteer for something and then not show? So, ladies and gentlemen, I ponied up and waited for the bus on H Street dressed as a fairy. It was the most uncomfortable experience in my life. This is my favorite exchange that I had on the street:
Man: Damn, you lookin good.
Me: It's Halloween.
Man: You the trick or the treat?
At this point, I had to remind myself that I was doin' it for the kids, doin' it for the kids.
And it was well worth it. Face painting was so fun, although I was sooooo bad at it. My pumpkins looked more like squash, and my spiders looked like flies. I felt kinda guilty about that, remembering a time when I was like ten and I got my face painted and it looked like shit and I was so upset. However, if any of the kids last night were pissed about my unskilled designs, they didn't show it. On the other hand, I could tell some of the parents were expecting me to bust out with some skills and were sorely disappointed. One even told me "I guess you get what you pay for." (The face painting was free.)
But the little kids were just so cute in their little costumes, most of them too young to even talk. There was one little girl who couldn't say a single word that I could understand, but she was sure having a whole conversation with me. It was the cutest! And then there were the brain eating zombies, the mermaids, so many princesses!, the pumpkins, the doggies, the kitties, and one Spongebob Square Pants.
All of them were giddy with that Halloween magic that only children experience, and I even got a little high off of their highs. It reminded me of when I was little, when I would get elated at the sight of a Halloween decoration, when a plastic pumpkin filled with Baby Ruths and Sweetarts and Snickers was all I ever needed, when the possibility that my neighborhood was really haunted by ghosts who appeared only on Halloween seemed quite real. I would plan months and months in advance what I was going to be for Halloween, and the costume had to be perfect. It was my goal in life to win a costume contest. That never happened, although I remember in second grade, I won a pumpkin decorating contest. I remember they said my name, and I was so excited that afterwards, I actually looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and told myself "You did it." Hey – it was a school-wide contest and that's a big accomplishment for an 8-year-old.
Anyway, last night I got as close to feeling that magic again as I ever will be. It was the first time I had participated in Halloween festivities since I was a kid, unless of course you count the law school Halloween party last year, which was basically nothing but a beer fest and my costume was The Guess Who's classic ballad "American Woman," which was comprised of a denim skirt, silver platforms, a white t-shirt, a red feather boa, blue eye shadow, and piece of strategically-placed masking tape which said "American Woman." The only magic that was involved that night was law school colleagues magically finding each other attractive after a few drinks.
Monday, June 12, 2006
not so funny anymore
So my roommate and I have succeeded in totally confusing the crap out of poor Dougie. All my regular readers will recall that one week ago, I was very proud of my brown-nosed wussy dog and his territorial barking and growling. Within the past week, however, Jane and I have had to modify this behavior.
I mean, is it really too much to ask for a dog to be able to differentiate threatening from non-threatening? Big, 250-pound man in a black hoodie - threatening. Small, pig-tailed girl in a school uniform and pink barettes - non-threatening. Skinny, disheveled crackhead woman - moderately threatening. Tiny old woman in a moo-moo blatently struggling to take the few arthritic steps past our house - soooo not threatening. However, it appears that he doesn't understand this.
So we started by letting him bark at the threatening and screaming at him to "GET ON THE PORCH!!! SIT DOWN!!! STAY RIGHT THERE!!!" when the non-threatening walk by. Didn't take. You could tell that he would get so excited at the opportunity to reduce small children to tears that he couldn't even control himself. So now we have to scream at him every time anyone walks by, including the threatening. Finally, today, he seems to get it. Even a stary cat went by, and I could tell he so wanted to kill it, but he sat patiently on the porch, his jaw moving up and down as if he were barking, but trying very hard (and succesfully) not to let anything out.
On a side note, I fucking love that boy. The other day, the three of us were sitting outside, and I got up to get in my car and drive down the street to the little coffee shop. Dougie ran up to the fence and watched me walk to my car with the saddest little look on his face, eyebrows all slanted upwards and I swear I saw tears gathering in those little brown eyes. I yelled at him to get in the house with Jane, but he just stood there like "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Please don't GOOOOOOOO!!!" Even as I was driving away, I saw him standing there at the fence, the same pitiful look on his face ("nooooooooooo!!! please!!!!"). Awwww....he's like my small toddler. I don't know how I made it before he came in my life.
I mean, is it really too much to ask for a dog to be able to differentiate threatening from non-threatening? Big, 250-pound man in a black hoodie - threatening. Small, pig-tailed girl in a school uniform and pink barettes - non-threatening. Skinny, disheveled crackhead woman - moderately threatening. Tiny old woman in a moo-moo blatently struggling to take the few arthritic steps past our house - soooo not threatening. However, it appears that he doesn't understand this.
So we started by letting him bark at the threatening and screaming at him to "GET ON THE PORCH!!! SIT DOWN!!! STAY RIGHT THERE!!!" when the non-threatening walk by. Didn't take. You could tell that he would get so excited at the opportunity to reduce small children to tears that he couldn't even control himself. So now we have to scream at him every time anyone walks by, including the threatening. Finally, today, he seems to get it. Even a stary cat went by, and I could tell he so wanted to kill it, but he sat patiently on the porch, his jaw moving up and down as if he were barking, but trying very hard (and succesfully) not to let anything out.
On a side note, I fucking love that boy. The other day, the three of us were sitting outside, and I got up to get in my car and drive down the street to the little coffee shop. Dougie ran up to the fence and watched me walk to my car with the saddest little look on his face, eyebrows all slanted upwards and I swear I saw tears gathering in those little brown eyes. I yelled at him to get in the house with Jane, but he just stood there like "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Please don't GOOOOOOOO!!!" Even as I was driving away, I saw him standing there at the fence, the same pitiful look on his face ("nooooooooooo!!! please!!!!"). Awwww....he's like my small toddler. I don't know how I made it before he came in my life.
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