txbiscuit
Secondary Infertility
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Neighbor story 1: The Poopening
When I lived in my condo, I had my share of interesting (but mostly nice) neighbors. There were the feral Guinea hens that roamed the neighborhood. There was the guy who drove his Weimaraners (who wore scarves and doggles) around in the sidecar of his moped. There was the Russian guy with the pregnant mistress and the bipolar wife. (We figured out there was a scandalous pregnancy before the wife did, and then heard the wife find out about it a few weeks later in the middle of the night.) And then there was Mouse's boyfriend.
Mouse was a fairly nice college student who had a big dog that she couldn't control. A few months into Mouse's lease, her boyfriend moved in with her. Mouse's boyfriend (we'll call him Adam) thought he was some kind of dog whisperer, and insisted on walking Mouse's dog off-leash. Within a few weeks, Mouse's dog had attacked several other dogs in the complex (including Bailey). One afternoon, Mouse's dog attacked me while I was getting out of my car. Bailey responded by leaping over me and going straight for Mouse's dog's throat. Adam and Mouse were barely able to get the dog off of us. I asked Mouse's boyfriend why the dog wasn't on a leash; he responded by calling me a "f--king fa-g-t." For the next few weeks, Adam made a point of creepily watching me any time I walked to my car.
A couple of weeks later, I heard what sounded like a series of loud knocks on the door. Thinking it was an overly-assertive UPS guy, I opened the door.
Smashed eggs and a massive amount of poo slid down the door and into the entryway. I saw Adam walking across the parking lot away from our door and back to Mouse's condo.
I called the police and the property management company.
The property manager was on the phone with another owner when I called. When she called back, she told me that she'd been on the phone with another owner whose dog had been attacked that morning. As a result of the morning's dog attack (as well as several other reports from other residents), Mouse's boyfriend and the dog (neither of whom were on the lease) had been evicted a few hours prior.
Apparently, Adam assumed that since we were the ones who'd complained to *him* about the off-leash dog, we were the ones who got him evicted. In his mind, the only appropriate response was to fling poop at our door.
Of course, when the police officer questioned him about the dog feces and eggs on our door, Adam denied any involvement and said he'd seen "suspicious looking kids wandering around the complex." The police officer filed a report, but it ended up being my word against Mouse and her boyfriend's. Adam was still allowed to stay at Mouse's condo (just no more than two nights in a row) and he was... not friendly. We ended up moving a few weeks later. In OH's words, "You can't trust someone who is willing to play with poop. Not playing with poop is a pretty standard part of human behavior."
This would be just a weird story, except for what happened this year. OH called me one night and asked if I remembered Adam and Mouse. "Yes," I said. "Of course." OH sent me a link to a news article. Earlier that week, Adam had shot his new girlfriend to death in a fit of rage. In a weirdly ironic twist, he tried to blame his neighbors.
When I lived in my condo, I had my share of interesting (but mostly nice) neighbors. There were the feral Guinea hens that roamed the neighborhood. There was the guy who drove his Weimaraners (who wore scarves and doggles) around in the sidecar of his moped. There was the Russian guy with the pregnant mistress and the bipolar wife. (We figured out there was a scandalous pregnancy before the wife did, and then heard the wife find out about it a few weeks later in the middle of the night.) And then there was Mouse's boyfriend.
Mouse was a fairly nice college student who had a big dog that she couldn't control. A few months into Mouse's lease, her boyfriend moved in with her. Mouse's boyfriend (we'll call him Adam) thought he was some kind of dog whisperer, and insisted on walking Mouse's dog off-leash. Within a few weeks, Mouse's dog had attacked several other dogs in the complex (including Bailey). One afternoon, Mouse's dog attacked me while I was getting out of my car. Bailey responded by leaping over me and going straight for Mouse's dog's throat. Adam and Mouse were barely able to get the dog off of us. I asked Mouse's boyfriend why the dog wasn't on a leash; he responded by calling me a "f--king fa-g-t." For the next few weeks, Adam made a point of creepily watching me any time I walked to my car.
A couple of weeks later, I heard what sounded like a series of loud knocks on the door. Thinking it was an overly-assertive UPS guy, I opened the door.
Smashed eggs and a massive amount of poo slid down the door and into the entryway. I saw Adam walking across the parking lot away from our door and back to Mouse's condo.
I called the police and the property management company.
The property manager was on the phone with another owner when I called. When she called back, she told me that she'd been on the phone with another owner whose dog had been attacked that morning. As a result of the morning's dog attack (as well as several other reports from other residents), Mouse's boyfriend and the dog (neither of whom were on the lease) had been evicted a few hours prior.
Apparently, Adam assumed that since we were the ones who'd complained to *him* about the off-leash dog, we were the ones who got him evicted. In his mind, the only appropriate response was to fling poop at our door.
Of course, when the police officer questioned him about the dog feces and eggs on our door, Adam denied any involvement and said he'd seen "suspicious looking kids wandering around the complex." The police officer filed a report, but it ended up being my word against Mouse and her boyfriend's. Adam was still allowed to stay at Mouse's condo (just no more than two nights in a row) and he was... not friendly. We ended up moving a few weeks later. In OH's words, "You can't trust someone who is willing to play with poop. Not playing with poop is a pretty standard part of human behavior."
This would be just a weird story, except for what happened this year. OH called me one night and asked if I remembered Adam and Mouse. "Yes," I said. "Of course." OH sent me a link to a news article. Earlier that week, Adam had shot his new girlfriend to death in a fit of rage. In a weirdly ironic twist, he tried to blame his neighbors.
