After almost 5 years in our current home I have never had any contact with Jonas and Stella, who live down the street. After we moved in I would wave if I drove by and saw either of them in their driveway, but after being snubbed multiple times I gave up. Other neighbors have told me not to take it personally, that although Jonas has a high-powered government job he clearly does not see the point in acknowledging the neighbors (and taxpayers) who pay his salary.
I don’t spend much time thinking about these people, and I certainly was not last week when I was walking Ali down the street. It was very hot and I mainly wanted to turn around and go back to the coolness of my house but I was being a good Dog Parent and letting Ali sniff and investigate to her heart’s content, resisting the urge to tug on her harness and say things like, “Ali, come ON!”
Ali was investigating a fascinating spot on Stella’s front lawn; she had obviously found something smelly and disgusting that appealed to her because she dove head first into the lawn and then rolled on her back, kicking her feet in the air in pure canine delight. As she was rolling and I was wiping the sweat off my face I heard a high-pitched “yip-yip-yip” and then I was startled to see what was either a tiny dog or a large Guinea pig racing down Stella’s driveway directly towards Ali.
It was a little rat dog and he clearly had malice in his heart. Ali, always friendly stood up, tail wagging just as the dog leapt for her throat. Ali, did a nifty little lateral shuffle and, showing rare presence of mind, jumped into my arms. Showing even rarer presence of mind I caught her and lifted all 70 pounds of her as high as I could, spinning around to keep her away from this pint sized Cujo who was now jumping up and down trying to scale my legs.
Stella ran out a second later while her dog was still trying to climb up my legs to get to Ali. Clearly not noticing the blood running down my shins Stella said, “What are you doing to my dog?” This was followed by, “This is private property. Why are you in this neighborhood?”
At this point I was still spinning in circles to keep Cujo away from Ali, but I managed to say, “I’m your neighbor. I live right there.” I nodded in the general direction of my house, not 100 yards away. That’s when her dog’s teeth made contact with my kneecap; resisting a strong urge to punt the dog like a football I said, “Will you pick up your dog?”
She did, unwillingly, struggling to restrain Cujo who by now was foaming at the mouth in his vain attempt to get to Ali. “I’m Stella,” she said; “I’m Jonas’ wife,” and in an instant I had her number, knowing intuitively that that she was one of those cowed and colorless women whose identity is based on that of her well-known husband.
I really wanted to tell her to get a life of her own but then she said, accusingly, “You need to control your dog.”
That pissed me off. “No, you need to keep that dog locked up,” I said.
“Franklin slithers out under the fence,” she said airily.
“Then you need to keep him tied up,” I said.
Stella seemed surprised I would suggest such a thing, but all she said was, “It’s lucky for you I was here to grab him.”
I snorted. Ali was getting heavy and I was still bleeding and I turned to go home. I briefly considered reporting the dog bite but I did not want to get the dog in trouble: It’s not his fault his owner is an idiot. I headed towards home.
“Nice to finally meet you,” said Stella.