My apartment building is buzzing about the angry notes taped on all of the building’s exits. Apparently someone’s dog (not mine!) peed in front of our building. And yes, the alleged pee puddle has a note taped to it as well:
I say “alleged” pee puddle because it has been there for two days now without drying. I think someone poured out some hooch or something…
One of my neighbors is definitely scared of Harley – I’m leaving my apartment to take Harley on a walk and I hear a gasp from the end of the hallway:
Neighbor-lady: “He chained? I aint walking by no big dog…”
Me: “Yes. He’s leashed. He’s really friendly too…”
Neighbor-lady: “He looks like he RIPS PEOPLE’S HEADS OFF!”
Me: “Uh… well, my head is still here!”
Later on we had a visit by a maintenance man. I held Harley’s collar and let him into the apartment.
Maintenance man: “Oh, don’t worry. I have three Anatolian mastiffs at home. They weigh twice his size. Heyah!”
I’m surprised by how many people own mastiffs, but I guess there’s not an occasion for people to mention that to a non-mastiff owner.
Harley and I passed the neighborhood elementary school on a walk this morning and a third grader insisted that Harley was a Bull-mastiff because “his cousin’s dog looks just like that.” The runt is a total 0L and he doesn’t even know it! As we walked away he screamed “AND HE LOOKS JUST LIKE YOU TOO!”
Well…gee…watch it kid. Don’t think I won’t give Michael Jackson the address of the playground…
…I was under the delusion that today would be more productive than it was. I spent the morning “running errands.”
I had to get two important things:
- A coffee table, since I was sick of outlining on the couch and leaning positions aren’t exactly comfortable right now…and…
- Some bitter-dog spray. Harley has developed a fondness for the string tips of my window blinds and my UMiami beach towel. The bitter-spray is the equivalent of dog mace. I smeared it on everything that shouldn’t be digested.
The spray should work because it tastes god-awful. How do I know? Well, I bought a covered push-to-open trash can so Harley-Scalia wouldn’t pilfer the garbage during the day. I sprayed some of the bitter-spray on the can and of course I FORGOT about the spray. I touched the mace-covered “open” button for the trash can…and…A few minutes later I rubbed my mouth and began five minutes of…um… French.1
Hopefully it’s awful enough to stop a mastiff…
Harley-Scalia has also discovered how to open the toilet. If I don’t close the bathroom door then he’s guaranteed to drink out of the tiolet.
Harley thinks I don’t know about this. I was in my bedroom when I heard these HUGE gulps coming from the bathroom.
Harley heard me get up and scurried into the kitchen. He was sitting next to his dog bowl, looking at me like “What? I was SO here the whole time!”
Yeah. Huh-huh. Right.
I only got through one outline today, which was underwhelming. I had such grand plans to get two outlines done and maybe attempt to move some more stuff over…but no. Fail. One outline was all that I finished. I went to fetch more soda and found Harley inspecting my books:
I have a property practice exam at 9am tomorrow, and a Criminal Law review session shortly after that. Staying away from school until my finals? Hah. Nonsense.
More bitchy neighbor notes after the jump:
1 Speaking of “excuse my French”…why does Kylie randomly have a song with that title?