Premature entry

**Language alert**

It's not a great picture, but you can see my two fat, pampered cats, along with
Lily's little scratching throne, their water bubbler, and a green catnip toy. 
Spoiled?  You decide.

It's not even noon--I haven't even eaten anything today--but I feel like writing.  Been cooped up here for a few days now, I'm running out of exciting things to do.

Woke up at 6:30 this morning to the sound of the dog next door.  Barking.  We live in a "condo"--a.k.a. a townhouse--with a neighbor on each side.  4-5 years ago, the next door neighbors got a puppy.  Up till that point, we liked them fine.  Even after the puppy, I liked them.  I could hear him yapping away, entertaining himself during the day when they were at work.  It was obvious that they kept him in the sunroom, which has a linoleum floor, so...very sensible.  Unfortunately, their sunroom is right next to my bedroom.  To let them know I could hear, I left a little Christmas gift of puppy treats and a chew toy at their door.  I chatted with them once or twice about their puppy, which had been a gift (first warning sign).  I assured the woman that he's just a baby, and he'll grow out of all that noise. 

And he did--but she didn't.  Several times a day for the last however many years, she takes that dog out into the back yard, which we share, and screams at him to do his business.  She screams in an ultra-frustrated twangy accent, which makes her sound like a total redneck.  She's out there with a full-grown mutt--looks like something between a lab and a German shepherd--yelling, "Just GO!  Just GO, you fuckin dog, I'm gonna fuckin KEEL YOU, god DAMMIT!"  The mutt is on a ten-foot leash, and she runs him around in circles for about three minutes or until he poops, whichever is first.  It's the only time he ever goes out of the house.

Over time, she stopped making eye contact when we meet in front of the house.  Her husband still says hey, but he's also much more patient when he takes the dog outside. 

When the weather's mild, I open the bedroom windows so the cats can smell the outside, which means the dog can see them through the screens.  He goes apeshit, naturally.  More disturbingly, John was out at the grill one time when the dog came out to run in his circles.  The dog lunged on his leash, dragging his owner while she screamed obscenities at him.  John understands dogs, very well, and he understood that dog was not joking around.  He was pulling his owner right across the yard, and if he got to John, he would hurt him.  John went in the house.

So, this morning, the dog was bark, bark, bark, bark, barking at 6:30 am.  I managed to get back to sleep with a pillow mashed over my head.  Two hours later, momma's home and whatever he was barking about, she is PISSED.  Screaming, cussing, slamming stuff around--I mean, she's more pissed than usual, and she's always pissed at the dog.  No going back to sleep this time.

I have debated calling the cops a few times.  I think we'd all be relieved.  They never wanted the dog, and they're not treating him well.  He's not trained, might not even be housebroken.  I never have called, for a couple of reasons.  One: I kind of like my neighbors, or I did before they got the dog.  Two: THEY called the cops once on the kids who lived on the other side of them, but the cops came to our door instead and immediately told us who had "reported us" for a domestic disturbance.  I don't want the police to tell them that I was the one who reported them--and if I'm that self-conscious about it, then I don't feel badly enough about the dog's treatment yet. 

Three, and this is what I repeat to myself every time I hear her cussing: the dog is still better off here than he would be at the shelter.  A dog like that is never going to get adopted, except maybe for dogfighting.  He would be put down within two weeks.  Someone comes home from work several times a day to take him out, so they must be feeding him.  I don't hear or see them hit him, ever--not saying they don't, but I haven't heard it.  Maybe he doesn't have a million toys or get spoiled the way my cats do--the way my dog would, if I had a dog--lots of dogs aren't spoiled.  So I don't call the police, because I know better.  I hope the people who move here after me are tolerant, too.

And I hope they don't have kids.  If kids live here, they're going to pick up some pretty nasty words.