Our neighborhood has been having some troubles with hordes of teens cruising our streets. They won’t get out of the way for traffic, cuss out the neighbors, break windows, ring doorbells at 11pm, and beat the crap out of each other on my front lawn. Goddamn kids. Why can’t they fight in the park like we did when we were rude, angry teenagers?
So we had a neighborhood meeting tonight. Denise, the lady across the street that’s taken the most shit from these kids, is going insane and wanting to move away so something had to be done. Denise has spent a lot of time talking with our alderman and the decision was made that we need to organize. Denise, her kids, TJ, Micah, my dad, and I went out and passed out the flyers Denise made. Just about everyone we spoke to said they’d be there. We heard a lot of “those damn kids are outta control!” and “we gotta come together as a community” – you know, a lot of solidarity talk. But only a handful of families were represented at the meeting.
Anyone who’s been involved at just about any level of community activism knows that people want to be a part and they want to help but when it comes time to actually give up that precious time, few make it out the door. And believe me, I’ve been on the ditching out side of things more times than I care to admit. But we all come around when we feel we have to. When it reaches that certain level that makes it more advantageous to participate than to stay home and rest. For some it takes more. When you work two or three jobs, the level of shit you’ll put up with to use that hour for something you really need to do – or maybe to sleep – goes up. But me, I’ve hit my level.
We can’t afford to move and, frankly, we don’t want to. We like our neighbors, love our back yard, like our house, and Grandma & Grandpa live less than a minute away. We’ll fight to keep our neighborhood safe. We have to.
We’ve been going back and forth about getting another dog for several months now. Cheyenne passed away last November and I just didn’t have the heart to get another dog. Dascha was devastated by the loss. Cheyenne was like her mother. A mean mother that didn’t want to share any of her toys and growled and snarled a lot, but still a mother.
A few weeks after Cheyenne died, I got a kitten from one of the local shelters. Henry was a wild child who loved hunting. Like most cats, he liked to bring his conquests home. Unlike other cats, he didn’t bring them home to lay at my feet as a gift, he just wanted to take them to the bathroom and torture them. He spent most of his time jumping from tree to tree, rooftop to rooftop, chasing birds. Henry’s untimely death was the result of a car bumper to the head. TJ found him in front of our house, his deformed ears giving away his identity.
The biggest contribution Henry made to our home was helping Dascha get over the loss of Cheyenne. During the first couple of months that Henry was with us, he and Dascha were inseparable. Henry chased Dascha around and wrestled with her like he was her pup. It was something to see. It brought Dascha out of her depression and helped her to move on. But then Henry was home less and less. In the end, he only came home to eat and then would leave again.
If Dascha had her way, she’d play for 23 hours a day and then sleep for that last hour, with her Kong tucked safely under her paw. We think that getting another dog will give her a playmate for the long weekdays when we’re at work. And we like the idea of helping a dog who needs a home where she can feel safe and loved. Which brings me to Abby.
She’s an 8-month old German Shepherd pup who’s had a pretty rough start. After discussing it with TJ, we decided to submit our application to adopt her. Her foster family is helping to bring her out of her shell and to help her get over her intense fear of, well, everything. She’s a very gentle pup and needs lots of love.
I’ll post updates as I learn more about when we’ll be able to drive out to Michigan and pick her up.
I wanted to post a comment on one of the numerous blogs our good friend, Sara, has and I couldn’t unless I had a blogger account. So now I have one. Not quite sure what I’m gonna do with it, but we’ll see.
I suppose this is a safe place to vent about all the people and things that I can’t freely do with the other site I normally post on. It’s a community site used by, primarily, my family and closest friends. Can’t really bitch about them when they can bitch back, now can I?
Alright, now I can finally post my comment. Which is, by the way, “Soccer is for pussies.” This should piss Sara off. And that, of course, was the entire purpose.