Red Dawn a.k.a. Russian Poop Dog Lady

When I was growing up there was never a time when we didn’t have a pet.  Usually dogs, once in awhile a cat (my mom fucking hates cats because my grandma Vi had 2 Siamese cats that scared the shit out of her and then one of them gave birth under her chair while she was eating dinner), and 2 fish (they committed suicide by jumping out of their bowl which was placed on the fireplace mantle and slowly cooked themselves to death on the woodstove). We had this awesome Old English Sheep Dog named George.  He really was a great dog.   We could attach him to a snow sled and he would drag us around the yard like a horse and carriage ride.  He once ate our front door when a burglar tried to break in the house.  There were 4 kids in my family so we went thru a ton of food.  My mom started freaking out one winter and complaining that we were eating more than a loaf of Butternut bread  each day and the grocery bill was bla bla bla and she was going to have to sell one of us to the gypsies to afford to pay the utility bill.  I remember distinctly that it was Butternut bread because it always came with Snoopy stickers in each bag which caused bloody battles between my sister and I.  She loved Snoopy.  So, the bread continued to disappear along with occasional whole apple pie and we evil children continued to get blamed for our excessive eating habits.  I don’t blame my mom for thinking this.  Each of my brothers could eat an entire box of Captain Crunch every morning which is why she started buying Grape Nuts out of spite.  We still ate that shit; we just put a cup of sugar on it.  Eventually summer came (we could still have snow as late as May).  That’s when we had to do poop patrol.  As the snow pack melted in various layers, 6 months of dog crap would be revealed.  We were like archeologists, out in the yard armed with shovels picking up poop.  Upon a new layer slowly being exposed, it was revealed to all of us where exactly all the Butternut Bread had gone to and who had eaten it; including the entire wrapper.  Mangled poop twisted the the iconic blue and white checker board pattern littered our lawn.  So fucking gross. 

Needless to say, I'm not a fan of dogs or poop or dog poop.  

When you’re pregnant just about anything can and will send you into a blinding rage.  For example:  when your husband locks you out of the car during a severe thunderstorm at 6 a.m. just so he can see the look on your face or your neighbor repeatedly letting her big ass dog crap in your yard and not picking it up. 

For months I kept finding or stepping in dog shit in my yard.  Not just little dog turds.  No, these were from a big dog.  Luckily, I get super obsessed and move the furniture around in my living room so that I could drink my morning coffee and watch out the window for the shit bandit.  Then I saw her.  It was the fucking Russian lady who lives down the street and her big ass designer dog.  I wanted my rage to build and wait for the right moment to politely ask her to pick up her dogs crap and then I got my opportunity.  I was pulling out of the driveway on my way to the grocery store when I saw her walking her dog, in my yard, as it squatted and took a dump.  She saw me pulling out and quickly kicked some leaves over the pile of steaming hot shit.  I rolled my window down and asked her if she would please pick up the offending poop because I have children who play in my yard.  She just stared at me and then motioned as is she had no idea what I was saying.  Then I realized that she was pretending that she didn’t speak English which is complete bullshit because she talks to my husband all the fucking time.  So then I tell her that I would be glad to bring a plastic bag out for her to pick it up and all of a sudden she speaks English and tells me that she usually always carries a bag but she just didn’t today.  I once again offer to go get her a bag and she starts yelling at me.  Well, she obviously didn’t know what a fucking cunt I can be and that’s when I snapped.  I honestly don’t remember what I said or if it even made sense.  I may have said something about rubbing her fucking nose in it.  This began my personal Red Dawn.

 

 I, of course, am Patrick Swayze's Character, Jed.  Leader of the Wolverines.  

This wasn’t the end of it.  The poop kept coming.  She was walking her dog earlier and earlier, trying to bypass my checkpoint.  As I grew more pregnant, I grew even angrier.  Soon my passive aggressive side kicked in (blame the hormones).  I put a sign by the mailbox with baggies.  I was trying to be fucking nice.  Mike said I was being a bitch and asked me to remove the sign.  It stayed for a month. 

Actual picture of sign I put by the mailbox.  I'd say the sign is pretty nice considering it was the second one I put out.  In the first one I threatened to follow people home.  

(also, two separate neighbors came to me and complimented my sign so kiss my ass, Mike)

Then, when I was 9 months pregnant, my friend Sarah came over to help out and clean my house because the bowling ball which had descended into my who-who was making it impossible to anything useful around the house.  While Sarah was cleaning the living room I glanced out the window.  There she was, is broad daylight, letting that fucking dog shit in my yard.  I snapped.  I opened the front door and let loose.  Sarah, unaware of what was happening, stood there flabbergasted at the demon which possessed my body.  I know for a fact I did an impersonation of Robert DeNiro doing "I'm watching you" with the hand gestures and all.  I’m pretty sure I threatened to poop in her mailbox, her yard, her front stoop, and make her life a living hell.  I also called her every name I could possible think of and I even made up a few.  Sarah was okay with the whole incident though.  I know because she lets me watch her kid now. 

A year later I decide to have a garage sale.  I wake up super fucking early because garage sale people are fucking nuts.  The garage sale isn’t even important though.  I had to park our cars down the street so that I would have room for garage sale traffic.  Anyway, I park on the right of way of the street near the Russian Poop Lady’s house.  She comes out of her house with the fucking dog and walks right up to me.  She asks me if I know whose cars are in front of her house and I look at her dumbfounded.  Of course I fucking know and you do too, you dumb bitch.  You just saw me get out of the fucking car.  I didn’t say that but I should have.  I did tell her that they were mine and she says I have to move them or she’s calling the cops.  I inform her that I’m parked on the street in the fucking right of way ... 5 a.m. and I’m yelling profanities in the street.  I moved the cars, but only because Mike made me.  As I drove away I yelled “WOLVERINES” out my window.  Take that you crazy ass bitch.