I was snuggling on the couch with Tulip tonight, reading a book, when somebody knocked at my front door. It was 9:15, so I couldn’t imagine who it would be. There are two doors on the front of my house, a wooden dead-bolted door and a glass one to the outside that I also keep locked. I opened the main door a crack to find a guy saying, “My pit bull got out my fence. He’s tiger-striped with a white chest, and they told me you have him. I’m gonna call the police. You better give me back my dog.”
I said, “Sorry, I don’t have your dog.”
He yelled, “I’m gonna call the police!”
I said, “Do it. I have three dogs, a red-nose pit and two pit mixes. I’ll show them to you if it’ll make you feel better, but I don’t have your damn dog.”
He said he wanted to see them. Keeping the glass door locked, I opened the solid door wider so he could see Tulip, who was making love to a raw hide. “That’s one,” I said and put her in the spare bedroom.
And then I let Violet and Redford out.
You should’ve seen them go Kujo on that motherfucker, hurling themselves at the door, raising hell.
He recoiled and scurried off the stoop yelling, “You’re hiding my dog! I’m calling the police!”
I said, “Call them, you fuckwad. I don’t have your fucking dog!”
And he jumped in his car and sped off. I called 911 and tearfully explained the situation—stupid leaky tear ducts. The dispatcher sent a patrol out. The officer told me to keep the doors locked, and they’d keep patrolling the area.
I wish I could go back and deal with the dude calmly because now I’m scared he’s going to come back and key my car or something. But at least now I know how my babies react when their mama’s threatened.