Things That Get Me All Riley-ed Up

Uno.  Down on the corner I have a neighbor B.  Neighbor B has a dog Riley.  Who ought to be called Soon-To-Be-Dead Riley.  Because my not-so-responsible neighbor B leaves Riley outside unattended and unleashed!  Who does that?  Five times now I have watched Riley run across the street to come play with Chloe.  Each time I have strongly suggested that B use a leash to protect this little dog.  I’ve said it nicely, jokingly, gently, diplomatically and sweetly. 

This morning the gloves came off.  I was walking Chloe and Matty (I’m dogsitting this week).  All of a sudden STBD Riley comes and joins us, crossing the street to do so.  Neighbor B is NOWHERE to be found.  I figure that STBDR is safer with us than on her own, so I keep walking and she tags along with us.   I won’t even discuss the fact that she distracted Chloe and Matty and kept them from peeing.  Or the fact that she pooped while with us and I had to pick it up.  What I will mention is that STBDR walked with us for about 10 minutes.  As we get back to her home I see Neighbor B looking for her.  After I get his attention he calls me his “savior” and says that he “just let her out for a minute.”

Y’all. 

I couldn’t hold it in any longer.  I wasn’t mean towards him, but I let him know that  his actions were endangering STBDR.  And I told him that while I wanted to remain friends with him and have the dogs play together, I would call Animal Control and report him if I saw STBDR off-leash again.  And then I may have said to him as if he were five years old:

Do you understand me?

Making friends in the neighborhood, that’s me!  To Neighbor B’s credit he was appropriately apologetic.  But I’m not sure I’ve actually changed his behavior.  I hope I have, but what do I do if I see STBDR off leash again?

Duh (or however you spell it).   This past weekend I caught yet another guy peeing in the alley.  I took a picture but forgot to turn off the flash, so it didn’t turn out.*

Drei. Earlier this week (on yet another morning walk with Chloe and Matty) I apprehended a junkie in the act of stealing.  I watch Mr. Junkie walk down the parking lot by the mulch area towards a pickup truck.  With an agility worthy of Chloe he hops in the bed of the truck, rummages around and hops out with a roll of copper tubing. 

By now you all know me well enough to know I can’t leave that alone, right?  By a random coincidence (aka God’s perfect timing) I had actually met the owner of that truck just the night before.  So when the junkie challenged my yelling by asking who’s truck it was I had an answer for him (“I know who the owner is and it is NOT YOU!”). 

Just call me Juice McGruff, Crimestopper.

Four.  I also get riled up about people who toss cigarette butts on the ground.  And people who cannot comprehend the various Right Turn On Red signs in the city.  But I’m running low on righteous indignation, so I’ll let those go for now.

What gets you riled (or Riley-ed) up?

* PS Don’t let’s talk about my photography class.  It was an abject failure.  I couldn’t tell you what an f-stop is if you held a gun to my head, but I can tell you that my camera won’t let you adjust the f-stop.  Therefore, learning about f-stop is kind of a moot point, yes?  Not to mention that I couldn’t even complete the first week’s homework.  Which was this:

Determine how to adjust the f-stop on your camera. 

My camera failed photography class.

F-stop, f-stop, f-stop.