The news is full of anguished reports about the disappearance of a woman from her home outside of Tucson. The cops don’t seem to be tracking any credible leads: every report we’ve seen in the news has described yet another dead end.
This, my friends, is why you have a German shepherd. Or a doberman pinscher. And a working pistol. And a phone in your pocket.
Honestly. What a society we live in. Yesterday as Ruby and I strolled around the park, we passed the former home of some neighbors who enjoyed a fine home invasion several years ago. The perps rang the doorbell; then barged in when the residents opened the door. The homeowners were bound up and thrown in an upstairs bathtub, there to wait until their home was searched and any place that might hold valuables was tossed.
As I recall, it took the victims a couple hours to work their way out of their bonds and call the police. By then, the perps were long gone. Never have been caught.
And what am I doing as we converse here on our computer? Yeah: sitting in an easy chair with the back door wide open, so Ruby can stroll in and out as she pleases.
At least I should get her a doggy roommate: one that weighs around 90 pounds. But…I just don’t feel like dealing with a big powerhouse of a beast like a Ger-shep.
Seriously, though: every time I walk past that house I do think I should sell out and move to some other, stodgier part of the city. But where?
Truth to tell, no place is any safer.
And I think that’s probably true of just about every corner of our country. The criminal set is everywhere: in Upper Richistan, in the center of your city, out in the country…you name it and there’s another bad guy.
After the Great Home Invasion, I remarked to one of the cops in attendance that I thought maybe I should move to some other part of town.
“Don’t bother,” said he. “This kind of stuff goes on everywhere. We get called for these things all the time, and it’s the same all over the Valley.” Message being: you can’t get away from the Bad Guys and you can’t get away from their Depredations.
{sigh} Really, though, I probably ought to have a German shepherd or a Doberman, rather than a cute little, adorable little, harmless little pint-sized corgi. My mother and I had a dobe…and I’ve surely had my share of GerSheps.
It’s just that I don’t wanna. Dammit! I’ve put in my time training and wrangling 90-pound dogs. Enough is e-freaking-nough!
My mother used to have a gun at hand, there in the sweet little, conservative little, bourgeois little house in Sun City. No kidding: she’d take it out and set it on the nightstand each time she went to bed.
Can you imagine being SO SCARED that you have to have a pistol next to your bed?
On the one hand, that fear seems so exaggerated as to be neurotic. But on the other…so many things happen around here that you come to sense it’s no exaggeration…
****
Oh Hell. Here’s my son, to drag me off to the damn Mayo.
And he’s having 15 shit-fits…JAYZUZ!
Now I see why my father locked himself up in an old-folkerie after my mother died. If I’d spoken to him (or didn’t speak at all) the way my kid does to me, I’d go into hiding, too. Maybe I need to do the same. Or…move out of the city.
But…where?
* Back to Long Beach?
Too damn smoggy.
* Santa Barbara?
Too expensive. No longer know anyone there.
* Tucson?
That has its appeals, but…it’s too cold in the winter. And I no longer know anyone there, either.
Sooo….guess I’ll be staying put for the duration. One begins to hope that won’t endure too damn long….
