Coffee heat rising

Enough, already!

Yarnell dreamin’ again: I have SO had ENOUGH, already(!) of the gawdawful racket that comes with living in the lovely city.

The damned helicopters are hovering over the freeway, where some guy rolled his work vehicles and dumped nails — yes, NAILS — all over three northbound lanes. They’ve got the freeway shut down and are routing traffic up Conduit of Blight Blvd to Gangbanger’s Way, creating a massive rush-hour traffic jam. This would be a massive jam if it weren’t 7 in the morning. It’s hard to imagine what a mess they must have just now.

So sirens are wailing, helicopters are roaring, and the damn train on Conduit of Blight is going BONG BONG BONG BONG BONG BONG!!!!

I hate this racket. The sky is not supposed to roar. We were told the damn train boondoggle would be quiet (it is not). Between the cops and the ambulances, this area never is free of sirens howling.

Y’know, I love my house and my yard and my neighbors, but when you can’t enjoy the place because the ambient racket hurts your ears, you have to wonder why you’re staying. Especially with the city about to institute yet another scheme to dump transient drug addicts in your lap.

Interestingly, housing prices in Tucson are somewhat lower than they are here. I was surprised to learn this. The Oro Valley, an area on the northwest side of Tucson, has the lowest crime rate in the state, and yet the housing prices are similar to those in my part of the ’hood.

Tucson is surrounded by mountain ranges. If it weren’t for the city, it would be an exceptionally beautiful spot. Check out this little hovel, for example. How would you like that view off your back patio? I don’t much care for the late-model architecture — detest walls that don’t come up to the ceiling and dust-catching “plant shelves” — but one could live with it if the place were quiet and the views spectacular.

For what I could net on this house, I could buy a comparable place in Tucson, on acreage. There’s an area called Casas Adobes with houses whose vintage is more my speed. This place, for example, could be made more or less acceptable simply by getting rid of the owners’ ugly furniture. It’s cheap enough (if $312,000 can be called “cheap”) that I would come away with an even trade, after the expenses involved in unloading my house.

Problem with Casas Adobes, I suspect, is cued by those bars on the windows. Almost every house for sale in that district has bars on every window and door. And that’s telling you they have a crime (and probably a transient) issue. Trulia’s crime map makes the Casas Adobes itself look OK, but the area just to the south is not good at-tall. Well. The “area just to the south” is the entire city of Tucson. Which is, it must be admitted, mostly Chez Pitz.

On the other hand, the advantage of Tucson — as compared to lovely Yarnell or Prescott or Wickenburg — is that it is a city. It has a cultural life. In fact, because the University of Arizona (which resides in Tucson) still resembles a real university — as opposed to the learning-factory model of Arizona State — the university does support quite a vibrant cultural life. Tucson also hosts a major medical center, with one of the only top-ranking hospitals in the state. Tucson has a church, St. Phil’s in the Hills, whose music program appears to be similar to All Saints. Probably not as large or as elaborate. But there it is. None of those things hold forth in little burgs around the state.

Something to think about…

Another Fine Evening in the ’Hood…

{Chortle!} One of the joys of living in the Big City is there’s never a damn dull moment.

Last night — after dark — I’m on the phone with J***, my elderly friend. Ruby flies out the back door and rips into a FLYING BATSHIT RAGE! Somebody’s in the alley, or maybe in Terri’s backyard. My .45, of course, is stashed in its hidey-hole off in the back of the house. I grab a butcher knife and fly out into the yard after her, trying to get her back in the house. She’s SO enraged she’s hearing none of it. Gawdlmighty at least you can call a damn German shepherd off!

As she’s flinging her minuscule self at the back wall (J*** is on the phone while all this is transpiring) a cop helicopter comes ROARING up the alley at rooftop level, holeeee shee-ut! This interrupts Ruby’s frenzy long enough for me to get her attention, so I manage to herd the dog inside. Lock the doors. And resume the conversation with my coreligionist.

This kind of garbage has become so routine that my little heart is not even going pitty-pat. J*** and I continue to make plans for dinner on Friday…

Pitty-pat or no, it’s damn tiresome.

I need to get a shotgun. Just don’t know where I can stash it where a) I can get at it quickly and b) the burglars can’t find it easily. Both conditions must be operative at once…which is not very practical. There’s really no place to hide a weapon where you can retrieve it quickly but the sh!theads can’t figure out where it is just as fast.

At one point when SDXB was living with me — he has quite the armory — I realized we could build a kind of box thing out of plywood that would look like a couple of step-like shelves to hold shoes. Run it along the long wall of the bedroom closet, in under the clothing. Stash our shoes on it, as though that’s what it was for. But the top of each step would actually be hinged, so that what we’d have there would be boxes disguised as shoe organizers & painted to match the wall that could hold the long guns.

He was having none of it, though. Felt stashing the things in the sofa was good enough. (Why not put a sign up: Burglars! Don’t Miss This!)

Seriously: any time you sat on the sofa, you were sitting on top of a loaded gun. Heh…so…you get the picture why he had to go… 😀 Love may go blind at the garden gate, but sooner or later it regains its vision.

Need to start going back out to the range again, too. It’s just such a long drive out there that an hour of target practice becomes an Expedition of the First Water.

Now that our wise City Parents are gating off the alleys for the rich folks, all those folks’ bums are going to come over into our part of the ‘hood. To frost that cake, the city just rescinded a law that made it illegal for people to sleep on the street. Rousting the homeless has become too much of a hassle for the cops, as it develops. So it will be just fine for them to set up their camps behind our houses! Or, for that matter, right on the front sidewalk. There will be nothing we can do to discourage it.

El Gobierno Quiere Ayudarte! Thanks, Dear Government, but…

So this morning city and neighborhood organizers threw a donuts-and-press party to kick off the first of the heavy-duty locking gates they intend to install across the alleys in Richistan and Lower Richistan. These will be grand — in theory — for the folks who can afford to live in those areas. The intent is to fence the local drug-addicted bums away from people’s backyards, theoretically cutting crime and, as a practical matter, much enhancing aesthetics.

When I first heard about this scheme — it was proposed a couple years ago — I was all for it. It sounded like it would cut the risk of crime and get at least some of the two-legged vermin out of our hair. But now I’ve had time to think it over. And what do I think?

Bad idea.

This is a scheme that on the surface sounds great but that is fraught with unintended consequences.

Its biggest drawback? The plan doesn’t address the underlying problem: hordes of drug-addicted transients. Until the matter of homeless mentally ill and drug addicts is resolved, no stop-gap program like gates across the alleys is going to stop bums from roaming our neighborhoods and burgling our homes and cars.

While our City Parents talk on one side of their collective mouth in claiming they want to help our neighborhood fend off the present onslaught of drug-addicted vagrants, many of whom are merely thieving but a few of whom have committed acts of violence and sexual molestation, on the other side they blithely import the undesirable residents by allowing them to ride the Blightrail for free, dumping them at the end of the line, the intersection of Gangbanger’s Way and Conduit of Blight, and providing a 24-hour meth clinic for their convenience. We have a homeless camp right next to a middle-school playground. Over the neighbors’ vociferous objections, they allowed a hugely profitable fundamentalist television church to buy a private home in the ’hood, pave over the yard, convert the property to a “church,” and use it to dispense free food handouts to the bums. This, when the City specifically requests churches not to give out food to the homeless, because government and charitable agencies already do so and also provide needed social services.

Blocking the wandering drug addicts from sleeping in the alleys and using the alleys as their toilets will not make the drug addicts go away. It will not provide shelter for the homeless. It will not provide effective drug treatment or healthcare for them. It will not provide jobs for them. It will just keep them out from behind the yards of our more affluent neighbors.

When the bums can’t get into the alleys, where will they go?

Well, I’ll tellya where they’ll go. I know from experience, because I spent 15 years in the historic Encanto District, where the homeless drug-addict presence makes ours look, by comparison, as nothing.

Into the locals’ front yards. That’s where they’ll go. Into the side yards. Into any car that is not parked inside a locked garage. Into any garage or workshed that is not locked.

Our house had a flange wall that extended from the front elevation, spanning the distance from the east side of the house to the lot line. From the street, this wall looked like part of the structure’s living space. It had a solid wood-plank door that fit into its arched opening, just like the house’s solid wood-plank front door. Being young and careless (not to say “dumb as posts”), we never locked this door. We could have installed a padlock on the back side of the thing, but that would have involved having to hire a craftsman to do it, which would have entailed not only installing hardware on a door that wasn’t intended for such a thing, but also installing said hardware on a solid masonry wall, unlike any wall that has ever been built in the 21st century.

So not being the brightest rhinestones on the cowboy vest, we just let it be.

The bums found it. They quietly slipped in, closed the door behind them, and made themselves to home. A couple of transients set up camp in our side yard. How long they resided there, I do not know. They were quiet, and besides, our television was on the other side of the house, and so we never heard them moving around out there. It wasn’t until I went out there to do some damnfool thing — probably clean up weeds — that I discovered their gear. They apparently had been there for awhile.

One our neighbors bounced out to her car early one morning, jumped in, turned on the ignition, and started to back out of the driveway on her way to work. That was when she noticed the guy sleeping in the back seat.

He was really pissed at her husband for waking him up and demanding that he get out of the car.

If our son and our neighbor’s son were to play outdoors at all, either I or our neighbor’s full-time housekeeper had to stand there and watch them every minute that they were outside. It was unsafe to let them play outdoors at all, especially in our front yards.

One of our neighbors was making cookies for her family while they watched the television one evening. She would put a pan of cookies into the oven, trot out to the family room and watch the TV for 10 or 15 minutes, and then when that batch was done would walk back into the kitchen and put in a new batch. (In those old houses, kitchens were separate rooms, not an extension of a secondary living-room.)

Some guy was watching her from the alley and noticed that she was going in and out with some regularity. He also noticed she’d set her purse on the kitchen counter. So while she was in with her family watching the boob tube, he crossed the back yard, came on into the kitchen, grabbed her purse, and strolled off with it.

Got that? You could not leave a door unlocked even if five people were in the house and moving around! The cops found her purse in a garbage can, but they never did find her cash or her credit cards.

That was Encanto. It’s not that bad here. Yet. I will admit, the child molester who vaulted the family’s back wall and had a little fun with their two small girls was a bit…heh…beyond the pale. But at this point that is still an extraordinary event, not something that happens on a routine basis. In Encanto, this kind of shit happened once or twice a week. It was a constant thing.

We had alleys, too. We had cozy oleander hedges lining those alleys. And we had lots of drug addicts, alcoholics (remember those?), and neglected mentally ill sleeping in them. But we also had them sleeping in our front yards, our side yards, and our vehicles. And I figure that’s what we’ll get when we lock the bums out of our alleys.

Same for the coyotes. See that pipe-like thing at the top of the gate? That’s a coyote barrier: it spins when the animal tries to climb over it.

The coyotes, which are madly being evicted from the horse properties now being converted into farms of ticky-tacky McMansionettes, den in the alleys. If they can’t get into the alleys, they will nest in the hedges and decorative brush in people’s front yards.

How obvious is this?

For city slickers, not very. Evidently.

The hilarious thing is, the flatland touristers who have invaded these parts live in as much terror of coyotes as they do of bums. They are stupidly, brainlessly afraid of coyotes! Which is about as inane as it gets. Tell them that a coyote will not eat your child. They don’t believe you. Suggest to them that if they don’t want their damn stray cat to get eaten, they should keep it inside: they don’t believe you. Plus of course they think they have a God-given right to let their damn cat run loose. Tell them that they shouldn’t leave their dog out in the backyard alone all the time anyway, and they get miffed. Letting their dog howl at the moon, the sun, and every passing sparrow is another of their God-given rights. Point out that the coyotes kill roof rats, moles, and gophers, and they just look at you blankly.

So…you get the picture of why they haven’t thought about whatever unintended consequences might devolve from this project.

Then we have the fact that at the outset the city is going to install these gates only in Lower and Upper Richistan. This, of course, is not just because the squeaky wheel gets the grease but that the palms that have the grease know which other palms to grease…

The Richistans are just to the east of the ’hood, where the Funny Farm resides. The ’hood forms a transitional zone between Lower Richistan and Conduit of Blight Boulevard. Lower Richistan itself is a kind of transitional zone — between the very wealthy, old-money Old Phoenix Upper Richistan and us…folks.

Think about that. Yes.

What will happen when they shut off the alleys in the Richistans is that the bums will flow into our part of the neighborhood. Of course. This means we will get twice as many bums as we already have. Which is as many as we need, thankyouverymuch.

They plan to install gates in Sunnyslope, too, an adjacent low-rent area that has an even worse transient problem than we do. This, of course, is ridiculous: there, the bums are already breaking into vacant houses and commercial properties (of which there are a-plenty) and squatting there. Sunnyslope is overrun with transients, some of them true drug addicts and some just people who are down on their luck or mentally ill and unable to care for themselves.

The situation will not get better very soon. As we speak, there’s a five-year wait for Section 8 housing in Phoenix. So you understand: we have a lot of poor people sleeping on the streets. And Sunnyslope is one of several local epicenters for this phenomenon.

Locking the bums out of the alleys in Sunnyslope will push them down into our area. So our part of the ’hood will get those folks as well as the ones evicted from the Richistans.

When asked about this, a City spokesman said they were planning to do a “study” of the “metrics” resulting from this experiment. Right. Like they studied what would happen when they installed a lightrail boondoggle and let people get on without having to pay a fare. Right.

Glad I installed my own gate! This, you may recall, I had to put in after some of the locals decided the old garbage-can niche in the back wall made a great public loo. It works really well and adds an extra layer of security along the alleyway. Prowlers can’t reach the gate into the yard. And since it’s not easy to climb that swimming-pool gate, passing bums can’t walk up to the wall and peer into the yard.

It’ll be at least two years but more likely something like 6 or 8 years before the city gets around to installing gates over here. By then I’ll be 80 years old and probably won’t care much.

Dogsters, Copters, Costco, Pool…oh shit

Arrrrghhhhh! I come stumbling in from an eye exam at Costco (they’ve made eye exams one HELL of a lot better, having got rid of the cursèd eye dilation drops for most of us), and then take it into my feeble little mind to fix a very nice late lunch/early dinner FREAKING FEAST:

Grilled marinated scallops (thankyouverymuch, Costco!)
Steamed sweet corn
Grilled asparagus (is that asparagi?)
Avocado
Fresh Campari tomatoes (which actually taste like tomatoes
Bourbon admixed with, yes, healthy and wonderful water

What a beautiful afternoon! Weather exceeds gorgeous here today. The pool guy came by and fixed, once and for all, the problem with Harvey the Hayward Pool; Cleaner, and in his absence I figured out all on my little girlie own how to eliminate the pool pump’s motor from laboring and shut UP the damn noise without shutting DOWN Harvey. So the plan was to spread this feast out on the patio table and enjoy this magnificent day.

Well.

Not so much. Shortly before the food is ready to go on the grill, it’s…

RRRROOAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!

Goddamn cop helicopter takes up its position over the street just to the north…and parks there.

Welp. You can bet that after the Great Garage Invasion Episode, I do not spend any time outside when the cops are circling overhead. Even if I enjoyed the serenade of laboring helicopter engines, I really do NOT want to meet a fleeing perp face-to-face.

So. Every door and window in the house is shut and locked. I dodge outside every few minutes to flip over the food and dodge back inside, locking the door behind me, until finally the dinner is cooked. Fly back inside, lock the door, serve up the chow on the dining room table. Far from the beautiful outdoor afternoon. Far from the beautifully refinished pool.

Fuck.

These are the times that make Fountain Hills, Sun City, and Prescott look mighty good.

Well. In fact, rural Arizona is even more drug-ridden than the urban areas. But a little town like Yarnell or Patagonia or probably even Prescott cannot afford cop helicopters, and so is in no position to buzz your dinner. What you don’t know can’t drive you batshit.

Dog: very sick.

Cassie the Ailing Corgi has been even more miserable today than ever before. She does have her ups and downs, over the past couple of weeks swinging from a 1 to a 9 on a scale of 1 (at death’s door) to 10 (back to normal). But today she developed such a limp she has barely been able to make her way up the hallway. She’s visibly in pain.

And of course…

Yes…

A limp is a symptom of Valley fever.

But of course…

No…

If you believe all this bullshit, she hasn’t had the disease long enough for it to have disseminated into her bones.

But on the other hand, she’s always had a transient limp on the right side. Maybe she’s had Valley fever for lo! all these 10 years since I rescued her from the pound? Ohhhhh shit! Gotta stop overthinking this stuff.

Costco’s optometry department is infinitely cheaper than the high-rent guys I’ve been using. My daytime driving glasses are now completely fried, having spent several summers in automotively enhanced heat. I decide I need a new pair of shades, but due to protective laws (and here we mean protective of the industry, not, for a change, protecting you from yourself), one must jump through an unneeded and time-wasting eye-test hoop to get them. So it was off to Costco for that nuisance.

Whereinat we learned that essentially nothing has changed, and then we ordered a new pair of lenses for the perfectly fine frames we already have. What a fuckin’ waste of time. And money.

On the way to Costco, stopped by the Walmart, whereinat I picked up a small bottle of low-dose aspirin for all of 98 cents. Chopped one up into little pieces by way of circumventing the enteric coating, which will not dissolve before a pill passes through the canine gut, stuffed it into a chunk of butter, and plugged it into the dog.

An hour or so later, Cassie seems noticeably better. So…maybe, just maybe, she hurt herself. Maybe, just maybe, the limp’s not after all yet another ominous symptom of a fatal disease.

The pool dude showed up as dawn cracked this morning and finally got Harvey the Hayward Pool Cleaner working. He took the thing apart. Could find nothing wrong with it, essentially confirming the Leslie’s guys’ opinion that there was nothing wrong with it. Screwed around with the pump’s operation and eventually got the thing to work.

He did so by completely closing off the main drain, which caused the pump’s motor to labor to the tune of a loud roaring protest.

After enough of THAT, the old lady went out there and fiddled with it. Opened the drain a bit but far from all the way. This quieted the motor’s roaring, but kept Harvey in motion.

How hard IS this, guys?

Sort of wrapped up the chapter of Ella’s Story that got lost in Wyrd’s most recent crash (in fact, I just arbitrarily ended the goddamn thing) and posted it over at P&S Pressz. So there.

With the new publication schedule — one chapter per book in any given week, not one chapter from each of three books each week — this gives me three weeks to dream up the next installment of Ella’s adventures.

My own adventures will need to slow down considerably if I’m to keep up even with that much slowed-down schedule. Tomorrow we sing at another funeral (of a much beloved friend); Sunday we have a concert (with rehearsal on Saturday); tomorrow afternoon it’s off to try again to meet the prospective new CE Desk emplopyee; and late tomorrow evening it’s off to meet a neighbor who’s trying to sell a twin bed that I’d like to put into the not-quite-a-guest bedroom.

When we say never a dull moment, we mean never a spare moment!

Life on the West Side…

Lest you think I’m crazy because I drive across the city to do my grocery shopping…

This incident happened where the closest Costco resides. There’s also a Walmart and a Target in that shopping center. I feel distinctly unsafe in that parking lot, although the Costco gas station seems OK — because Costco hires a guy to stand out there and keep watch. The area around the Target does not. Wouldn’t get out of my car on the Walmart side, not on a bet.

That shopping center is on Conduit of Blight Blvd, a ribbon of slum running from the downtown area all the way up to North Phoenix, many, many miles. That garden parkway is flanked by blight, decay, and slum from where it starts, near the state capitol, all the way up to the 101 freeway in the North Valley. This Circle K, scene of a milder incident, is within the Conduit of Blight corridor — about 5 blocks from CoB itself.

Why anyone would go into any convenience store — be it a Circle K or a QT or whatever — escapes me. Those places seem to be perennial targets, no matter where they’re located. There sure are plenty of them along Conduit of Blight, though. Here in the ’Hood, a few weeks ago we had an incident where a guy shot a transient for stumbling into a Circle K women’s room after the guy’s daughter. Killed him dead. The transient, that is.

Moving to the Pointe Tapatio by way of adding distance from Conduit of Blight may not solve the problem. The entire city is pretty crime-ridden. Here’s a fine adventure that happened in Litchfield Park, a far-flung suburb where middle-class folk move specifically to get away from this sh!t.

The solution, if there is one, may be to move out of this overcrowded and still bloating city. If you don’t want to live with criminals, stay out of the fifth-largest city in the country.

So…what next?

Okay, I know it’s utterly graceless to bring this up…but when Cassie shuffles off this mortal coil — which probably will happen within the next few days or even hours — then what am I gonna do?

Cassie had a very bad night — labored breathing, panting all night long (I know: I was awake listening to her). And she has decided eating is a thing of the past. She flat out refuses to eat. Yesterday I did get a 2½-ounce bottle of puréed baby-food turkey down her. But this morning, offered puréed chicken, she wouldn’t touch it. Even swallowing the mush seems to be difficult for her.

I’m trying to move tomorrow’s 8:30 a.m. veterinary appointment up to 11:30 this morning, which will mean I’ll miss the choir event I want to participate in this afternoon. My guess is the vet figures he’ll have to put her down, since nothing is helping her and I’m not in a position to spend thousands of dollars trying to revive a 12-year-old dog who’s probably on her last legs, no matter what we try to do.

For quite some time, I’ve had my eye on this dog. The rescue has had the pooch for awhile… And I do miss my German shepherds. That would be why I tend to revisit the GerShep rescue page. Do I want to apply for Lionel/Johnny? He’s a handsome fellow, about the right age, already house- and leash-trained. And white GerSheps tend to have better temperaments and overall better health than the horrifically overbred black-and-tan lines. No one wants white GerSheps because they tend not to bite and they’re not very threatening. 😉

Herein lies the issue: The whole matter of what happens after Cassie is gone represents a tangled mess of questions:

Should I stay in this house, or move now, while I still am physically able to do so?

The surrounding area is really not very safe, and the city seems to be actively working to trash the area, letting drug-addicted transients ride the Blightrail for free, dumping them off at the end of the line on Gangbanger’s Way, building yet another meth clinic in the neighborhood (the 24-hour one around the corner serves over two thousand hopheads a day!) and planning to trash Gangbanger’s Way by running the Blightrail west and east to planned terminuses in two ghost malls. This will bring even more crime and drug addicts than we already have, which is more than enough thankyouverymuch.

Consequently, I don’t feel especially safe here. The solution is the same solution that served well in the similarly besieged Encanto District, where my ex- and I lived for some 15 years until we threw in the towel because we had the unreasonable idea that our little boy should be able to play outdoors in relative safety. The solution: a German shepherd dog.

And, of course, a pistol. Got one. Don’t got the t’other. Yet.

On the other hand, the only other two places in the Valley where I can afford to live and that I think I wouldn’t hate are so far away from the centers of my social life that moving there would bring a screeching, permanent halt to my social life. I do not make friends easily (not by a long shot!) and so effectively this would mean the end of any activities outside the living room, the bedroom, and the backyard. Permanently.

Houses in the ‘Hood are affordable because of the increasingly dangerous slums along Conduit of Blight Boulevard and the meth gang’s territory north of Gangbanger’s Way. We form a kind of middle-class buffer zone between these increasingly creepy, declining areas and a very upscale district called North Central, where free-standing houses start, on the low end, at around 700 grand. The houses in this neighborhood, especially if they’ve been kept more or less up to date and in good repair, are twice as much house than you can buy for the same money elsewhere in the central Phoenix area — both in terms of size and in terms of quality.

Five hundred grand? SERIOUSLY????

Comparable houses (sort of) in the “Arcadia Lite” area, for example, run upwards of $500,000…and they’re NOT comparable: they’re older, smaller, and they don’t even have garages — they were built back in the day when it was safe to park your car in a carport.

Only two areas of the Valley offer housing that’s comparable to mine in a price range I can afford: Sun City and Fountain Hills. Sun City is halfway to freaking Barstow; Fountain Hills is halfway to freaking Payson! They’re both a long way from the people I know, the things I like to do, and the places I like to go. Ruby the Corgi would be placed at huge risk if I moved her to Sun City: the place is truly overrun with coyotes, which have been known to jump a six- or eight-foot back wall, grab a small dog, and fly back out of the yard with it before the human can budge. Fountain Hills also has coyotes — and the occasional bobcat. It also has ticky-tacky construction — the type where you consider a house “old” after ten years. Sun City has low property taxes, but it’s like living in a mausoleum. Fountain Hills would be like moving to another town altogether.

About an even trade…

So that leaves…well…stay here or move to Fountain Hills. This right here is about what I could afford in Fountain Hills. I hate it. I’ve always hated those stupid fake-arch windows that were the rage in cheap tract housing a few decades ago…and just look at that hideous stuff they put on the things! And one of Fountain Hills’ lesser charms is that it has no natural gas service, and so you’re stuck with those horrid glass-top stoves. Ugh. I’ve tried to learn to live with one of those things — Satan and Proserpine put one into this house. Loathed it: never could get used to it. Plumbed in a gas line and replaced the damn thing with a real stove. Though Fountain Hills has much to recommend it, the distance from activities and friends, the ticky-tacky architecture, and the all-electric kitchens add much to de-recommend it.

If we say that leaves one option — stay here — then we’re brought back to our starting point, where housing is concerned: this area is unsafe.

Next question: Assuming I stay here, should I get another German shepherd?

The sane answer is “hell, no!” Or…is it?

  About every third house in the ‘hood now houses a large dog, many of them mighty ferocious-looking. The reason for that is obvious: I’m not the only one who feels unsafe in an area overrun with drug-addicted transients, burglars, and car thieves. The only way the ex and I were able to stay in the Encanto district as long as we did was that we had Greta the German Shepherd, she who chased out a cat burglar at three one morning, who stood between me and a guy trying to break down my front door, who saved my child’s life twice, and who had the most preternatural sense of human nature I’ve ever seen in man nor beast.

Having lived with several GerSheps since then, I can attest that though none of them were Dog Geniuses in the sense that Greta was, all of them served as effective sh!thead deterrents. NO ONE bothers you when you have an animal like that standing at your side and glowering in their direction. But…

German shepherds are expensive to maintain. Although it’s likely that the white line will have fewer inbred health problems than the black-and-tan model, you can be sure that even a white GerShep will be a walking vet bill. A gun is far cheaper, over the long run. Though it doesn’t make for very good company…

I am getting to be an old lady. Chances are good a reasonably young dog will outlive me. Then what happens to it?

This Lionel/Johnny hound looks, in the group’s uninformative photos, to be about three years old, maybe as much as five. German shepherds typically live about nine to twelve years. In six years, I’ll be 79; in nine years, I’ll be 82 years old! Do I really want to have to deal with a sick 90-pound dog at that age? Would that even be possible?

Would a smaller dog have the same deterrent action, allowing me to feel safe living in my home? No. I already have another smaller dog: Ruby weighs all of 20 pounds. First: a yapper does nothing to discourage an accomplished burglar or a wacked-out meth addict. Second, a small dog cannot hold its own against a coyote — which our neighborhood also hosts, though not in such gay abandon as Sun City does — but a German shepherd most certainly can. And third, perps think little dogs are cute (or annoying), same as you and I do: they’re not deterred by a bouncy yapper.

Welp: no word from the vet’s office about taking the dog over there at 11:30 this morning. So I guess it’s off to choir for me. Time for a shower and a paint job…