I like to cry when I eat spicy foods, watch chick flicks or read beautifully written novels, NOT when I read about police busting down doors of innocent people’s homes resulting in a dog getting out and run over by a car and killed. The police thought the dog was guarding drugs or guns, believing the barking to be that of a pit bull; it was a Pomeranian. They were responding to a “possible shots fired” call. We get those often in my neighborhood, though it’s usually only the yahoos behind us on Gertrude Street setting off fireworks.
This bothers me greatly, as many of you may understand, as Rupert is part Lab, part pit bull. If you ring our door bell – even if he knows you well – the first thirty seconds of your visit to our house, you may wonder if you want to step inside our door. Of course, once he knows it’s you, all is fine. But if that same group of police officers had come to our door and heard Rupert, he’d never have had the chance to escape – I’m certain he’d have been shot dead the first time he showed them his teeth.
Rupert never once destroyed a sock, a shoe or even one of his own toys as a puppy. He’s never been a destructive dog. Protective, yes. Once we came home and the curtain that hangs on the half window of our back door was on the floor and many items on a bookshelf we have near that door were also on the floor. We know that someone had tried to break in our house and Rupert scared them away. He did his job. Now every time I set a pan on my hanging pot and pan holder over my sink, he starts barking and howling – I believe the scratching sound the pots make going on the hooks is what he heard at that back door by our kitchen when someone tried to break in. He would scare me, if I didn’t know what a sweet dog he truly is.
I’d like to think that we know the police who patrol our streets well enough for something like this to never happen to us, but I’m really not that confident. Just last month I called 911. I was out walking Rupert and witnessed four young men orchestrate an ambush of a woman pushing a child in a stroller. Another woman walking with these men proceeded to beat the daylights out of this woman on the hood of a car parked on Green Street while the baby cried in the stroller and the men stood by and cheered. Here’s how the 911 call went:
“Do they have any weapons?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does anyone need medical attention?”
“I don’t know.”
“We can’t send anyone to the scene unless there are weapons or someone needs medical attention, ma’am.”
OK. I guess next time I should lie and say “shots fired” and then make sure I lock Rupert up in the basement.
This bothers me greatly, as many of you may understand, as Rupert is part Lab, part pit bull. If you ring our door bell – even if he knows you well – the first thirty seconds of your visit to our house, you may wonder if you want to step inside our door. Of course, once he knows it’s you, all is fine. But if that same group of police officers had come to our door and heard Rupert, he’d never have had the chance to escape – I’m certain he’d have been shot dead the first time he showed them his teeth.
Rupert never once destroyed a sock, a shoe or even one of his own toys as a puppy. He’s never been a destructive dog. Protective, yes. Once we came home and the curtain that hangs on the half window of our back door was on the floor and many items on a bookshelf we have near that door were also on the floor. We know that someone had tried to break in our house and Rupert scared them away. He did his job. Now every time I set a pan on my hanging pot and pan holder over my sink, he starts barking and howling – I believe the scratching sound the pots make going on the hooks is what he heard at that back door by our kitchen when someone tried to break in. He would scare me, if I didn’t know what a sweet dog he truly is.
I’d like to think that we know the police who patrol our streets well enough for something like this to never happen to us, but I’m really not that confident. Just last month I called 911. I was out walking Rupert and witnessed four young men orchestrate an ambush of a woman pushing a child in a stroller. Another woman walking with these men proceeded to beat the daylights out of this woman on the hood of a car parked on Green Street while the baby cried in the stroller and the men stood by and cheered. Here’s how the 911 call went:
“Do they have any weapons?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does anyone need medical attention?”
“I don’t know.”
“We can’t send anyone to the scene unless there are weapons or someone needs medical attention, ma’am.”
OK. I guess next time I should lie and say “shots fired” and then make sure I lock Rupert up in the basement.
1 comment:
Now that sounds like attempted murder to me?
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