I swear, we have umpteen gazillion computers and/or laptops in our house, and there's something wrong with every single one of them; add to that, I haven't had internet access in nearly a month -- long story, but suffice it to say that everything has become cost prohibitive...
*sigh*
Frustration.
And the Olympics loom.
Like "The Ring"...times five, I guess.
You have no idea how much I want to write about all the reasons why both Romney and Obama are unacceptable choices (I won't vote at all)...about the "Pyramid Mountain" fire...about that pervert Sandusky and the face-eating freak; about Ted Eastburn and Memorial Hospital and some of the things I recently heard went down...about the unsolved murder of Barbara Freyschlag (whose husband was out of town trying to schmooze USOC bigwigs into establishing the Olympic Hall of Fame in Colorado Springs), and mostly, mostly, mostly about the USOC and Banning Lewis Ranch...
What types of things were happening out east while we were all agog and gazing westward, huh? I know there was election that none of us even seemed to notice...
My internet time is fleeting and spare...I'll write when I can, as I can, until my technical difficulties ease up.
i just had to purge this from within me right now, now, now)
We got new neighbors on or about March 1, 2012.
A young couple of some sort of darker ethnic descent...and their puppy.
On day one, my husband mentioned that it sounded as though they were somewhat rough with their dog.
"Oh," said I.
The dog's name is Kilo, a beautiful white pit bull.
I learned the dog's name the weekend they moved in.
Boom! Bash! Bam!! The walls vibrated with what sounded and felt like impacts...punctuated by the screams of a dog and the curses of a seething man.
"I'm gonna kill you Kilo!"
Ya know...my family...we are cat people. My mom didn't allow any animals in our house growing up...and only once in my adulthood did my husband and I venture into dog territory; the end result wasn't pretty. The dog's name had been "Go Away", which our good friend Robert T. Moore named her before his suicide. We took the dog in -- a Rottweiler mix; I named her "Ladylove" because of her sweet gentle disposition, and I loved the dog because of Rob.
But what did I know about dogs? She seemed so stupid and was always licking herself, and my husband kept training her to beg for food. I will never forget the day that Lady first went into heat -- I was thunderstruck to see blood dripping from her nether regions! I mean, I thought God cursed HUMAN women with menstrual blood...ya mean to tell me ALL FEMALES OF EVERY SPECIES WERE CURSED WHEN EVE ATE THE APPLE??? And when Lady bent her head and began to lap up the blood she was dripping behind her, I nearly fainted.
My husband and I argued about how to train the dog, and how to walk the dog, and at one point, our marriage stood upon shaky ground because of our disagreement over the dog. We ended up giving the dog to the Humane Society because...well, just because we couldn't properly care for our dog -- at least, not the way she deserved to be cared for. I spent years and years dreaming about the dog and feeling guilty about yelling at her and not walking her and keeping her chained in our yard.
Ladylove was one of the three dogs I have loved in my lifetime. The second was a dogt named "Little Man"...a red-nosed pit bull dog that lived at the trailer behind me in Stratmoor Valley. That was the hardest winter of my life: the winter of no electricity, no heat, no running water, no car, no husband, no children...and each day I thought I might die from freezing or heartbreak. Little Man was the only bright light during that winter of my discontent...then, one day, someone stole him out of my neighbors' yard. I wept and wept, and prayed for his return, but I never saw Little Man again. I, too, dreamed of him for years afterward.
Kilo is the third dog I have ever loved. I have listened to his pitiful cries and moans and screams and sobs for four months now, and am literally being driven insane by the sadness of the sound.
The perpetrator...the dog's master...waits until his young girlfriend has left the apartment. Then, he shuts the dog up in the bedroom for six, seven hours...refusing to let the dog out. Kilo waits, quietly, patiently, until the onset of the urge to relieve himself. Then he begins to whine -- just one whine, so as not to bother anyone. One whine turns into two...and into three and then four; the dog begins to bark, low and quiet, as though he is asking his owner to please open the door and let me out. But the asshole doesn't. The dog becomes increasingly frantic, barking out of the window now for someone to please help him because he has to go so bad and doesn't want to make a mess on the carpet. But of course no one comes. The dog's barking reaches a pitiful crescendo before morphing into a mournful wail, and then sobs.
Who knew that a dog actually sobbed? I didn't know. I wish I never knew the sounds that dogs can make...whether incessant barking, howling after a fire siren, or begging for its life...
I press my ear up to the wall...listening. The dog's "master", a 20 year old thug POS, eventually saunters into the room to find what I imagine is a wet spot and a warm turd on the carpet. I envision the dog hiding under the bed, terrified of what's about to come; I myself begin to tremble...like the dog, knowing what's about to happen, and praying it will be brief...
And then it begins. Though I want to so badly, I can't pull myself away from the wall, listening as the owner roughly drags Kilo out from under the bed by his paws and begins to strike him in the face with an open-handed slap again and again and again. I hear the dog snort and hmmpf, and I can see him in my mind's eye, squinting and wincing...a look of fearful expectation on his face.
My imagination runs wild from the sounds that I hear: it sounds like the owner holds the dog's snout shut while tormenting him -- with what, I don't know, but he doesn't stop until Kilo begins to yelp. The owner lets loose his snout, because the noise the dog is making is music to his ears. Kilo yelps and runs for his life, galloping through the apartment in a vain attempt to escape. The owner follows him, hissing under his breath as he grabs the dog by the scruff of his neck and begins shaking him violently.
Sometimes, Kilo will growl at his owner at this point; other times, he doesn't. The beating he receives is always far worse if he does growl. "Oh, you think you gonna growl at ME?!?" says the thug with outrage.
He begins to punch the dog -- it's the only explanation for the wailing that comes next; the punches are followed what sounds to be the owner slamming the dog;'s head into furniture, into doors and walls...into whatever is nearby and will hurt the dog. Then come the body slams -- yes, what I'm saying is that the owner picks the dog up over his shoulders and then throws the dog down with all his might; what else could possibly cause such loud bangs and crashes? The whole of our apartment shakes each time the dog makes impact. The sound of the dog getting kicked in the side and stomach is enough to make any person weep. I've heard the sound of a dog getting hit by a car before -- and that's the sound Kilo makes...a horrible, nightmarish belching sound; breathless; terrified. And so so very very sorry for making that mess on the carpet...
The owner begins to stomp the dog, causing the most awful screams and howls and yelps; by now I am weeping along with the dog, who shrieks his canine emotions with every blow. The owner does not stop beating Kilo until the dog is nearly silent -- I imagine a broken rag doll of a dog, tongue lolling out of his mouth...a dazed and baffled expression on its face as the owner winds down the vicious attack. Panting -- both man and dog are by now winded. After a moment or two, the owner takes the dog outside to do its business. I am astonished to see the animal standing...to see the animal moving without a visible limp...Though I am hidden behind my curtains, I see the dog glance at me quickly before the owner takes him back inside and shuts it back up in the bedroom.
Of course it goes without saying the owner DOES NOT pick up after the dog -- so, as if forcing everyone within screaming distance to eavesdrop on this poor animal's torture weren't enough, we neighbors must then tiptoe through the grass or else end up with tortured dog poo on our feet.
Don't ask me why I haven't called the police: my husband and I believed we had literally overhead the dog being killed the first day our new neighbors moved in; indeed, in my haste to get to the phone, I leapt off our bed and caused one of our laptops to fall off the bed and onto the floor, breaking the screen. The police came and talked to the people; they looked at the dog, and then they left. Later that day, the dog took a more severe beating. Indeed, every time we have called the police, and at this point, we have called at least seven times, they leave without taking the dog, and I can't for the life of me figure out why. I don't know why the dog isn't limping, or bleeding...I don't know why the dog is still alive.
I am not a dog person; I think dogs are really dumb and smell bad and are a lot of needless trouble. But I love this dog Kilo so much.//
I went to the Humane Society once about it...took the kids with me and everything. We waited two hours to talk with someone, only to be told by the responding officer that there was nothing they could do; the audio I had didn't prove anything -- how were they to know I didn't have some kind of beef with the dog's owner? How were they to know the sounds were of my neighbor's dog, and not someone else's? I told him I didn't care about dogs, I don't even like dogs really, but the sound of the dog's screams were such that I couldn't sleep or eat or think out of pity for the poor dog...and later, at home, I wept afresh for the poor dog.
Other neighbors have complained. Today, I complained to the leasing office...and finally got through to a number where someone sounded like they actually cared. I was told that animal control would visit the apartment some time today and check on the animal. I cautioned him: if you need me to call you when the abuse is actually taking place, please let me know, because I will; I will wait until its happening so it can all be proven, because the police have come out again and again...but they leave the dog to remain in its awful hell, and I cannot bear the thought of the dog's next beating, which will surely be worse than the one before it...
My name is Spydra. I'm a cat person who loves a white pit bull dog named Kilo. I am a dog whisperer, for Kilo whispers to me; he also screams and cries and sobs. I whisper back to him through the paper-thin walls, encouraging him and letting him know that we love him and that he's not alone.
But he is alone, and there's not much else I can do about it, and I don't know what else to do except pray.
Please pray for this beautiful, mild, sweet-tempered dog; please pray that he is removed from these people, and that the perpetrator is punished -- please kick his ass if you know him.
You know, it's been a year since I wrote about the Muslim issue, or the Muslims who moved in next door to me, who turned out to be Iraqi, not Saudi, as I'd originally posted.
About the Muslims next door:
The father ran into my car when I wasn't home; he left a note and had insurance -- yay!
The mother asked me to help her kids with their homework, and I did. I went to visit them once to explain some school work while they were watching their favorite Iraqi television show - it was all about a love relationship in the midst of war. The protagonist woman was shot, and at that moment, all of the people in the apartment -- mother, 6-year-old boy, 5-year-old boy, and 2-year-old girl -- started clapping their hands and shouting at the television: "F*CK HIM!! F*CK THAT MOTHER F*CKER!" I was stunned, and told the 6-year-old boy, "That's a very bad word in English, you shouldn't say that." He looked at me smiling and said, "WELL F*CK THAT MOTHER F*CKER!" I left, chalking it up to culture shock and meanings lost in translation.
The mother once caused her 2-year-old daughter to cry for 48 hours straight; at times, it sounded as though she was shaking the girl and/or causing her to trip and fall on her face. The child's crying was pitiful, and I wondered, what could she have done to deserve such brutal treatment?
Not sure about all that subservient-woman jazz; once, the mom had a fit, and everyone but her fled their apartment in fear.
The older boys, in their early teens, all call each other "niggah" and its annoying to the point of exasperation; they said it so many times at the pool the other day, each time glancing over at me mirthfully, that I had to bite my tongue from telling them that they're often referred to as "sand niggahs" and to shut the f*ck up.
I dunno, folks...just thought I'd share.
FAITH UNDER FIRE
See Muslim mob stone Christians – in U.S.!
Hundreds chant, 'Allahu Akbar!' while hurling urine, eggs, bottles, concrete
It happened in an American city: Hundreds of angry Muslim children and adults rioted against Christians, throwing chunks of concrete and eggs at their heads, spraying them with urine and cursing at them – while police stood by and threatened the victims with “disorderly conduct.”
The city of Dearborn, Mich., hosted its annual 2012 Arab International festival on Father’s Day weekend. As can be seen in a video of the attack, a group of people professing to be Christians holding signs was viciously assaulted by an angry mob of Arabs – as the crowd chanted “Allahu Akbar!” – Arabic for “God is the greatest!”
Starting at the 9:00 mark and continuing to about the 10:30 mark, the crowd – reminiscent of a rock-throwing “intifada” scene from the Middle East – can be seen hurling a dizzying barrage of objects at the Christians standing passively with their signs, causing some injuries.
WND later learned that the Christian crowd had been carrying a pole with a pig’s head attached to the top, further angering the Muslim crowd. At the beginning of the video, Christian street preachers shout, “God is good, and God is not Allah!”
First, police approached Ruben Israel of OfficialStreetPreachers.com, warning him, “The city of Dearborn has an ordinance, OK, that you guys can’t use the megaphone. So, if you guys continue to use that, you will get a citation.”
Israel noted that the group was allowed to use the megaphone in 2011. Then he asked the officer, “So, if we don’t use a megaphone, can we throw water bottles at the crowd?”
The officer shook his head no.
“So what are you going to do if they throw water bottles at us?” Israel asked.
“If that happens, we will take care of that and address it,” the officer promised.
When Israel said he had captured the mob’s assault on the Christians on video, the officer suggested he “take it through the proper channels, and we’ll try to find them.”
However, at the 2:17 mark of the video, the mob can be heard screaming, “You want to jump ‘em? C’mon, let’s go!”
One boy yells, “Let’s beat the sh-t out of them!”
A girl shouts, “Go home! Do you understand English?!”
The Christians are no longer using megaphones, as the mob advances on them from all angles – hurling bottles, cans, eggs, chunks of concrete and even milk crates toward their heads.
Even young children shout obscenities such as, “F—k you, b-tch!”
Meanwhile, police are nowhere to be seen in the video.
One of the Christians asks another, “Is this worse than last year?”
He replies, “Oh my goodness, yeah!! This is insanity.”
At the 6:55 mark, an irate 18-year-old man from Iraq gets into the Christians’ faces, screaming, “If you don’t like Dearborn, then go the f—k back home! … I am an American citizen, and I have my rights. There’s freedom of religion, isn’t there?”
He screams, “So why do you guys pray like this on the bank? Oh Lord. Why don’t you get on the ground, like the prophets, huh? You’re Christian. That’s what it says in the Bible, you stupid sh-t!” Many minutes into the video and after much of the shouting takes place, Dearborn mounted police ride through the crowd. The video states that no arrests were made.
According to the tape, the mob began chucking more stones, bottles and debris as the Christians were injured and property damaged.
“Dearborn Police finally arrive after 30 mins of assault,” a caption states.
Despite the attacks the Christians had endured, a man identified in the video as Deputy Chief Dennis Richardson of the Wayne County Sheriff’s Office tells them, “You’re a danger to the safety right now.”
Officers claim they don’t have the manpower to protect the Christians at the festival.
“Your safety is in harm’s way. You need to protect everybody,” said Deputy Chief Mike Jaafar of the Wayne County Sheriff’s Office. “You do have the option to leave. I just want to make that clear.”
Israel replied, “You have the option to stand with us” as Jaafar walked away, leaving the Christians to the mob.
When police leave, the crowd continues harassing the Christians and screaming profanities. Then police begin escorting the Christians away from the crowd.
Deputy Chief Richardson tells Israel, “We have the responsibility of policing the entire festival, and obviously your conduct is such that it’s causing a disturbance and is a direct threat to the safety of everyone here. Someone could get hurt. You already have blood on your face. One of the festival people, one of my officers, anybody can get hurt. Now we’re going to escort you out.”
Israel explains that the mob throws things and becomes more aggressive when police leave the scene. “Part of the reason that they throw things on someone is because you tell them stuff that enrages them,” Richardson argues.
Israel tells Richardson that the Christians aren’t even saying anything to the crowd at this point. “We’re not even preaching,” he said. “So it’s obviously the signs. Now the signs are going to be illegal? … My thing is, if we could have a couple of officers there, that would kind of keep ‘em at bay.”
Richardson insists that the Christians leave, telling Israel, “You’re going to leave now. We’re escorting you that way.”
Israel resists, saying, “We can’t do that.”
But Deputy Chief Jaafar re-enters the scene and tells him, “It’s not your call. We’ve been very gentle and very, very respectful to you. You are jeopardizing public safety, and you need to understand it’s going overboard. … You’re attracting a crowd and affecting public safety, and you need to understand that.”
Richardson asks Israel, “How many bottles or objects have you been hit with?”
He replies, “Uh, I lost count. It’s only because you guys weren’t around. We have video of that.”
Israel also tells him, “We did try to contact the sheriff. The problem is, he didn’t respond. We did try to contact the city attorney…. The reason this is going on now is because of what happened last year. What happened last year is you allowed it to escalate into this. And so, you guys just lost a lawsuit on free speech, and you want to do it again.”
Another Christian asks Richardson, “Why don’t you get us a bullpen that we asked for in the email?” “OK, that’s a free-speech zone,” he replied. “And the Chamber of Commerce decided that they did not want a free-speech zone.”
At that, he insisted once again that the Christians leave.
Israel argues that the officers are jeopardizing free speech.
“Let me ask you this: If we don’t leave, are we going to get arrested?” he asked.
“Probably, we will cite you all, yes,” Richardson tells him, adding, “You are a danger to public safety. You’re disorderly.
Israel replies, “I would assume 200 angry Muslim children throwing bottles would be more of a threat than a few guys with signs.”
The Christians tell one another: “If they make us leave right now, they reward riotous behavior.”
A woman steps in to speak with the officers, and then they tell the Christians, “If you don’t leave, we are going to cite you for disorderly conduct. … Look at your people, here. This is crazy! Now let’s go.”
After they leave, the Christians are pulled over in their van by at least 12 police officers. The video does not explain why.
