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Showing posts from April, 2010

Yappy Dogs and Faulty Homes

My brown curls smelt like smoke today: burnt plumb trees and leftover construction wood. Phil and I had a fire in our brazier last night and it was romantic even with the Whittier helicopter trying to land on the nearby hills, our tenants watching T.V. with the windows open, our neighbors sprinklers going off, the ice cream truck playing Christmas carols, and the sirens of the 911 calls responding to Aunt Betty who choked on her potatoes—or so Phil says. I think the sirens are for domestic violence in the apartment complexes located between Hadley and Broadway. All the local sex offenders live there. I was thankful that that yappy dog across the alley was quiet. It yaps non-stop from the time I get home until about 5pm: a squeaky yap, like the sound my Junior High students’ desks make when they rock them. I’ve done almost all I can do to shut that little wiener dog up. I’ve called the police twice. Phil’s called once. I’ve left a note. I printed material about how to recognize