Her Name Is Chastity.


Andy’s so great. His recent post totally reminded me of how I felt pissed off and helpless all at once this past weekend. Back story: my first-born, Phineas, has been in foster care ever since I moved overseas. He lives with my Auntie-Mom, which is a huge blessing and I still can’t believe how she’s taken him in. I thought I was going to have to sell him a year ago. Anywho, I got him back for a brief minute until the people who were saditty (ie living in an apartment complex in Citrus Heights can bring out the temperamental heiress in you! It’s pretty hoity-toity!) complained about Phineas being in our place and we had to send him back to his adopted mother. But! We did get to live together for about six months before we moved to Santa Cruz!! This has nothing to do with why I’m upset right now, just remembered that…

So! He lives (well, they’re finishing moving, so not really) in a lovely home with a lovely backyard where he can do his retarded orbit-run. However, the neighbor’s have a giant german shepherd who is apparently jealous of the love shared between Phineas and his late wife, Angel. The neighbor dog therefore pushed in the fence until there was a hole large enough for our kids to get into his yard. Now that Phineas is accompanied by Mazel, who’s much smaller…and whose face looks like a mountain ape, they can both get through. So. Apparently the neighbor of that neighbor has made complaints about the barking coming from the yard in question and about their having three dogs. (Counting Phineas and Mazel…. Everyone’s still with me, right?) So, the neighbor dog’s mom leaves notes and calls about how “we” need to fix the fence because “we” got complained about to animal control. Which was a really good example of general lying and otherwise being amusing. Since it was her kid that broke the fence in the first place. Otherwise our kids couldn’t have gotten into the yard. So, basically, that’s the answer she gets. Sorry about the complaints; fix your fence.

And fix the fence she does. (Insert husband but since we know who is the driving force in this little situation, he becomes worker bee and I’m entirely certain that she should be blamed for all actions whether she literally enforced it or not.) With wire. Right. Here’s where I start to think mob-boss thoughts. So my child. Flesh of my flesh. Bone of my bone. In…..beagle form. Cannot fit through the fence, right? But he can get far enough to tear open gashes and then get stuck and then have to tear himself up more backing out.

Which is what happened.

Is this as simple as someone overlooking that possibility? Hmm. I’d like to think so. Except that there was never any danger of her dog getting hurt. And she had already adopted a confrontational tone. So, I start to think to myself, “tonight, we’ll hop the fence and chop off her dog’s ear”. You know, so she can see how it feels to watch your puppy bleed all over everything and have blood in his white fur. But no. I can’t take that out on a poor doggy! But I also don’t wanna go to jail for taking it out on her. So, to express myself and as an opportunity to witness to her about my faith… I decided I’ll write a note with an accompanying picture. It’ll be her, impaled on a beautiful and ornate sword and I’ll be posing victoriously atop my fallen foe. And below it, I’ll write: This is what I would do to you if I didn’t have Jesus. And then, she’ll probably feel totally convicted and properly fix the fence. And donate to the charity of my choosing.


5 thoughts on “Her Name Is Chastity.

  1. As a christian it is our job to spread the good word. What better way to express Jesus’s love and send the nieghbor into the word than to illustrate in bloody detail the extent to which she would be dismembered and sent to the four corners of the earth. Jesus heals all wounds.


  2. The key is this: illustrating in bloody detail what I would do. If Jesus didn’t remind me not to kill people. On a pretty regular basis. I’m lucky He doesn’t mind repeating Himself.


  3. Chastity is a horrible name. And usually inaccurate. It also makes me think of an obese person.

    I do appreciate the random praise though, don’t think I don’t.

    While I can’t stand dogs in general, people that cause them pain for the sake of cruelty are weak individuals. The last full size dog I can recall my dad having (He was a champion frisbee dog. The dog, not my dad.) was, as near as I recall, slowly killed by our neighbors shooting him with beebees (in addition to his advanced age – let’s just say the beebees didn’t help). I don’t think we ever had any proof though, so there was nothing to do. I just remember the skin on one of his bag legs hanging off and seeing the muscle laid bare to the environment.


  4. WHAT?!?! Sweet Jesus. They surely would have gotten some arsenic poisoning. What is wrong with people?!? I hate cats (except for Zuri) and I would never in a million years harm one! Especially because it belongs to a family who no doubt loves it to death!

    Yeah, I don’t know the woman’s name. I just like to insert movie quotes wherever they somehow make a sort of sense in my head. You really should be used to this, seeing as you’re married to my sister.


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