Cop call #3 has just occurred.
Friggin' kids are out jacking around in front of my apartment, driving Puck (and me!) crazy, kicking rocks, getting perilously close to my amazing, priceless Honda....
Argh.
Update: the cops actually came out! Two cars! They've got flashlights! They caught the kids! They scolded the mom! Awesome! I heard the mom ask, "Is everything ok now?" and the cop said, "As long they stay inside. And as I don't have to come back--if I have to come back, I'm gonna...." and then I missed the rest. I like to imagine he said, "I'm gonna rip their arms off and beat you with them." That would be fantastic.
Oh, and of course, the kids apparently live in the upstairs apartment next to mine--the one with the woman who has that yappy little shit-for-brains white dog--the one she refuses to keep on a leash; the one she lets out to go to the bathroom while she leans over the railing, occasionally says "Mischa! Shush!", and otherwise lets it zip around the parking lot yapping at 2 a.m.; the one that attacked Puck 3 different times while Puck was leashed (and bit him! he yelped! and tried to get away! and couldn't! because he was on a leash!); the one I had to kick to get it off of Puck. I hate that dog, and I HATE THAT WOMAN.
And those jerkoff kids.
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