my neighbors

i've been living in my neighbor hood for at least ten of my seventeen years.
when we lived with my grandma, we were in south oak cliff (that's my hood, put it in your face...*ahem* sorry. forgot myself.)
but my mama did a boondocks and made sure her kids would be soft and took us to the suburbs.
on the left side, is mr. booker. though i thought he was married, my mother and father (read, nosy) informed me that the man may or may not make an excellent fruit salad.
(calling someone gay in the fifties was ten times better than doing a riley--three being final season of boondocks by the way, ohmagawd.)
and on the right...are the crazies.
i've no idea what their last name is. the crazies will suffice.
there's mama crazy, and young crazy. there was another girl/daughter who lived there, but she had a modicum of sense, and therefore doesn't deserve the crazy name. she goes to unt, i wanna say, and she never comes back home on break. can't say i blame her.
but if we've lived there for ten years, they've been there for about seven.
and every year or so, they have some new dogs.
now.
don't get me wrong.
i love dogs.
i have a dog. lefty, the black lab. he's nine or ten in people years, and despite the fact that he punks me with reckless abandon, i love him. if he could talk, he'd sound like colonel sanders, i think.
(digression coming)
one day, it's really cold out, right?
so mr. car's windshield froze over, and i'm getting some hot water to throw on it. i open the door to the garage, let the garage door up, and proceed to scream like a banshee, 'cause my dog (a black dog, mind you) is scrabbling under the door to get in, away from the cold.
and he looks like a demon. never mind that he's a labrador retriever, and it's twice as cold there as it is in texas, my dog is a punk.
so i throw the water on the windshield, get my back pack, open the passenger door to put it in...and lo, and behold, lefty jumps in.
and would not get out.
and when i tried to coax him out, he decided to hop up in the driver's seat.
and by now, i'm thinking i'ma have to take this dog with me to school, and nearly crying about it.
i eventually got him out though. with trickery, deceit, and beggin' strips.
but. i've digressed. right. i love my dog.
but he lives outside.
and all of their dogs live inside.
dogs are animals. animals live outside. even if i wanted him inside, my mama says NO. and now we have wood floors? sorry, lefty. it's not gonna happen.
they took the carpet out once, and the sight of the feces-fouled flooring...alliteration in this piece, what? made me retch a little.
every year (or so) it's a new pair. first year, it was a mother rottweiler and a puppy.
they left quick.
then it was yippy and yappy.
the punkest dogs to ever live.
they always wanna put some bass in they throat to growl at you, but you sneak up on the busters, and say "BOO!" they will be yipe-yipe-ing away, faster than you can say stupid dogs...
nowadays, because i can't remember the others, there is special dog, and fool dog.
apparently their names are sugar and midnight, respectively.
special dog is mildly retarded, in my opinion.
but fool dog.
epics could be written about this dog.
i'm pretty sure if he could talk, he'd sound like a mix of dave chappelle and katt williams.
"sayyy, lemme holla atchu for a second there, playa..."
just like that. and he literally pimp walks. sum'n is wrong with his paw, but it only makes him that much more (is that proper english?) awesome.
but yeah. there are other crazy stories i could tell about my neighbors (like the time young crazy, who has to be my age, in the 9th grade and oddly resembling a walrus, was sitting outside, by herself in a skimpy swimsuit--mine eyessss--on a slip and slide...that was dry), but i think i'll save those for another post.