Some background to the Doctor Dolittle thing:
Recall that, in my immediate neighborhood, Cooper the Therapy Pony has been shot with a pellet gun many times; Laudie-dog was shot in the neck with a pellet gun; Franky-dog was shot with a hunting-pellet gun, with that round being inoperable, still in his shoulder as seen in the x-ray; Shadow-dog has been shot with a pellet gun I think four times, while Shadow-dog’s dog-house was shot by a 9mm bullet; Macie-dog has gotten death threats from thugs and buffoons on this same street, twice, the last time being just the other night: the thugs and buffoons were saying how they were going to get a rock and mash her brains out of her skull.
Statistically, those who abuse and torture and outright kill animals do the same to human beings, you know, smacking down their “partners”, throwing any kids through dry-wall and windows, doing home invasions, beheadings, burnings… The usual. It’s all here. Doing the Doctor Dolittle thing is a way to discover who’s who in violence and death and arson and rape, and so on… against people.
Note that all of my neighbors without exception have suffered property invasions and thefts and immediate threats of death (including, at the time, a three year old girl). But the rectory here hasn’t suffered any property or home invasions or thefts, yet, anyway. That’s because Shadow-dog, unlike any other dog, is to be most-feared by those who are malicious. Animals know where everyone is on the malicious-benevolent scale. The thugs and buffoons hate Shadow-dog most especially.
Shadow-dog doesn’t bark at good people, but goes off on a rant of politically incorrect commentary – so very loud – over against those who are entirely malicious, with all of their chains and knives and machetes and tape-handled lead pipes and guns and Avtomat Kalashnikova 47s, and 700 series Remington sniper rifles. Shadow-dog keeps the thugs and buffoons at bay, so far, anyway. He’s a happy, happy dog.
Incident with “Pablo Escobar” communicating “non-” threats to yours truly, as Doctor Dolittle.
Yesterday, on my way home, I was literally a stone’s throw away from the vast array of Doctor Dolittle-esque animals in my own immediate neighborhood, like Shadow-dog and Laudie-dog, like the Town Branch Snapper-turtle and the three-legged Tiger-cat, like Cooper the Therapy-Pony and Pyro-dog, Franky-dog and Macie-dog, from vultures and hawks to finches and humming birds… a Doctor Dolittle-esque paradise.
While just a short distance from pulling into my own driveway, a guy in a notorious […] house, standing in the doorway of his front porch, yelled at me as I nicely drive by on the public street of my own otherwise quiet neighborhood. I didn’t hear what he had communicated, so, not wanting to be impolite to any of my nice neighbors, I continued up to the T-intersection, turned around, returning to the shrieker-guy.
I wasn’t taking pictures of any licence plates, just driving by minding my own business. But when I turned around, I had the presence of mind to turn on the dash cam.
Pablo Escobar, the world’s most notorious cartel boss (perhaps after “El Chapo”) in a 1976 mugshot. Born 1 December 1949; died 2 December 1993, 44 years old. He took a bullet to the head.
In the subsequent conversation the shrieker-guy will call himself “Pablo Escobar.” I’m guessing the real Pablo Escobar is the shrieker-guy’s hero that he wants to emulate. Here’s the conversation:
- Father George: “You were saying something to me.”
- “Pablo Escobar”: [garbled]
- Father George: “Sorry…?”
- “Pablo Escobar”: “Why you all out taking pictures?”
- Father George: “I wasn’t.”
- “Pablo Escobar”: “Yes, you have. You’re not the police.”
- Father George: “I can do that on public property.”
- “Pablo Escobar”: “This is private property.”
- Father George: “This is a public street.”
- “Pablo Escobar: “But you don’t live on this street. You need to get off it. O.K.?”
- Father George: “Or else…?”
- “Pablo Escobar”: “Or else, what… ’cause I’m gonna give you a break like none other. I’m gonna give you an option: IF ! I know the law too, buddy, so just fuck off. Have a nice day.”
- Father George: “Where are you from?”
- “Pablo Escobar”: “It doesn’t matter where I’m from.”
- Father George: “What’s your name.”
- “Pablo Escobar”: “Oh, yeah! My name is, uh, Pablo Escobar. What’s yours? Doctor Dolittle? For real, man, get off this property. Thank you, and have a nice day.”
So, as I say, that’s “Pablo Escobar” communicating a “non-” threat. It’s a conditional: “If…” So, whatever. Nothing you can do about any conditional “If…” It’s nothing. No big deal. It’s like saying, “If you take another breath, I will make sure that you don’t do it ever again, so it’s up to you if you want to take another breath. The consequences if you do are on you.” Or how about this: “If you drive to your driveway from this street, I will make sure that you don’t do it ever again. So if you ever drive on that street a stone’s throw away from your own house over to your own driveway, the consequences to make sure you never do so again are on you.”
To that I say: “Pfft…” This means nothing. Empty blather. Bullies are always cowards. And for all his tough talk, with him seeing that I was ever so calm and friendly and just asking where he’s from and what his name is, I could see that he was having doubts about his bravado. Two young women showed up behind him. He had to show off. Again: Pfft…
I just don’t like being ordered off the street of my own immediate neighborhood. He’s got a good idea though. Pictures of licence plates! The Sheriff told me the other day that he has never even once seen a picture of a licence plate which belonged to the actual car it was on if that picture was taken of a vehicle at a […] house. You know the drill. The licence plate hangs awkwardly off the bumper with one screw as it’s so often transferred to other vehicles. It can often be that the vehicles are stolen, or the tags are out of date, or there’s no insurance, or the driver is suspended, or the driver has multiple felony warrants and is on the lam…
Anyway, I slowly, quietly, ever so politely drove over to my own driveway, but that’s when the real trouble started up. Stay tuned. Never a dull moment in this neighborhood. And the two incidents might well be connected.
And, by the way, just to say, I live in an otherwise wonderful neighborhood. I love it here and being in the mountains. The paradise aspect of the garden God planted back in Genesis is so very evident. It’s really too bad and sad that there are some who have no appreciation of the paradise aspect of the garden that God planted. Too bad. Too sad.
I’m sorry, but I have to categorize this under “humor” since this guy was just so unsure of himself, really lame in his brashness. I mean, it is too bad and too sad, but I can’t help laughing at the ineptness of it all. I am a little concerned about Shadow-dog and Macie-dog. I’m such a Doctor Dolittle that I wouldn’t want to see them harmed in any way. I have to wonder if the real Pablo Escobar tortured and killed animals…
By the way and just to say, my ecclesiastical superiors tell me that real Catholics don’t run away, and in this Diocese we’re not going to be run off; we’re not going to run away.
And to that I say, Amen.