Black Doggerel

Disturbed this afternoon by Shiny Headed Neighbour ringing my doorbell. He was sloppily drunk (when the dogs surged out to greet him he fell on his arse in the hallway) and panicking because he had locked himself out of his flat. I think he wanted me to invite him in but I'm really unwilling to do that. I went in and utterly failed to find the Tenants' Handbook I was given when I moved in - but I has mad google-fu skillz and managed to find the emergency "halp locked out" phone number online. When I called it for him, I was told they'd already been called and were on their way - in fact, they pulled up in the car park while I was still on the phone.

When I went out later, I cleared away the several variously empty cans of Stella Artois he'd left strewn around the hallway. He'd also left one of his shoes, a puddle of beer and a smell I could have done without, but I ignored those.

Got to One Stop (to buy £1 worth of emergency electricity just to be sure everything doesn't go dead and start melting tomorrow) and my downstairs neighbour's greyhound bitch was outside the store. She was plainly wondering where he'd got to and equally plainly considering wandering off to start looking off her own bat; she was trailing her leash which he hadn't thought to attach to anything. I'd have done it but she's skittish of people not her owner and wouldn't let me near enough.

Her owner was in the checkout queue, nearly as pissed as Shiny Head had been, and he was buying a 24-can case of beer. I mentioned that his dog was wandering about.
Him: "Oh, she knows where she's allowed to go."
Me: "I just worry because there's a main road RIGHT THERE."
Him: *grunting noise* "...murrr tellin' me what to do murr grunt."
Me: *facepalm*

Of all the weaknesses and frailties humans are prey to (and fuck knows I have more than my share), drunkenness is the one I have the least patience with, and shit like this is precisely why.

I came back from walking dogs and ran into my downstairs neighbour with his greyhound coming in at the same time. He's usually a successful former drunk, but tonight he was staggering, raving pissed as forty newts in a barrel of scumble. He'd lost his phone and lost (or spent) all his money, but he was still clutching two fresh raw beef bones he'd picked up for his dog.

I like this man. But I really wish that he'd happened to have three beef bones, or that he hadn't handed one of them to Spike in the hallway. I've left Spike with it because I haven't had the opportunity to pick them up any new beef bones for a while and because he has the attention span of a goldfish; I know he'll get distracted off it really soon and there'll be plenty left for Squish.

But right now while I'm writing this, MAJOR SQUISHY WOE. SPIKE HAS THE BONE THAT CLEARLY SHOULD RIGHTFULLY BE HIS. I gave him extra cheese but it's not the SAME. Honestly, if you could see him you'd tear up.

ETA: last walk of the night, two hours later after both dogs have had some QUALITY BONE TIME. I saw them tensing up and giving each other the stink eye in the hallway as both of them remembered at the same time that BONE was lying there by itself, just waiting for the quickest dog off the mark to claim it. I unlocked the flat door and, carefully ambidextrous, unharnessed both of them perfectly simultaneously.

They scrabbled, snarled and snarked at top speed to the living room. Spike won, of course; Squish is only faster over distances greater than 200 yards. MORE WOE!

Luckily, Spike only wanted to win to remind Squish that he's Batman; he was kinda bored with BONE by this point anyway so he smirked and gave it over after a couple of minutes.

I love my dogs.