Monday, April 14, 2014

Pixie

This next story is another one from my Aunt Terry.
And even though it's her story, I'm the one that's going to tell it.

See, the thing is, I debated whether or not to share it at all.
It's a funny story, but it contains some vulgar and (possibly) offensive language.
And in order to tell it correctly, I can't censor it or clean it up.
Otherwise, what's the point?
But I can add in some exposition, which is why I'm telling my Aunt's story from my point of view.

Ok...on to the story of Pixie.

Pixie was my Aunt's dog.
She was a small light brown wire-haired Cairn Terrier. And if I remember correctly, she lived to be about 700 years old.

Pixie was a good dog. Playful, friendly and energetic.
Pixie was also an amazingly proficient escape artist.
There were no fences, no cages, no chains and no walls that could contain this dog.
She could open doors, jump through screens and hotwire a car.
My aunt tried for years to contain this dog, but to no avail.
Pixie went where Pixie wanted to go and nothing short of Fort Knox type security was going to stop her. Eventually, my aunt just gave up trying and honestly, everyone was happier for it.

Everyone except Fran.

Fran was my aunt's next door neighbor and the biggest bitch in Rockland County.
That's not just an opinion or a broad generalization.
Fran was a county champ. 4 years running, gold medal-winning giant bitch triathlete.
The heights of her bitchery knew no bounds and has yet to meet it's equal.

Every morning my aunt would leave for work at around 7am.
By 7:03, Pixie had gotten out of the house.
It was like a little game they both played.
Before my aunt would leave, she would look over at Pixie, who would usually pretend to be asleep.
As soon as my aunt pulled out of the driveway, Pixie would get up, make sure the coast was clear, and leave for the day. Sometimes, it was a simple escape. She would jump up on the kitchen table, get a running start and leap through the window screen and out to freedom. Some days, it was more elaborate. She would run upstairs, open the second story window, hop down on to the air conditioning unit and then down onto the roof and then hood of my aunt's second car.

Nobody is sure exactly what Pixie's routine was. Mostly it was just wandering around the neighborhood or running around in the field behind my aunt's house. But occasionally there were reports that a dog matching Pixie's description was seen wearing a cowboy hat, driving a black Trans Am, heading eastbound and down. Of course, none of this was ever proven as Pixie always made it home before my aunt.

The one thing that's certain, is that every morning Pixie liked to leave a little doggie present on Fran's front lawn. And every evening, Fran would come banging on my aunt's door to complain.

One evening Fran's bitchiness went into overdrive.
She came over to my aunt's house and started banging on the doors and windows, screaming at the top of her lungs about Pixie. Let's just say, Fran made a fuss.
She said she had had enough and that if my aunt wasn't going to do anything about it, she would.

And she did.

The next day, after my aunt left for work, Fran grabbed Pixie and brought her down to a local vet and demanded that they put her to sleep immediately. The vet, sensing that something was obviously not kosher, asked Fran if the dog belonged to her. Fran said "No" that it was her neighbors dog and a nuisance. The vet told her that they can't put down someone else's dog. Nuisance or not. They suggested Fran leave and return the dog to my aunt.
Instead, Fran drove down to a local animal shelter, the Hi-Tor Animal Care Center, and threw Pixie over the 6 foot high, chain link fence that separated the main building from the yard.

When my aunt got home and saw Pixie was gone, she knew something bad had happened.
After all, it's not like Fran had kept her intentions a secret.

My aunt called my mom up in a panic and explained what happened.
And even though she lived 2 1/2 hours away, my mom grabbed my brother and I, jumped in the car and raced up there.

We all spent the rest of that evening and the next morning looking for Pixie.

Around two o'clock in the afternoon the following day, my aunt had us swing by Hi-Tor. She thought that maybe there was a slight chance someone had seen Pixie and dropped her off there.
And no sooner did we pull into the parking lot than Pixie came running out from under the fence.
No worse for wear. In fact, she didn't seem to notice or care that something had been amiss.

As we were driving back to my aunts house, we spotted Fran standing in her driveway.

We all got out of the car and headed right for her...my aunt and my cousin David, yelling and screaming the entire way. Fran gave as good as she got and within seconds it was pandemonium.
Grunting. Snorting. Cursing. Fists clenching. Arms waiving. It was a slobberknocker.
We were one body slam away from it being an over-the-top 10 man battle royal.

Up until this point, my mom, who usually avoided confrontation when she could help it, had just been standing quietly in the back, Watching this free-for-all unfold. But I guess she had heard enough because she pushed her way through myself, my aunt and my cousin, knocking him over in the process - and right up into Fran's face and said "You fucking bitch! We're calling the cops. You're going to prison. And I hope you enjoy getting fucked in the ass!"

And then everything went quiet.

We all just stood there in silence.
Just kind of looking at one another.

Astonished.

With out mouths agape.
If this was a movie, you would have heard a needle scratching off of a record.


Let me just say, if you've never heard your mother threaten someone with forcible sodomy, I assure you, it's eye opening to say the least.

Doubly so, when we're talking about my mom.

My mother could curse a blue streak when she wanted to, but she was by no means a boorish or crude woman. In fact, it was quite the opposite. She was always polite and always gentle. Never vulgar.

But to see her stand up in front of someone like that, without flinching, without a hint of fear and talk about prison rape, well, it was pretty damn spectacular. I guess she just thought this situation warranted a little something extra. So she dropped the kid gloves, put on the pimp hand and went straight up gangsta.

In the blink of an eye, this:

became this:




























And the rest of us just looked like this:























The battle with Fran pretty much came to a screeching halt after that.
We all backed away slowly from Carol - who just stood there with her finger planted firmly in Fran's face. Even Fran was silent. Her eyes dropped down to her shoes and she eventually disappeared into her house.

The best part, was that after all this, Pixie continued escaping from the house and continued making daily deposits on Fran's lawn.
But oddly enough, we never heard another complaint from her again.


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