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22 PACIFIC SUN OCTOBER 1 - OCTOBER 7, 2010
Barking mad Some people are a few kibble short of a full Pup-Peroni bag... by N ik k i Silve r ste in
W
e all know I’m an idiot magnet when it comes to men, so I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise that lately I’m attracting borderline crazy women into my life. It’s getting out of hand, causing even my down-to-earth friends to recommend otherworldly solutions. Abby, one of the gals on the hill, thinks I should visit a psychic to learn about white light emanating from good people. My hiking buddy Richard says I should have my chart done. To me, that stuff seems pretty kooky; however, I’m seriously considering never again straying from the four walls of my condo and ignoring my doorbell. A little agoraphobia sounds somewhat sane right about now. Allow me to share a recent encounter with a nut job. It occurred on the very day I’d been looking forward to for weeks. My generous friend Jerry was treating me to dinner and the San Francisco Symphony. Our favorite couple, Susan and Ken Pontac, would join us for the evening. With only small worries nagging me (i.e., not smudging the wet lilac polish on my ďŹ ngers and toes), I blasted my Tom Petty tunes and enjoyed the beautiful day. As I stood in front of my closet, deciding between my fabulous brown-and-cream wrap dress and my sexy little black number, someone banged on the front door. Since it was too early for Jerry and the Pontacs, I didn’t answer it; however, the loud knocking persisted. I ďŹ nally opened the door to a woman I’d never seen before. Clad in exercise attire, I thought perhaps she couldn’t ďŹ nd the nearby trailhead. Unfortunately, she wasn’t lost. She was looking for me. My visitor was tall, attractive and seemingly normal. I stepped outside, asking if I could help her. She immediately began ranting that I was responsible for her ďŹ nancial woes. (Later, I found out she’s in real estate, but clearly, the devastated housing market isn’t nearly the economic inuence that I am.) I tried responding, but she wasn’t listening. The wacko then got to the real point. She wanted me to know that she’s watching me and looks in my windows. OK. Got it. Right before I shut the door in her face, I asked her name. Surprisingly, the bizarre woman revealed both her name and address. Lucky me—my stalker is also my neighbor. Apparently, she believes I’m personally responsible for structural defects at our complex and doesn’t believe she should have to contribute to the repair costs. The whole incident was so upsetting that I canceled my plans for the evening, closed all of my blinds and stayed inside the entire weekend. When I ďŹ nally ventured out to the safety of the Sausalito Dog Park the following week, I had an even more disturbing encounter with yet another meshuggah. The ironic thing is that I knew this one was off the moment I laid
eyes on her and I purposely avoided her. She positioned herself just inside the gate, forcing everyone entering to walk around her. At her feet, atop rocks and dirt, lay a very sick, medium-sized, immobile dog. The poor fellow looked miserable as each pup arriving at the park gave him the once over, snifďŹ ng and prodding him. The dog park is deďŹ nitely not the place for an ailing canine. We could surmise that the woman merely suffered from poor judgment, but there were other peculiarities. Like her strange gaze. Honestly, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know if it was the product of too much face work or other issuesâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;all I know is that I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to ďŹ nd out. I quickly walked around her, avoided eye contact and made my way down to my regular bench. I played with dogs, talked to friends and relaxed for the ďŹ rst time in days. About a half hour later, I saw my dog Bruno trotting up to the gate to greet one of his dog friends. I kept my eye on him, because the odd lady and her dog were still up there. Sure enough, trouble brewed. Bruno, an experienced and talented treat thief, poked his needle nose into the womanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s huge tote sack, pulling out a bag of Pup-Peroni. While Bruno pranced around with his coveted booty, I ran toward him. Fortunately, a friend of mine standing nearby quickly retrieved the treats and returned them to the rightful owner. Aside from the fact that there are signs posted stating no treats are allowed in the dog park, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just plain silly to bring a whole bag of morsels around dozens of dogs. Canines have well-developed noses and tend to be pesky when you have meat on you. Obviously, thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not an excuse for Brunoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s naughty behavior, which motivated me to approach the woman to apologize. Only I couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t, because at that moment, she began to throw Pup-Peroni sticks on the ground, resulting in a ďŹ&#x201A;urry of dogs surrounding her. Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s when she decided to hold the bag high above her head. Really bad idea. â&#x20AC;&#x153;You donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to do that,â&#x20AC;? I said. Too late. Bruno jumped up and grabbed the bag. The woman let out a bloodcurdling scream. Rushing to her side, I knew she was missing a ďŹ nger, maybe even two. Several other people came running over to help. Ouch. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve exceeded my word limit and our story is only half told. Come back in two weeks to follow the truly weird twists and turns of this saga. I promise to reveal exactly how many ďŹ ngers Bruno amputated from our victim and why the word â&#x20AC;&#x153;eccentricâ&#x20AC;? is code for insane. < Email: nikki_silverstein@yahoo.com
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