Miss Angie Poe, People I know - True stories Options

[merle]

Many years ago, twenty in fact if you really must know, I became involved (obsessed) with animal rescue. It certainly wasn’t my intent to end up with ten dogs and two cats but neither was it in my dream scheme to still be living in a sixteen unit apartment in the ghetto. Someone once told me we are all exactly where we are supposed to be in life but yesterday I would have preferred to be somewhere, anywhere, else.

My husband, Tony, and I have harmonized our dog walking schedule better than any Mozart symphony. He takes the larger dogs on a roundabout through the neighborhood since he is less likely to be mugged or shot. I take the smaller dogs out back where there is less probability of being mugged, although I have been known to become intimate with the sidewalk when the weather calls for bullets.

Yesterday, while taking Pedro, a miniature pinscher, Sugar, a monkey terrier, and Kelly, a mutt if ever there was one, out to the back yard, we had an unfortunate encounter with Miss Angie Poe. Angie has lived here most her life and I’ve only known her by the occasional head nod given when coming upon someone walking down the same street and realizing there’s no other way around them. However, I do know of her. I know she prefers to be well marinated by noon and prefers beer over wine. I know she has been pregnant every summer for the last ten years but has never been a mother because Social Services has taken away every child. I have often felt sympathy for Miss Poe although I must admit it is mixed in with a great urge to slap her. Not that slapping would help her but it might make me feel a whole lot better.

Angie, already feeling the effects of the six-pack she had for dinner, was saying her reluctant goodbyes to my neighbor, Ugly Fred, her uncle, as he escorted (pushed) her out his backdoor. (After all, the visit is well and truly over with once the alcohol and money for alcohol are gone.) Angie stumbled off the porch and down the steps missing the last which produced some very creative use of the English language. The dogs, being dogs, were whipped into a frenzy, possibly by the vibe she was giving off or the fact she was close to me and they felt I was in danger and they tried to attack. I immediately calmed them and thought the incident over but didn’t plan on Angie being a little frenzied herself.

I wasn’t sure which surprised me most, the fact that she tried to kick Pedro, or how she was able to maintain her balance while being in such a state of intoxication.( I have a brand new appreciation for the term functioning alcoholic). Luckily, the kick didn’t make contact but Pedro must have felt the wind from her shoe brush up against his ear and he made an about turn and charged. Angie was about to try her fancy footwork again when I stepped in between her and Pedro. With my hands full, two leashes, I reeled in Pedro and Sugar as close to the front of my body while backing Angie up against the second story step post. There we stayed, Angie pinned like a bug, yelling in my ear, and her arms cart wheeling in an attempt to strike a dog, any old dog would do. Meanwhile, Pedro’s rally cries (non-stop, makes you want to snip their vocal chords, barking) invited not only Kelly and Sugar into the fray but two orphaned dogs I have decided to foster. I couldn’t control them as pack mentality had taken over. I pretty much figured I’d be standing there for the rest of my days, fending off dogs, and earless to boot if Angie didn’t stop swinging her arms. On the upside, being deaf meant I wouldn’t have to wear Pedro’s barking up and down my spine.

Finally, Tony came out and immediately brought the dogs under control. Once the dogs were settled, I backed away from Angie. I could tell she wanted to pursue the matter but she thought better of it when Tony told her it was about time she found somewhere else to go. She obeyed him as meekly as the dogs. Tony has a way about him and it’s not what I’d call charm.

Later that evening, I asked Tony why it had taken him so long to come outside. He said he had been watching a basketball game and assumed the commotion was the usual run of the mill nightly argument. It wasn’t until he recognized my voice (I really must learn to scream louder) that he decided to investigate.

So ends another day in my neighborhood, Mr. Rogers moved out years ago but you’re welcome to come back anytime.


At the suggestion of a few friends and a lot of family members, I am working on short stories about people in my neighborhood. All the characters are real and the events have taken place. They may not be warm and fuzzy but I find them (the people, not necessarily my stories) interesting. I hope you will too. Thanks for reading. Robin