Good Morning, Chicho

Gerdy and I went on our morning walk, but right before, Chicho found us in the hallway. We weren't hard to miss, as he was sitting outside of our door, waiting for us to come out. For those who don't know, Chicho is the little orange terrier/something mix dog of my older crazy neighbor, Deborah. She does not take Chico outside, for fear that bad men will "get to her by getting him." Deborah claims to be watched by the FBI and helicopters who protect her from a Soprano-like bad-guy who she got in bed once with years ago, and made mad. The point of this side story is that she does not take Chicho outside, so not only does he not have any friends, he is not house broken.

Chicho happily followed us onto the elevator, and just as happily peed on it. It took some maneuvering to get him out (Deborah was in her apartment, obvlivious to us), but eventually we did.

When we came back in from the walk, Chicho was still in the hallway, bouncing around, so happy to see Gerdy. Deborah was out there with her nasty wet sponge of peppermint and lavender cleaning stuff, scrubbing the floor. I was late for work, so tried to get Gerdy in the house, who was playing with Chicho, but felt bad and let them play for just a bit. Deborah meanwhile was trying to keep me in the hallway by complimenting me on my boots, which are new brown motorcycle boots. We talked about the weather, the approaching storm, my boots and how I like how light they are as opposed to others I've tried ("You couldn't wear the real motorcycle boots...your ankles are too delicate," Deborah told me).

Abruptly, I broke it up and called for Gerdy to get inside. As I closed the door, I saw that there was a puddle in the hallway where my foot had been. I looked at my boot. It was wet!

Me: "My boot! Chicho peed on my boot! And there is a big puddle!"
Crazy Deborah: "What? Oh, out here?"
Me: "Yes, and he peed on my boot...look, see? (gasp) AND he peed all over my jeans!!!"
Crazy Deborah: " know what you do to get that out?"
Me: "I don't care" (door shut, lock clicks)
Crazy Deborah: "I can wash your jeans for you!"
Me: "No thanks! Thank you!" I prefer to have my jeans washed with Tide in a washing machine, as opposed to weird peppermint stuff in her bathtub. By the way, she really wears variations of the same thing every cotton spandex pants, a camel v-neck button-down sweater with no bra, and some kind of Unix cousin of a black stretch belt around her waist that is about 5" wide and clasps with a strange silver contraption in the middle. Her constant accessory is the wet blue sponge with suds of lavender and peppermint.

So, that was my morning. Onward!