I was carrying a heavy bag of dog food upstairs when my new neighbor, a short, stout man, blocked my path. "You feed your dog this garbage? Do you even deserve a dog?" "Why are you so lazy? You should be cooking for it with premium ingredients!" "This is basically animal abuse. People like you, pretending to be virtuous, make me sick." Before I could react, he slashed my bag of dog food open with a pair of scissors, spilling kibble everywhere. "Consider this a warning," he sneered, turning to leave. I grabbed his wrist. "That bag cost me $250! You either pay up now, or we're going to the police station!" 1 I'm a volunteer at the local animal shelter. I help trap strays for TNR (Trap-Neuter-Return) and medical care. Sometimes, I dip into my own pocket to foster injured animals. Lately, the stray population in our neighborhood has exploded. I couldn't help but take in a few more wounded souls. Animals eat a lot and poop a lot. My wallet was hurting. Suddenly, something furry brushed against my leg. It was Fuzzy, a stray dog I'd recently rescued, begging for cuddles. I scooped him up and gave him a big sniff. Mommy loves you! Mommy's gonna buy you food right now. Because I need so much food, I order in bulk directly from a local breeder who gives me a discount to support my rescue work. I drove my Mini Cooper to pick up a 100-pound bag of dog food. That should last a few months. I was struggling to drag the bag toward the elevator when my new neighbor, Roger, appeared out of nowhere. "You feed your dog this garbage? Do you even deserve a dog?" I was stunned. Our neighbors are usually lovely people who support my rescue efforts. This was the first time someone had pointed a finger in my face. My temper flared. "Who the hell are you? None of your business what I feed my dogs! Jealous no one's feeding you?" I thought that would shut him up. Instead, he put his hands on his hips and launched into a tirade. "You don't deserve a dog! Why are you so lazy? You should be cooking for it with premium ingredients!" "This is basically animal abuse. People like you, pretending to be virtuous, make me sick! The most disgusting thing about 'dog lovers' like you is how cheap you are. Dogs love meat! They need the best meat! Who said you could feed them this starch-filled crap?" I snapped. "Did you skip your rabies shot? Dogs are omnivores! They need vegetables too! This kibble is high quality, used by professionals for years." "Stop pretending you know what you're talking about, you idiot!" I shoved past him. "Move! You're lucky I'm an animal lover, or someone might mistake you for a wild boar and turn you into bacon!" I tried to drag the bag to the elevator. 100 pounds of kibble vs. my 140 pounds of body weight was a struggle. I barely took two steps before someone kicked me from behind. I stumbled. Roger stepped over me, whipped out a pair of scissors, and slashed the bag open. "Let's see you feed them now!" he roared, slashing repeatedly. Kibble spilled all over the floor. My blood boiled. He smirked, triumphant. "Next time, cook real food! Premium beef! If I catch you feeding them this trash again, I'll destroy it every time!" He turned to leave. I laughed in disbelief. Who did he think he was? I grabbed his wrist. "That bag cost me $250! You either pay up now, or we're going to the police station!" 2 He didn't expect me to fight back. He tried to shake me off, but despite being a man, he was barely 5'5". I'm 5'8", 140 lbs, and I lift. Plus, wrestling stray dogs gives you a hell of a grip. I twisted his arm behind his back. "Pay up! Or I'm calling 911!" "I'm not paying! Don't try to scam me! That's cheap garbage kibble, probably worth five bucks! Let go, you crazy b*tch!" He stomped his feet like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Or a wild boar caught in a trap. His screaming attracted a few neighbors coming home. "What's going on?" Roger immediately switched to victim mode. "Oh god! She's crazy! I just moved in! She's bullying me!" "She was feeding poison to her dogs! I tried to stop her, and she attacked me!" "Look at her! Does she look like an animal lover? She's an abuser!" Wow, give this man an Oscar. The snot and tears were a nice touch. Disgusting. He wailed for a while before realizing no one was buying it. Everyone knew me. They knew I spent my weekends rescuing kittens from storm drains. I kicked him in the butt, sending him sprawling a few feet away. He scrambled up to run. I sprinted over, grabbed his collar, and shoved my phone in his face. "Look closely! That's the bank transfer receipt for the kibble. $250. Pay up. I'm counting to three. Three, two..." Before I even got to one, he folded. "Fine! Fine! I'll pay! Just my luck running into a psycho like you." "No wonder you're single! With a temper like that, no man would want you!" He Venmo'd me the money and ran off, covered in dirt, cursing all the way. $250 richer. Nice. I swept up the spilled kibble into the trash, but managed to salvage about half the bag that hadn't touched the dirty floor. I bagged it up for the community stray feeding stations. I vacuum-sealed the rest for my own pets. Dealing with an idiot was annoying, but hey, free dog food. 3 The next morning, I stepped out of my apartment and almost slipped on a puddle of greasy, soapy water. Food scraps were everywhere. The smell made me gag. "Who the hell dumped their dishwater in the hallway?" I shouted. The door opposite mine opened. Roger's wife stepped out, holding a red banner that read: PROTECT ANIMALS. FEEDING KIBBLE IS MURDER. She was even larger than Roger, with bad skin and a mean face. "So you're the evil woman feeding starch to dogs?" "You look like a tramp. Bet you use those dogs for 'unspeakable things' you film for the internet." She leered at me. "Since you're so into bestiality, maybe feed your 'husband' better food. You scammed my husband out of $250 yesterday. Buy some steak for your dog-husband." "If I find out you spent a penny of my husband's money on yourself, I'll tear that pretty face off!" What. The. Actual. F*ck. Who did I offend in a past life? First of all, my kibble is mid-range, perfectly fine for most families. $2.50 a pound isn't cheap when you're feeding an army. I have five cats and eight dogs at home. Keeping them fed is a struggle. These lunatics haven't spent a dime on rescue, yet they stand there judging me? And the accusations? Disgusting. Animals are innocent. What kind of twisted mind goes there immediately? I couldn't take it anymore. I ran back inside, grabbed the litter scoop, and dug up a fresh clump from the litter box. The woman was still gloating outside. "What? Truth hurt? I knew you sluts were all the sa—AGHHH!" Before she could finish, I shoved the clump of cat poop right into her open mouth. She gagged, eyes rolling back. "Blargh... urggh!" "Guess what that is?" I laughed until tears came out. "Want to know? Taste it!" "Eat up! If that's not enough, I have plenty more!" I waved the bag of poop. She looked terrified and tried to run back into her apartment. Roger heard the commotion and tried to come out to help, but his wife was blocking the door, heaving and retching. He saw me and wanted revenge for the $250. He pushed against her to get out. Two propane-tank-sized people wedged in a doorway. I saw my chance. I lunged forward and shoved a scoopful into Roger's mouth too. "No need to fight! Plenty for everyone! My cats are very productive!" Roger's eyes bulged. He puked all over the floor. Disgusted, I slammed their door shut for them. Too gross. I lost my appetite for breakfast. I stared at their closed door. An idea formed. Since they loved it so much, I shouldn't be stingy. I went back inside. The cats had just finished breakfast and were lining up for the litter box. One fresh turd after another. Yes! Good kitties! Mommy's little poop factories! My eyes lit up. "Don't rush! One at a time! Make it a big one! Mommy needs ammo!" I carefully arranged the fresh, milk-scented litter clumps into a heart shape right outside their door. Then I left, satisfied. 4 I didn't want to be around when they opened the door. I ran to my best friend, Lily's place, and jumped straight into the shower. Cat poop smells potent. I felt like the scent had seeped into my skin. Lily was confused but used to my antics. She just went to the kitchen to cook. Lily and I grew up together. She became a journalist; I became a freelance writer. We weren't rich, but we got by. Since I started rescuing animals, though, I've been relying on her for meals a lot. We were supposed to go shopping at 10 AM, but the Crazy Couple delayed me until noon. Luckily, Lily loves me. Instead of being mad, she made hot pot. I sat there with a towel on my head, eating beef and veggies, telling her about my morning. When I got to the cat litter part, we both laughed until our sides hurt. "Ew, stop," Lily grimaced, laughing. "I'm eating! Too gross!" "More for me then!" I grinned, stealing her beef. The news came on the TV. Lily glanced at it. "Oh yeah, I transferred departments. I'm working with the police on a crime beat now. They're tracking a human trafficking ring." "They target women our age. They use all kinds of tricks—fake distress calls, accusing women of being mistresses to create a scene and snatch them. They're getting creative." "One victim was a girl who rescued strays. She gave her address to someone claiming to want to adopt, and they staked her out. She's still missing. Probably..." We fell silent. The world is scary. Even doing good deeds can get you killed. "Don't worry," I said finally, flexing my bicep. "I can take care of myself. Check out these guns." Lily laughed and pushed me away. After lunch, we went shopping. But we hadn't gone far when we ran into them. "Speak of the devil. The Crazy Couple." I rolled my eyes. "Bad luck. Let's go." "Who? The animal protection nutjobs?" Lily asked. "Yeah. Run. I left them a 'gift' this morning, they're probably out for blood." But we weren't fast enough. Roger and his wife, Clara, spotted us. They were eating at a roadside noodle stall, bowls in hand. Roger charged at me, face twisted in rage. "You btch! You put cat sht at my door! I stepped right in it!" I dodged his punch. "I thought you loved animals! Aren't you supposed to love every part of them? Even their poop is a gift from nature! Hypocrites!" Lily and I cracked up. Roger and Clara turned purple. Clara roared, "Die, you slut! How dare you make me eat sh*t!" She was surprisingly agile for her size. I couldn't dodge in time. A bowl of noodles slammed into my face. Grease and sauce dripped down my chin. They smirked, finally getting a win. But then the smell hit me. That wasn't beef or pork. I looked at the noodle stall owner, who looked horrified. It was dog meat. Most pet owners won't touch dog meat. The thought of eating something that could be their own pet is repulsive. Especially for these two "animal rights activists." I wiped my face and sneered. "I thought feeding kibble was abuse? What do you call eating a dog? Hypocrites doesn't even cover it." "Real animal lovers don't eat dog meat." Roger panicked. "Bullsh*t! We love dogs! We'd never eat them!" "How were we supposed to know? This stall is so cheap, it's probably... probably human meat!" His eyes darted around, sweat beading on his forehead. Clara covered his mouth. "It's synthetic meat! Restaurants use it all the time! Cheap and lasts forever. I bet it's synthetic!" I burst out laughing. These two were terrible liars. It was lunchtime. The street was busy. The stall owner's face went from shocked to murderous. "Bullsh*t! This is real dog meat! Everyone knows where I get my meat!" "Are you trying to ruin my business? Get lost! I'm not serving you anymore!" Roger realized he messed up. "Wait, boss, no! Your business is great! I just misspoke!" "Folks, don't listen to us! This meat is fresh! Slaughtered daily! Come buy some!" He tried to fix it, but the owner waved him away like a fly. "Get out of here!" Lily and I walked away, laughing.
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