Neighbor Problems

My neighbors, who we'll call Mortimer and Persephone, are still having trouble with their next-door neighbor, Tyrone.  A few of you may remember Tyrone from an earlier post in 2018, Noisy Neighbor Problems.  If not, no worries.

Tyrone is permanently differently abled and on the dole.  His parents (mainly his mother, auntie, and grandmother) bought this condo for him as a way to keep him from living on the streets, as his father refuses to tolerate Tyrone's observance of native customs at home (father holding down a regular job and all that goes with it).  I suspect that his family may be paying off the president of the condo association to defend him from any and all attackers who unfairly criticize and complain about his playing rap music as it should be played (deafening volume levels), and sitting on a pair of plastic milk crates just inside his garage while drinking a 40 of Colt 45 malt liquor and smoking hand rolled cigarettes that smell funny.

Nice, huh?

The music problem is gone, but now we've got some brand new behavior.  Tyrone has acquired a dog.

Here we're going to take a break and play a little game developed and made infamous by that societary seraphic beau monde, the ineffable Glen Filthie, called Guess the Race.  We'll include the optional rules about dogs, Guess the Breed.  Are you ready?  Go!

For those of you who guessed that Tyrone is black (American Ghetto Bred Jigaboo), the dog is an American Pit Bull Terrier, and Mortimer and Persephone are upper middle age Caucasians, you win.  Even if you cheated by looking ahead. 

Having a dog is not necessarily a bad thing, unless the dog never gets walked or socialized or taught to behave itself.

Each condo has its own cement patio.  Some are larger than others, which is a design flaw unless you have one of the larger patios, in which case it isn't a flaw, it's a function of wealth and influence.  In Tyrone's case, the dog gets turned out in the patio to relieve itself.  Being a male, it whizzes on the A/C unit which causes the delicate odor of dog piss to permeate the area whenever Tyrone turns on the air.  The dog craps on the concrete.  When the minefield gets a bit too dangerous to navigate, either Tyrone or whoever the hell else is staying there takes a snow shovel or similar implement and pushes the dog shit under the fence, piling it in the narrow alley behind the patio.

The Dog

The Minefield

The Bad Side of the Fence

The Evidence

I don't live next door to Tyrone.  I can't even guess what I'd do at this point, but given that the problem has been going on for two years, it's past time that something be done to rectify this situation.

Persephone is far too tolerant of others.  Live and let live is fine, so long as the other side is willing to let your side live.  In this case Mortimer and Persephone can't use their patio because of the smell, and I think it has turned into a health hazard by this time.

The dog is being neglected, and I think the case should be reported to some bureaucratic animal control agency.  Mind you, this is Columbus, Ohio, the capital city.  If their isn't a bureaucracy here that will take care of this, one doesn't exist - which is hard to believe, as Columbus is moonbat central for Ohio.  Moonbats love to control things.

When he asked me what to do, I suggested to Mort that he get the health department involved.  This is a health hazard, and should be treated as such.  It also devalues M and P's condo.  Who the hell would buy the place after seeing something like this?

So, we'll see what happens.