June 12th, 2005

glaring glavine

Worst parent EVER

ARREST THIS WOMAN

CNN article:

SAN FRANCISCO, California (AP) -- The mother of a 12-year-old boy killed in his own home by one of the family's two pit bulls says she had been so concerned about one of the dogs that she shut her son in the basement to protect him.

Maureen Faibish said she ordered Nicholas to stay in the basement while she did errands on June 3, the day he was attacked by one or both of the dogs.

She said she was worried about the male dog, Rex, who was acting possessive because the female, Ella, was in heat.

"I put him down there, with a shovel on the door," Faibish said in an interview with the San Francisco Chronicle. "And I told him: 'Stay down there until I come back.' Typical Nicky, he wouldn't listen to me."

Nicholas apparently found a way to open the basement door.

Despite her concerns about Rex that day, Faibish told the newspaper: "My kids got along great with (the dogs). We were never seeing any kind of violent tendencies."

Faibish found her son's body in a bedroom. He was covered in blood from several wounds, including a major head injury.

No charges have been filed.

"It's Nicky's time to go," she said in the interview. "When you're born you're destined to go and this was his time."

Ella was shot to death by a police officer the day of the attack.

Rex was taken to a shelter, but Faibish said she wanted him put down.


Commentary:

WHAT? WHAT? Let's get this straight. You are afraid that your PIT BULL is going to attack your SON, so your solution is to LOCK THE BOY IN THE BASEMENT?

You've never heard of, oh, I don't know, giving your dog to a shelter, chaining it up tightly out in the yard, or at the very LEAST locking it in the basement? How can you continue to have a dog that you believe is going to attack your 12 year old son if you're THAT scared of it? How can you not take the boy with you on your errands or hire a babysitter or SOMETHING?

And then, after your VICIOUS KILLER DOG kills your son you say it was his time to go? Does that mean that if I stick a shotgun in your mouth and pull the trigger it was YOUR time to go? This was not a natural death. This was not a freak accident. This was not the boy's fault. This was a parent choosing animals over her children.

Pit Bulls are not good pets unless they are extraordinarily well trained. Want a big dog? Get a golden retriever. They rarely MAUL YOUR SON TO DEATH. They're more likely to crap on the carpet.

No charges were filed? Why not? If I were the prosecutor I'd want this woman in jail as an example to others. Clearly she wasn't that worried about losing her son if she treated his life with so little interest or care, so she hasn't been punished by losing him. Taking away her dogs? Yeah that might hurt her, but she should be doing hard time.

I don't like pit bulls. I REALLY don't like the combination of pit bulls and children. What I hate MOST of all, though, are people who choose their animals over their children. I've seen it before and it makes me sick. If you care more about dogs than children then don't have children. It's really not that hard not to have kids. People do it every day.
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A hairy situation

The world hates me

First of all, the dog story is worse than I thought. Here's the straight dope.

Secondly the world fucking hates me. HATES ME. HAAAATTTTEEE

So I went out for exercise again, in the street, like a dog, which we all know I hate. And it was hot out, muggy hot, the kind of hot where your shirt soaks with sweat and sticks to your body and your underpants become sodden and start to sag and despite the fact that you're sweating like the mighty Mississippi you can't get cool. That kind of hot.

But I persevered, because I want to be thin and happy and all the rest of that bullshit nobody actually believes. I persevered because in life one must work hard for the rewards one feels one deserves. I persevered because I am a schmuck, what do you want me to say?

Anyway, I was sweating like crazy, passing children's birthday parties where they pointed and laughed at the fat man who looked like he wandered out of the rain, and my feet were on fire (could explain the sprinklers.) It was unpleasant in the extreme. As I reached the last mile or so only one thing sustained me. That I had a nice ice cold bottle of Fruit Punch Gatorade sitting in the fridge ready to pop my liquids back into place with a few tasty and satisfying gulps. I visualized that bottle of Gatorade. Imagined little red rivulets of liquid running down from the corner of my mouth. I imagined the ache of the cold on the back of my throat and the liquid catching in my mouth as I guzzled it. It was my entire purpose for being. If someone had offered me a night with Angelina Jolie or that bottle of Gatorade...I would have totally fucked Angelina Jolie. But. But. But. I would have been thinking about the Gatorade the whole time.

So there I was, thirsty, sodden, hot, annoyed, in pain, and just about as miserable as a man can be. Finally I made it home, my back entirely soaked in sweat, and got in the elevator. I pressed the button for my floor, the elevator rose, I got out, stuck my key in the lock, and it snapped.

Right in two.

I went to talk to the doorman about it, he tried to get me in, couldn't, called another doorman, long story short it took about 50 minutes to find someone with a credit card so we could pick the lock. All the while my bottle of Gatorade sat in my fridge untouched, and my mouth was parched like the Mojave. If you don't think fifty minutes can be an eternity I defy you to live those fifty minutes of thirst I went through. I defy you. You'll come through on the other side a changed man. Even if you are a woman you will be a changed man. That is how changed you will be.

Eventually I got in and had my Gatorade, but at that point I was so thirsty I gulped it down without tasting it. Then I had a couple glasses of water.

I was already depressed before this happened, but it's a reminder that no matter how unhappy you are life can always throw another indignity at you. It can always put a big locked door between you and your delicious bottle of Gatorade.
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