An Open Letter to the Lady on My Street With The Doberman

Hi! I’m your neighbor from a few blocks down the street, but I don’t think you know me by name. I’m the one who flees into my house whenever you and your large black Doberman Pinscher with the improbably feminine name of Clarice are trotting by on your thrice daily walk, accompanied by your Segway-riding husband. Of course, the fleeing routine is standard procedure for most of the neighborhood residents you must see, so let me be a bit more specific: I’m about 5’8”, have shoulder-length hair, and am usually pushing two children and a dog into the house ahead of me while screaming, “run, for the love of god RUN, Clarice is coming!” as you pass by.

Look, it was really noble of you to bring Clarice home when you found her roaming free on the ridge trail in the Oakland hills a few years ago, I totally get it. And I know you've worked hard to socialize her, because every time I see you in the grocery store you start a conversation with "I'm so sorry about Clarice, I've hired another trainer…" You, in fact, may be personally responsible for the buoyant employment statistics for the dog training industry in our neck of the woods. And like you, I am hopeful that one of these days, one of these trainers will know what he or she is doing.

But at some point, perhaps when Clarice tried to break the safety glass in the back of your car to pounce at my dog and I as you drove past us, or when she lunged two city blocks towards us with you dangling from the end of the leash with about as much utility as a cell phone charm, has it not occurred to you that perhaps she would be happier in another environment? Say, protecting a Russian oligarch’s property, where she could really let loose with the homicidal tendencies? Everyone deserves a chance to reach her true potential.

At any rate, I noticed that Christmas must have come early to your house this year, since Clarice has been sporting a trim new coat since November. Its black stripes match the muscular black of her haunches, and the orange complements the yellow undertones of her bared teeth.

But you know what? Like a streetwalker wearing stilettos AND a miniskirt AND a tube top on a winter's day, the tiger print on Clarice is overkill. Lose the coat. We'll still be scared of your dog.

Respectfully,
Nancy Kho