The Chihuahua Shushing Incident
You ever have one of those days where you wake up and think, Today will be uneventful. Nothing weird will happen. Everything will go smoothly. Yeah, I had one of those this morning. And now I’m sitting in a police station, trying to explain to an officer that I didn’t shush my neighbor’s chihuahuas.
But let’s back up.
It all started around 6:45 a.m., a time when only the truly deranged and people who don’t need coffee to function wake up. The neighbor’s dogs (you know, the ones that sound like a car alarm with a cold?) start their daily barking ritual. They’ve got more energy than I’ve had since 2011, and they like to remind the entire building of it.
The dogs bark, and then the neighbors yell at them to stop barking, which is like yelling at rain to stop falling. Spoiler: it doesn’t work.
So, mid-barkiest, I mutter to myself (and maybe sort of in their general direction), “Shhhhhh.”
Apparently, this is a declaration of war in Chihuahua Land.
Fast forward to this afternoon. The neighbor bangs on my door, claiming I “emotionally distressed” her dogs by shushing them. I figured she’d cool down after a few minutes. Nope. She went straight to the police station. And then, somehow, I was expected to go there too.
Naturally, I panicked. I texted the group:
Me: So my neighbor reported me to the police for shushing her chihuahuas. I’m on my way to the station. Send help.
Tessa: Wait, reported you for… shushing? 😨
Mark: LMAO. What’s the crime? Noise reduction? 🤷♂️
Sophie: Are you serious? You need a lawyer? I can be there in 10.
Chaz: DUDE. I’ll go with you. I’ve been watching Law & Order reruns all week. I’m basically an expert. 💪✌️
And that’s how I ended up walking into the police station with the worst moral support team imaginable. Tessa was in full meltdown mode, Googling “Do police arrest for animal-related misunderstandings?” while pacing in small, panicked circles. Mark was completely relaxed, eating leftover pizza he’d somehow smuggled in (as one does), and Sophie was ready to sue everyone in the room if things went south. Chaz was… well, Chaz. He had sunglasses on indoors, texting someone in between whispering, “Don’t worry, bro, we’ll get you off.”
Chaz, my guy, I’m not on trial.
We sat in the waiting area, and Tessa’s anxious energy was starting to affect the whole room. She kept nervously shuffling through her purse, pulling out things like lip balm and hand sanitizer, only to put them back in after a few seconds.
“I mean, technically speaking, you did shush the dogs,” she said, whispering like we were talking about insider trading and not a Chihuahua-related misdemeanor. “Maybe we should prepare for the worst?”
“Oh my god, Tessa, I’m not going to prison for shushing,” I muttered.
“You never know, Alex! They could have, like, dog trauma or something. What if this goes on your permanent record?!” She punctuated her sentence with a wide-eyed 😨, and I could feel my blood pressure rising.
Chaz leaned over. “It’s chill. Worst case scenario? You get community service. Like, maybe you’ll have to work at an animal shelter. That’s a win-win, dude. Dogs love you, right?”
At that moment, an officer called my name. Time to face my Chihuahua-related doom.
So, here’s the thing they don’t tell you about police stations: They are awkward. Like, impossibly awkward. I sat down in front of an officer whose expression was as unreadable as a brick wall.
“Mr. Alex,” he began, “your neighbor claims you have… harassed her dogs?”
“Not harassed! I—I just shushed them,” I stammered. “One time. It was like an automatic reflex. They were barking at… well, probably nothing, because they’re chihuahuas, and I just—”
He raised a hand, stopping me mid-sentence. “Are you saying you didn’t raise your voice or threaten them?”
I blinked. “Threaten? They’re, like, two pounds each.”
He scribbled something on his notepad. I’m assuming it was: Defendant is terrified of small dogs. Not a good look.
Behind me, Chaz whispered to Tessa, “See? We got this. The man has nothing on Alex.” Chaz then proceeded to fist bump the air like this was some sort of legal victory.
Just when I thought the whole thing couldn’t get any worse, Mark decided to chime in.
“Hey, uh, officer?” he said, wiping his hands on a napkin (pizza crumbs everywhere, naturally). “Do you have, like, an area for recycling here? I’ve got this empty pizza box and—”
“Mark, for the love of God, not now,” I hissed.
The officer raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the officer closed his notebook and said, “Well, Mr. Alex, this doesn’t seem to rise to the level of a formal complaint. I’d recommend avoiding further interactions with your neighbor’s pets.”
Avoid interactions? I’m planning to avoid the entire building at this point.
As we left the police station, Sophie—who’d been suspiciously quiet the whole time—finally spoke up.
“You know, this whole thing could have been avoided if you’d just… I don’t know, invested in noise-canceling headphones.”
“Oh, thank you, Sophie. I’ll make sure to drown out the sounds of New York City’s finest barking machines next time,” I said, rolling my eyes.
Chaz clapped me on the back. “See? All good. No arrest. You’re a free man! This calls for celebratory smoothies, bro.”
“Or,” Tessa interrupted, “maybe we go home, lie low for a while, and never shush another living being again.”
Life lesson of the day? Don’t shush your neighbor’s chihuahuas. It’s not worth the trip to the police station. Also, if you ever need moral support, don’t bring your friends. Bring a lawyer. Preferably one who isn’t also in your friend group.
