When I was ten years old I accused my neighbor of eating his dog. I still stand by that accusation.
I grew up in a city right outside of Boston called Waltham. My neighborhood was very diverse. There were a lot of Mexicans and Puertro Ricans in my neighborhood. I ate some good food let me tell you. My neighborhood was pretty safe. My mother would allow my brother and I to walk to our friend's houses since most of them lived on our street or around the block. No one bothered me except for one neighbor. Mr. Camacho.
Mr. Camacho was a fat Mexican guy who was always sitting on his front porch. I would walk by to get to my friend's house and never bothered him. For some reason he started yelling at me whenever I'd walk by.
"Hey you stupid cracker!"
"You're so white you glow in the dark!"
"Stupid white girl!"
I was ten years old. I never did anything to him but walk by his house. Apparently I wasn't the only white kid he yelled at in my neighborhood. He would shout at all of us. We were all stupid crackers.
My friend's parents were made aware of this and started standing out on their porch to keep an eye on Mr. Camacho. Mr. Camacho didn't care. He would still yell at us and so my friend's parents started yelling at him from their porch. Porch wars! This should be a show.
The Camacho's had a ton of animals in their back yard. They had chickens, bunnies, birds and they had a dog named Chewy. I was out playing in my back yard one day with my brother (which abutted the Camacho's yard) and I started hearing all this squawking and then there were feathers everywhere. The Camacho's were throwing their chickens against their garage to try to kill them. I was horrified and ran crying to my mom. She walked into the backyard, saw what was happening and called the police. The police came over and told the Camacho's that they couldn't kill chickens like that. They were dead at that point and they ate them for dinner.
After the chicken incident I noticed more animals going missing. All the bunnies were gone, then the birds. Finally Chewy, the dog was gone. Mr. Camacho continued his racist rantings and one day I had enough. I turned to him and yelled.
"You ate your dog!"
Then I ran into my friend's house. I didn't want to wait for the response.
To be fair, the Camacho kids loved that dog so I can't imagine that they ate their dog. He probably died of old age. But the dog's name was Chewy...
Mr. Camacho didn't say much after that. If he did I would stick my tongue out and keep walking. I don't think my mother knew of Mr. Camacho's racist comments. I was afraid she wouldn't let me walk around the block if she did.