Thank you, guys. <3
As promised, here's more details, from talking to my neighbours and talking to the police, along with pictures.
I was at work, as usual, and was staying late Thursday to finish payroll. Thursday is always payroll day; but I'd gotten a ton of things hooped up on me earlier in the day, so I was still finishing it at 4:30. I'd just gotten into it with a supplier because their accounting practices suck big time, and I was frustrated and tired. My parents and brother are in Florida (fucking naturally, it figures that this would happen THEN), and I'm talking to my mom on MSN, and she sends me a message as I'm checking the entered hours in the computer. This is THREE MINUTES after the coworker who was handling the phone in the office with me left. "shell, I just got a phone call grady and chaos are out at little grey street"
Cue my, "WHAT THE FUCK?! GOING HOME" I flew out of there, leaving the lights and computers on, payroll be damned, locked the door, ran to my car, and got in, gunned it, and headed for home.
She says, "they got gradys tag. wait for phone call, they are calling the shop."
Me: "NO ONE'S HERE WHO? WHERE? WHERE AM I GOING??? WHERE?"
She sends me the phone number.
Me: "WHAT ADDRESS. I CANT HEAR THEM WHAT ADDRESS I'M ON MY WAY HOME WHAT ADDRESS"
(Lots of caps, terrible grammar, but this is verbatim and I was driving)
mom: (address censored)
Me: "HOW THE FUCK"
By now, I'm halfway home. I know I'd locked the doors and the gate when I left this morning. I had this sick premonition that my house had been broken into. The fact that someone had gotten a number off of Grady's tag meant my dog was dead or dying. He does NOT like being touched.
I get there in record time through rush hour traffic. Grady is limping on his right side, Chaos is okay. There's no sign of Outlaw. The guy hasn't seen him. Keeping in mind that two drunken-ass lowlifes from the projects behind my house tried to steal him some months ago, I was scared that someone HAD taken him. Rushed home with Chaos and Grady. The gate was open. Left them in the yard. The back door was wide open. Went inside.
Sure enough...
My linen cabinet was torn apart. Towels, washcloths, rags, everywhere.
Outlaw, thank the Gods, was in his crate, looking upset, but pleased to see me.
I rushed from the laundry room through the kitchen, which was also torn apart. I heard Mickey screaming, and Gabby screaming, so I checked on Spike. He was shaking in his pigloo, but unarmed. All the kitchen cabinets were opened, the fridge and freezer were open. I went from the kitchen to the living room. The cushions on my couch and arm chair had been pulled out. The printer had been flipped. The cupboards on my entertainment center opened and everything pulled out of them. Checked the birds. There's dents in the bottom of Mickey's cage, likely where it had been kicked. All four birds are there, safe and accounted for. Mickey was extremely agitated and tried to attack me when I got close enough to check on him and the others.
Went to my bedroom.
Obliterated.
OBLITERATED.
All my clothing in my dresser, drawers, and closet had been pulled out and thrown everywhere. There's a gash in the wall behind my bed where he shoved the headboard into it. The boxes of knicknacks that I had wrapped in newspaper were pulled apart and strewn everywhere. Tins of hair sticks (some of them really expensive) scattered everywhere. My Bailey's collectible tin that I used to store change in was gone, and with it, it's $50+ in change. (Almost amusingly, so too are a pair of my worksocks and a few others. I suspect he took them to carry change in).
Went to the front door.
He'd smashed the glass pane at the top and opened the locks from there. Went and checked the library while I spoke to my mother, who called some of my uncles. One of them wasn't home, but one was coming over, so he could help me call the police. I texted a coworker, who agreed to come over and help me board up the door, since we had plywood at the shop. My bead box was strewn apart, boxes of books and misc. other junk that needed to be put away everywhere.
My uncle arrives, helps me make the police report, and stays with me. Police officer arrives at 6:30, stays outside on their laptop, then DRIVES AWAY. I go talk to my neighbour and her mother across the street. I've never been social with my neighbours, which was perhaps my downfall here, but when we were renovating my house, the older woman used to sit on the porch and stare at me. She never waved, even when I waved back.
It turns out that the older lady had in fact seen the break-in at 11 AM. The guy went through my metal screen door, then once that was closed, you can't see into the sunroom, so she didn't see him break my glass. She heard barking, but didn't know if he was my brother, or something, so she didn't call the police. A little while later, he was gone, going through the back.
The dogs were set loose, and a man in the projects recognized them as mine, and caught them. Grady was limping on his right side, and he managed to catch Chaos - and because Chaos is pack, and Grady is the alpha, Grady came along. He gave them some water and set about trying to find my number. He managed to get my mom's number from Grady's tag, which called my mother's house, from which he got the emergency cell number for the shop, then called that, which only turned on at 4, then got my mother's cell phone, and then she called ME.
My uncle left at 7:15, as he had to go drive half an hour home, then take his son somewhere. My coworker showed up and put up the plywood, since he had his house broken into a few months ago, and it took the cops THREE DAYS to come then. I didn't expect them to be back that night, either, but at 7:30, the police came back and I showed the constable through my house while she took notes, asked questions, and when I showed her the blood, called Forensics.
She stayed with me until Forensics got there, and Forensics took pictures of the damage, samples of the blood, dusted for fingerprints on the Bailey's lid and my bead box, lifting a couple.
They finally finished at 9. I was tired, overwrought, stressed, and to be honest, slightly scared. This punk had gotten past Grady. Admittedly, he'd gotten lucky and gone through the front door, where Grady didn't have any easy access to him coming in, and that's where he's the strongest on the attack. So I know now I need to a) get more runners to cover the space Grady couldn't get to before, b) get a steel door, c) put plexiglass in my bedroom windows, and d) move Mickey's old stand into the shed so Grady can access that door.
I got in the car, going on nearly 9:30, starving, exhausted, and with low blood sugar. It was raining, it was dark, and there was construction on my usual route, so I didn't normally go this way, and apparently, I blew a stop sign. And, wouldn't you know it, there was a police cruiser to see it.
All I was able to think was, "fuck my goddamn life" when those sirens came up behind me, and the officer asked for license and insurance/registration. I gave them to him, and asked, "Can you please tell me why I was stopped?"
And he said, "You went through the stop sign. Where are you going? Have you been drinking?"
I just put my head on the wheel, apologized, swore I didn't see it, that forensics and the constable had just left because my house was broken into, I was going to Boss Hog's chophouse on Wharncliffe for dinner, and this wasn't my usual route and I didn't see the sign, and I was really, really, really sorry. I'm not proud of myself, but I was almost in tears.
He was shocked. "Really? Okay, I'm going to run your license, just stay here, okay?"
So he does that, gives me my license back and tells me to be a little more careful, but no harm done, so take care, and he heads off. No ticket, nothing. I go get barbecue, eat some, take home two cartons of leftovers (thank god for Boss Hog's), and get to my parents' house. By now, it's 10:30. I'm just emotionally exhausted. Feed the fish, tidy up, pick up the mail, check everything, look for the shop vac, and then go to the shop, finish payroll, shut everything down, get a box for the broken glass, turn off the lights, and close up. No sign of the shop vac there, either, so I go home empty-handed without it.
By now, it's 11:30. Normally I'm in bed. But I'm anxious. Can't sleep. All I can think of was how badly I wanted to kill the son of a bitch for making me feel the way I did. I felt scared, anxious, and violated. I didn't want to cry. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to choke him until his eyes popped out of his head, and I wanted my angry, pissed off face to be the last thing he saw when he died. I'll spare the details on how many amazingly detailed and gory methods I've envisioned killing the guy through. Jen's been a huge help there while we come up with new ways to torture the son of a bitch for what he did.
I'm thankful, though, that while he smashed the glass, he didn't smash the TV or take or damage any electronics. He did shatter some ceramic figurines that were wrapped in newspaper. Money and items that were stolen can be replaced. What cannot be replaced is my life and the lives of my animals. Grady is okay now, moving good, eating like a champ, good gums. I doubt the police will ever catch the asshole who tore through my home and injured my dog and scared my birds, but karma will get his ass, and I hope I'm the one who gets to clock him with a piece of iron pipe. I'll show him what fear is.
I couldn't sleep in my room that night - it was going to take hours of cleaning, sorting, folding just to be able to get at my bed. So I put my living room back together and picked up the glass and broken ceramics. I did cut myself, but it wasn't huge. I vacuumed and went over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I finally went to sleep at 3:30 on the couch, with all three dogs loose and ranging. Woke up at 7:30, exhausted, looking like I hadn't slept all night, fed the dogs, let them out, texted a coworker and told him I'd be in late. Dozed until 10, went in to work.
Came home, apprehensive, somewhat, found everything as I left it, with one minor change. My Bailey's tin? I spotted it on the side of the road, scratched and dented. Sat with the dogs awhile, ate dinner, then started cleaning my room. Four tall, heaping baskets of laundry later and almost four hours after, my room was reorganized. Total missing: $50+ in change, $75 gold earrings, $20 in African turquoise beads. Why the fuck did he take the beads? God only knows. Maybe his girlfriend liked turquoise. Maybe I just haven't found them yet. But they seem to be missing.
Plans are being made for a steel door, replacing the screen doors on my house, and I'm considering plexiglass for my bedroom windows. Fortunately, one of my dad's good friends does doors and windows, so hopefully, I'll get a good deal there. Then when the parents get back, I'll be investigating a security system. Which will be pricy, but it'll decrease my home insurance, so that will help pay for it.
Ever have that moment of truth when you wonder if you can kill another person? I've had it, and I have one answer.
"Yes." Yes, I could. In defense of my home and pets and family? Fuck yes I would kill another person. I don't have guns, and I've never been a fan of them, but I respect them, and I'm now seriously considering getting a hunter's license and taking gun lessons, and then getting myself a goddamn shotgun, even though logic dictates that they won't come in while I'm home.
Anyway, here's the pictures.
Glass from the door:
Door:
Bedroom:
Living room:
Library/beadbox:
The Missing Tin (currently in my laundry tub soaking with bleach):
by Cayenne on April 20th, 2012, 1:14 am 
You're gonna be ok and the birds and piggies n dogs are gonna be alright!
Hope the puppy gets better
