The Sexual Predator, the Ficus Plant, and Bear

(Trigger warning for victims of sexual assault)

While I've had a few close calls, as many women do, this one still haunts me as I am usually hyper-vigilant. But I came up against a pro. This happened about 12 years ago.

We were living in a rental house in a quaint Village in Southern California. While it was in a residential neighborhood, it was a few blocks away from the downtown Village area. The area was filled with shops, restaurants and bars, along with an active trolley station not far from a State college. Old Hollywood. There was always activity going on as our street was a cut through to the action. People coming and going, especially college kids, even ringing our doorbell, was not unusual.

I was in the habit of jogging at night, but only with my Rottie/GSD named "Bear." He was an intimidating looking dog, although well-trained. A former police dog and rescue, he had settled-in well to domestic life. He was very friendly unless you either gave him a reason not to be, or he sensed something about you that was "off." He could not stand my ex husband for example, but he loved my current husband. So he was an amazing judge of character :). His instincts were always dead-on. Any attention I got after sundown jogging was almost always discouraged once they saw Bear, and wisely so. One night as I ran past the Trolley Station, a young, goofy guy sporting a beanie, and a lope, and who obviously never ran further than up to his weed dealer, tried to keep up with us while we ran. He kept asking where I lived and if he could come over and "give me a kiss." It was a bit comical so I firmly yelled for him to back off, and Bear dissuaded him by a short showing of teeth and a growl as we ran. 'Nough said. We never even broke stride.

When I got home I told my husband. He scowled and suggested I check out the sex offender website and see if the guy was on there. The Loping Wanna-be-Lover was not there. But I recognized someone I did have an experience with. I genuinely felt a chill run across the hair on my arms and up the back of my neck. It was the "Ficus plant guy" who had stopped by the house a few days before. Ficus plant guy was an older Hispanic man. Tall and thin, dressed in a filthy gray work jumper with the name tag torn off, gray/white beard to match his jumper, and gray/greasy unkempt longish hair. Wizened, with leather skin and a hound dog expression, every deep wrinkle on his face, of which there were many, bore testament to an unpleasant life entrenched in misery.

This was December of that year, drizzling early morning and my husband had just left for work. Our house was set back slightly, but still visible from the street. There was an unlocked gate across the driveway about 10 feet from the back kitchen door. The kitchen door had a large, glass pane and next to it was a large kitchen window that ran nearly the length of the wall. It was bright and airy. I could clearly see out to the street and any passerby could see into our kitchen, especially past the gate. I was in the livingroom out of sight having just poured my first cup of hot coffee. Bear was curled up in his bed by the fireplace, in full view of the kitchen window and door. Think Norman Rockwell. I heard a rattle of the kitchen door. I assumed my husband had come back, but wasn't able to get in for some reason.

So I wasn't alarmed, at first. But Bear seemed to be. I wondered why husband didn't use his key. I realized that whoever was at the kitchen door chose to avoid the front door with a bell and had let themselves into and past the closed gate. Having done so, they could easily access the backyard and the open french doors where I was sitting. Who would do that? So I quickly got up to investigate.

As I made my way to the door, I was surprised to see Ficus plant guy (FPG) who cut a sorrowful, yet imposing figure pressed against our door peering in through cupped hands. Bear had sprung to his feet at this point and ran into the kitchen getting to the door before I got there. He was barking and growling meanincingly. Incredulously, I spoke through the glass to FPG, now feeling my spidey senses kick in because Bear would not back down. So I chose not to not open the door, at first. Instead, I asked FPG through the glass a haughty "Can I help youuuu?" Manifesting Eeyore, he asked if we had a Ficus plant in our backyard. Thrown off, at the time, I didn't even know what a Ficus plant looked like, I told him "no, ...uh...I don't think so." There were no plants back there that weren't in the ground, and it was all very typical SoCal flora or palm trees.

I was a little put off by the temerity of someone coming into our yard, past our gate, and jiggling our kitchen door as he did and, initially, my demeanor was more terse and guarded. And try as I may I could not get Bear to stop bark-growling, which was irritating me. But I returned Bear's unusual display of disobedience with annoyance and commands to "be quiet!" instead of paying attention to what it really meant. My bad. FPG was unaffected by my vicious beast or my tone. FPG persisted. His pursuit of the Ficus plant was as determined as it was touching.

The plant, it seemed, belonged to his dying mother who, he claimed, had lived in this house once. She had left it behind, but it meant a lot to her and he was hoping he could retrieve it for her. I told him again there was no Ficus plant in the backyard that I was aware of. "Is it potted or hanging?" He didn't know. "Is it a mature plant?" He couldn't say. "Does it flower?" He was losing patience. He just wanted me to either let him in, or give him permission to explore the back. Eventually I began to feel sorry for FPG as he cut a sorrowful figure, and I didn't want to appear callous or prejudice because of his ethnicity or disheveled state.

So I went to open the door.

In a fury never seen before nor again, my black and tan 90lb dog threw himself ...THREW himself....at the door knob, knocking my hand away and me off balance. "BEAR!" I shouted. "Down! Be quiet!" He would have none of it. Ignoring me he barked like he was a German POW guard dog spotting runners at the wall.

Showing teeth and snarling, I once again moved Bear aside and told him to go to his place. Indignant and growling he slowly edged toward his bed...backward...never taking his eyes off FPG. I apologized and tried to get more information from him, sincerely wanting to help this sad specimen of humanity before me, but it was hard to hear him through the glass. So once again I went to open the door (he had pulled the screen door open). He no longer seemed a threat to me. More an object of pity.

As I went to unlock the door and grasped the handle again, from behind me came a rolling, running, meanincing ball of canine fury and hate charging like a hound from hell toward fresh meat; mongrel barks shot out in a cacophony of rapid succession, with snarling snorting teeth Bear knock my hand away and me to the floor. He threw himself against the glass barking and snapping at FPG through it, sure to tear him to shreds but for the few inches of tempered glass between them. I was shocked, furious, and apologetic all at once. FPG was unfazed, completely ignoring the beast before him. I was as much unnerved by FPG's reaction as I was by Bear's focused fury. I thought mayyyybe I shouldn't open the door (ya think?)

Once I got Bear to a low roar, I suggested that FPG give me his name and phone number and I would ask my landlord if such a plant had ever existed. If so I would call him and make arrangements for him to pick it up. While my hell-hound did not dissuade him, my request for his name and number did. "No, no, nope," he muttered shaking his head as he made his way down the steps and out the gate. "It's okay I don't mind!" I responded. He said something in Spanish as he limped with a getty-up across the lawn and down the street to his vehicle. A van. A blue, roughly hand-painted with a kitchen broom van. An old U-haul with a blacked out passenger window. Then and only then did Bear stop his tirade and jauntily jotted back to his bed, tail up, with an air of "mission accomplished" about him. "What the hell just happened?" I muttered to myself. Oh well, ...damn my coffee was cold!

So imagine my surprise when a week later when looking for Loping-Wannabe-Lover on the Sex Offender website, I happen across FPG! He had an unmistakable, unforgettable face and demeanor. And we had done the back-and-forth dance for about 15 minutes, so I got a good look. He was a convicted sex offender. A sexual predator, in fact. Multiple arrests for talking his way into homes (no forced entry) where a woman was home alone. Tying them up. And raping them, brutalizing them repeatedly with foreign objects. Sodomizing them. Torturing them. In various ways. For hours. As of that moment the police had no idea where he was, but his last known location was the Village where I lived.

But for my sweet, loyal, fearless and fearsome very, very good Rottie/GSD, Bear-dog, I would have gotten to know FPG much, much better that day. I'm guessing there was no Ficus plant. And no, let's not meet. Ever.

Shared story by: LetsNotMeet