"I can't really talk about this right now, I'm at work. I don't want to start yelling." This was the only normal, somewhat discreet statement in the entire hallway phone conversation.
"Don't you dare go mess with my dog, woman! You have no business going over to my house, and you cannot mess with my dog. That's my dog!"
"He has bad hair, that's all. He's got food and water, he's fine. Don't you go near him."
"What? You'd better not! Like hell! I'll call the FBI - you just think you have methamphetamine problems now, you wait, you, I'll call the law on you!"
"Don't. Mess! With! My! Dog!"
"You will not. I'll take care of your son, if you mess with my dog. That 35 year old lazy good for nothing - I'll take care of him, you wait and see. I'll take care of him for good, if you mess with my dog."
His voice faded as he exited the building. I was glad I didn't recognize it.