The door-slamming fun continued. Spouse took the dogs downstairs to "take care of business" and confirmed that the party was being held "not by the pot-smokers but by the geeky African-American guy who lives with the geeky Asian guy and the overweight white kid - you know, the people with the Che Guevara flag on their wall. Okay, they are probably pot smokers, too, but they aren't the pot smokers with the really huge and visible bong." See, Spouse takes the dogs down to TCoB more often than not, and he is nosy and looks through curtains, so he is MUCH more familiar with the lifestyle habits of the downstairs neighbors than I am.
Okay, here's the fun part: just as Ruby is assuming the position to TCoB, about three feet away from the railing of the patio to the party house, the party revelers decide to open the door and take the party outside. This startled Ruby - or embarrassed her, because wouldn't you be embarrassed if a bunch of wannabe teenage Marxists walked in on you while you were on the toilet? Anyway. For a VERY sweet dog, Ruby can sound VERY menacing when she wants to:
Wannabe Marxists went back in their apartment, and did not come out again.
McGlincheys 1, Apartment Complex 0.