Thursday, June 06, 2002

Further Dog Tales

Garbage day. I went out to take mine to the curb this morning, only to find my lawn newly dotted with a few plastic soda bottles, several stained, wadded up paper towels and some other small bits of paper wads, stuck to the dew on my lawn. I had to pick it all up and it was sickening.
I marched inside, washed my hands, and wrote this note:

Hi Pete,
Your black dog has been trashing my lawn. I hate picking up trash. Please so something to handle this situation. I'd really appreciate it.
Karen, next door

Then I stuck it under Pete's windshield wiper.
I am a Taurus. That means I will patiently explain something *once*.
After I have taken the trouble to patiently explain, I have no further patience for nonsense like this fucking dog's shenanigans.
This is not a trashy lawn neighborhood. We all mow, prune and refrain from having garbage and shit all over our lawns.
We don't have dogpacks cruising around.
I have never had to battle dog crap on my lawn, but I am sure that fucking mangy cur next door is saving himself three days worth of crap so he can come over and deposit a steaming catcher's mitt-sized pile of shit on my lawn.
That I will not pick up.
Pete will pick it up, after a scathing lecture about unleashed, uncollared dogs who like to shit on people's lawns not being appropriate for me or this neighborhood.
Then if the dog so much as sets one toe pad on my lawn, or strews even a Ding Dong wrapper on it, it's time to call in and report a giant, frothy mouthed rabid mongrel, terrorizing small children and snarling at passers by.

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