Thursday, December 11, 2008

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year ...

No, there is no snow on the ground. No, school is not out. No, there are no sugar plumbs dancing in my head or reindeer pawing on the rooftops. However, there is an adorable - loving and cooing baby in the house.

Friday, December 5, 2008

An Ode to a Neighbor

Dear Neighbor:

As I drove to work today, I saw a man walking his dog. This reminded me of you. Specifically, it reminded me of the day earlier this week when you were walking your dog or dogs past my house. You let your dog or dogs take a dump on my front lawn, and then you didn’t clean it up.

I didn’t know this, of course, when I took the trash out to the curb that evening in the dark. In fact, I still didn’t know this as I walked back into my house, through the living room, through the dining room, through the kitchen and into my laundry room. You might find this amusing, but I still didn’t know that you let your dog take a crap on my lawn and then left that steaming pile of canine doo on the grass as I began stomping on aluminum cans in my laundry room.

“Hmm,” I thought to myself. “That smells a lot like a dirty diaper.” This didn’t immediately surprise me, because there is a six-week old baby living in my house. But then, I realized that my granddaughter does not yet emit solid poop, and so the smell could not be coming from her.

Musty dishrags? No. The scent was far too powerful for that. What could it be? I leaned down toward the floor because that is where the smell seemed to be the strongest. And there it was—lovely dog crap all over the bottom of one shoe and, because I had been stomping cans, on the sides of my shoes and around the bottoms of my pant legs.

Then I looked back into the kitchen where I saw gooey poo marks on the floor everywhere my right foot had come down. The same was true of the dining room and on my living room carpet. Needless to say, I didn’t finish smashing those cans because I spent the next 45 minutes down on my hands and knees with a can of Lysol and a roll of paper towels. Then, I cleaned the front steps and driveway.

Do you know why I had the fun of cleaning up dog shit that night? It was due exclusively to the fact that you let your dog defecate on my lawn, and then you made a conscious choice not to clean it up. Let me be the first to congratulate you on your wise decision making abilities. Your momma taught you well.

I don’t know if you habitually act like an industrial-strength douche bag* or if this was a rare incident where you acted in a way that makes me want to smash you in the side of your fat head with my shovel. Either way, you are an industrial-strength douche bag. You are definitely off my Christmas card list this year.

Instead, I may keep a close eye on those who pass by my house with their dogs. I may choose to notice exactly which person or persons allow their dog or dogs to take a dump on my lawn and then leave the evidence. Then, I may decide to carefully follow that individual or individuals to their home. At that point, I may choose to line the underside of the car door handles with copious amounts of dog crap, or perhaps I’ll leave lots of the stuff in a place where it can be smelled it for several days, but not easily discovered.

No matter what I decide to do, you deserve everything you get, you industrial-strength douche bag.


*Many thanks to John Oliver for this new addition to my verbal repertoire.