Dog Business

It was lovely outside yesterday. For some strange reason we have enjoyed cooler weather this week with a refreshing breeze and bright, sunny skies. My favorite time of day is late afternoon when the sun is starting to sink and the earth is lit in a beautiful golden light. It’s like nature’s dimmer switch. It was on such a perfect day and such a perfect time that Dewie and I set off on our nightly dog walk. Scout had already obediently relieved herself in the vacant lot on our street and we were on the back side of the block when we approached the house with actual sod. The grass is so appealing that Scout can’t help but throw herself to the ground and roll around in it. She does this nearly every single day.

A couple of years ago, the house with the sod was one of the unlucky ones on the block that suffered the wrath of the falling tree epidemic. Though the house itself has been nicely repaired, it has remained strangely empty while its residents occupy what can only be described as a two story shed. I don’t know the whole story there, but I would wager that it involves jackassery of the highest caliber and a family whose collective IQ might form one normal person.

Yesterday, as Scout dropped to roll, I noticed there was a scowling man standing beside his truck outside the barn-shed with his arms crossed. Thinking nothing of it, I waved at him and went about my conversation with Dewie.

As we walked closer to him, the man yelled out, “Keep your damn dog out of my yard!” A little taken aback, I initially thought that this man must be someone I know who is messing with me. I try to get a good look at him, but he is in no way familiar.

So, I call back, “I’m sorry, were you talking to me?”

“I SAID KEEP YOU DAMN DOG OUT OF MY YARD!! I’m tired of stepping in dog shit when I park my truck over there!” Ok, so clearly I don’t know this guy and he is a first class douche bag. We pass this house every day. Scout rolls in his yard every day. She has never pooped here, and there has never been a truck parked there.

“She wasn’t actually in your yard, and she has never crapped by the road in front of your house.”

“I was standing here the whole time! I saw what she did!!” Ok, now the adrenaline is flowing. It’s go time.

“If you were standing there the whole time, you clearly don’t know the difference between crapping and rolling. Besides, she is on a 6 foot leash. The city owns 5 feet from the street. Since you were standing there the whole time (yes, I did imitate him when I said that. Sometimes anger brings our my inner 5 year old) then you could clearly see that my feet were on the street, so technically it is not possible for her to have been in your yard (yes I did it again, I know)!” It’s then that I notice that I have actually taken several giant steps toward the man and I am actually standing in his driveway. The man pushes off the truck he was leaning on and hobbles into the house. His limp is pronounced and his hip seems to be the culprit. The thought actually enters my head that I could probably take him. I mean his balance isn’t that good. I am strangely disappointed when he walks away. How dare he walk away from me when I’m winning!

We spend the remainder of our walk talking about the crazy man and what a horribly unhappy little person he must be. I very briefly consider taking a dump in a bucket to leave on the edge of his yard so he is clear about what crap actually is. It occurs to me that in a sick way I actually enjoyed the encounter. I am getting confrontational in my old age. If things keep progressing this way, I have a feeling I’m going to be one of those mean, belligerent old people. Fortunately for me, elderly people get a pass on terrible behavior. I think I’m going to need it.