So, yesterday, my daughter and I were taking Bridget out for her evening stroll. Three houses down the street, she stopped on the lawn of neighbours I don’t know and emptied her bladder. We continued on. Then we realized someone was yelling at us. It was the neighbour screeching, “Clean up after your dog.”
I was flabbergasted. It was all I could do to reply that she had only peed. My daughter — who, apparently, is more observant (or better sighted) than I — had, it turned out, spotted a dog poop on the neighbour’s lawn, and she told him that the offending pile was not from Bridget. Then, before things could escalate, the neighbour’s wife dragged him inside and that was the end of that.
But, of course, once begun, these things are never over. On this morning’s walk, just when Bridget and I strolled past the irate neighbour’s house, the curtains were being drawn back. I pulled her leash taut and reflected on the injustice and unnecessary tension of it all.
I mean, really, how likely is it that a mother and daughter, from three houses down and armed with a plastic bag, are going to leave a present on your lawn? And couldn’t he tell that the offending poop was not fresh? What next? Will we be involved in our very own Baltimore-style dog poop DNA case? (Unfortunately, link has expired)
Or maybe I doth protest too much and karma was catching up with me for my publicly-documented transgression.