Sh!t, Dog, Sh!t

I said shit, not sit.

*I am writing this under the assumption that “shit” is not a swear word and I apologize if you are offended.

The following story may not be exact, as it happened to my dear friend and brother. Don’t be concerned about the details. The reason I’m telling it is to provide a solid foundation for another one of my rants. . .

As we were driving home from some sort of fun activity, my brother spotted his neighbour out walking his dog in the subdivision.

“Do you see a bag in his hand?”

I thought I’d humor him, “Nope.”

“He keeps walking his dog by our house and the dog either shits in the ditch or on our lawn. The guy never picks it up!”

“Oh. So what are you going to do about it?”

My brother is the most relaxed person out there. Not too much bothers him and if it does, he rarely shows it (other than when has an “owie”. Hypochondria is probably genetic). He also never gets excited over anything. He can’t even fake it. Maybe he can fake it, but he won’t put the effort in for anybody. You can overhear him talking to a stranger on the phone and he will say two word sentences in a monotone voice. No effort. Sometimes he calls me and I have to play 20 questions with him to get him to tell me why he called. The guy doesn’t just call for no reason. He always has a plan; he just ain’t sharing unless you coax it out of him. Do you feel like you know him now? Good, so his answer to my question will floor you.

“I already went over to the neighbors’ and told him to start picking up after his dog!”

Such passion.

“Good. What did he say?”

“He denied it and said he always does!”

“But we both know that isn’t true. How did you respond to his lies?”

“I told him I better not have to go over there again!”

“Or else?”

“I’m going to throw all the existing shit on his lawn so that I can tell if it happens again and then I’m going to show him.”

“If that doesn’t work?”

“I’m going to go take a huge steaming shit on his lawn (or doorstep, I can’t remember)!”

“That is going a bit far and I don’t think it’s legal.”

“I don’t care. It doesn’t look bad now, but once the snow starts melting you are going to see all the shit and it is terrible!”

I chalked this up to my brother growing a spine and trying out his new ‘grumpy old man’ identity. Until today.

With the warmer weather, I have been walking around our subdivision to clear my head and come up with new blogging material. I didn’t have to walk more than 10 steps before this post wrote itself. There it was in the quickly melting snow. Emerging from its winter slumber to thaw in the mid-afternoon sun and ruin my life: a big pile of dog poo. Now, I understand I live in the country. However, it is still a subdivision and the road that connects the houses is shared by both vehicles and pedestrians. Essentially, all winter long people are walking their dogs and allowing them to shit directly on my sidewalk. And guess what? They don’t bag it.

There is something about the possibility of me inadvertently stepping in a pile of dog poo that is extremely unsettling. It is true; I don’t have a dog so I cannot fully understand the dynamics of a dog and master relationship. I think there is only one thing to know. People are a—holes.

There would be nothing objectionable about dogs running rampant in our neighborhood (because they do). At least unleashed dogs have the common courtesy to poo in peace. They have this instinct to go to the bathroom away from others. That means they are going to venture into the tall grass or woods to do their business. Good, great, perfect in fact. Instead, people train their dogs to poo on command and on a short leash.

“Foo Foo, go poo poo.”

The owner then has to walk AROUND their dog’s business to avoid stepping in it themselves. You’re an irresponsible jerk. Now I have to keep my head down and zigzag around the little brown land mines on what was supposed to be a relaxing walk.

Something stinks in this neighbourhood, and it smells like shit, dog shit.

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