Supposedly, a picture speaks a thousand words, but this one, smack dab in the middle of our front lawn, apparently isn’t saying anything. I just walked out to the smell of sun-ripened canine excrement, boldly laid at the base of this sign. I’m about two stiff drinks away from turning into the neighborhood psycho, lurking behind my curtains and waiting for this miscreant pet owner to stroll by and pull the ol’ “I didn’t see anything” while his dog does his thing on my lawn. Who does this? Doesn’t anyone read Miss Manners anymore?
Actually, the French do it all the time. You don’t actually walk down a street in France, you dodge all the merde. But this is America, dammit, and we’re supposed to clean up after our own dogs. Or you are, evil neighbor. Beware, sloppy stranger, you have incurred my wrath one time too many. And I put extra tequila in my margaritas tonight.
Carol Callicotte 