Hubby and I moved into our new place 3 months ago. Our first evening at our new place, we were sitting and watching out our new windows. There was a man in a white, crisp collared shirt with a big lady bulldog. Both Hubby and I remarking how cute the puppa was. Until she pooped and her owner pretended not to see it and then walked away. Needless to say; the Commissioner was not impressed.
Since that first day, the amount of excrement has drastically increased. Hubby is convinced that it all belongs to the bull-dogette, which would actually be very impressive. That stocky lady must eat a lot cuz there is a lot of poop at various stages of decomposition and petrifaction. It's been bothering my Hubby every time he takes our Stinker out. Bothering him every time he looks out our window. And it started to bother me when the Commish wouldn't stop obsessing about it.
Then this past weekend; after 3 months of stewing over pooh. While standing, some might even say lurking on our patio (the deck as I refer to it ironically). Low and behold, the lady bulldog with her owner, wearing the same white collared shirt, let's his big lady do her business in the same outback area. The man looks around taking stock of who is watching-sees no one and walks away from the chocolate swirl his big lady left:( Hubby has had enough, 3 months of starring at poo from our window and obsessing has emboldened him.
"You gonna pick that up?" To which the man looks up and sees the 2 of us watching him from the deck.
"You gonna pick that up?" the Comish asked again.
"Can you see where it went?" the man laughs
"Yeah, it's right there, where your dog pooped."
"Point it out to me."
Hubby leaning over the railing points into a dark spot and makes a broad sweeping gesture. The man in the collared shirt laughs it off, bends down to collect it, waves and then says goodnight. Hubby feels great. The pride he feels for sticking up for himself fills the air. Suddenly, there's a voice from below.
"Pick it up!?! What are you the shit police?" Hubby and I were both surprised to hear this. Shit police? No, we've got way bigger fish to fry.
"Dude who gives a shit if I pick up this dog shit?" looking down from our deck, we find our downstairs neighbour: the man in the collared shirt and his dumbass douche friend.
"Look at it out here." Backwards hat drunk friend says while gesturing to the construction holes, temporary fence and general disarray. His rudeness adding to the disaster that is our 'yard'. We are surrounded by mud and I understand that it can seem like a little dog turd is the least of our esthetic landscaping problems.
"Its a dump. You think one piece of shit is gonna make a difference?"
"I don't want to look at your dog's dump. Don't you want to make this dump a little better?" I ask with my heart on my sleeve and my optimism squeaking from my throat.
"Well, I don't even live here why would I even give a shit?" And why should he give a shit if we don't? It is our home; and we need to take pride in it, no matter the current state. Right?
So, what did we achieve? Hubby yelled at the man in the collared shirt who picked up one teeny tiny dog turd, leaving the rest on display. Then the man turns out he's our downstairs neighbour. What are the odds of that? In our 3 building complex there is an average of 20 suites per floor, each building having 8 + storeys. The only person we've yelled at is an unhappy downstairs neighbour with a sloppy lady bulldog and a douche with a big mouth BFF, making us feel bad for being the try-harddo-gooders we are. What are the odds? I guess they're stacked meliciously against us, but don't worry Comish, I am a great partner who's not afraid to call for back-up.
Since that first day, the amount of excrement has drastically increased. Hubby is convinced that it all belongs to the bull-dogette, which would actually be very impressive. That stocky lady must eat a lot cuz there is a lot of poop at various stages of decomposition and petrifaction. It's been bothering my Hubby every time he takes our Stinker out. Bothering him every time he looks out our window. And it started to bother me when the Commish wouldn't stop obsessing about it.
Then this past weekend; after 3 months of stewing over pooh. While standing, some might even say lurking on our patio (the deck as I refer to it ironically). Low and behold, the lady bulldog with her owner, wearing the same white collared shirt, let's his big lady do her business in the same outback area. The man looks around taking stock of who is watching-sees no one and walks away from the chocolate swirl his big lady left:( Hubby has had enough, 3 months of starring at poo from our window and obsessing has emboldened him.
"You gonna pick that up?" To which the man looks up and sees the 2 of us watching him from the deck.
"You gonna pick that up?" the Comish asked again.
"Can you see where it went?" the man laughs
"Yeah, it's right there, where your dog pooped."
"Point it out to me."
Hubby leaning over the railing points into a dark spot and makes a broad sweeping gesture. The man in the collared shirt laughs it off, bends down to collect it, waves and then says goodnight. Hubby feels great. The pride he feels for sticking up for himself fills the air. Suddenly, there's a voice from below.
"Pick it up!?! What are you the shit police?" Hubby and I were both surprised to hear this. Shit police? No, we've got way bigger fish to fry.
"Dude who gives a shit if I pick up this dog shit?" looking down from our deck, we find our downstairs neighbour: the man in the collared shirt and his dumbass douche friend.
"Look at it out here." Backwards hat drunk friend says while gesturing to the construction holes, temporary fence and general disarray. His rudeness adding to the disaster that is our 'yard'. We are surrounded by mud and I understand that it can seem like a little dog turd is the least of our esthetic landscaping problems.
"Its a dump. You think one piece of shit is gonna make a difference?"
"I don't want to look at your dog's dump. Don't you want to make this dump a little better?" I ask with my heart on my sleeve and my optimism squeaking from my throat.
"Well, I don't even live here why would I even give a shit?" And why should he give a shit if we don't? It is our home; and we need to take pride in it, no matter the current state. Right?
So, what did we achieve? Hubby yelled at the man in the collared shirt who picked up one teeny tiny dog turd, leaving the rest on display. Then the man turns out he's our downstairs neighbour. What are the odds of that? In our 3 building complex there is an average of 20 suites per floor, each building having 8 + storeys. The only person we've yelled at is an unhappy downstairs neighbour with a sloppy lady bulldog and a douche with a big mouth BFF, making us feel bad for being the try-harddo-gooders we are. What are the odds? I guess they're stacked meliciously against us, but don't worry Comish, I am a great partner who's not afraid to call for back-up.
RSS Feed