July 29, 2003
Grumpy old men.
What the hell has crawled up some people’s butts? Please indulge me for a moment while I explain.
My wife and I, along with our dog, were enjoying a warm summer evening in our back yard. As goes one of our stupid pet tricks, we were telling the dog to look for squirrels. When he hears that particular ‘s’ word, his ears adjust perpendicular to his skull, his eyes dart side to side, and he announces his presence vociferously to any fuzzy-tailed rodentia within earshot. We thought this was an activity well within the boundaries of proper and responsible pet ownership. After all, it was still early evening and there was plenty of other internal combustion-powered cacophonia emanating from the rest of the neighborhood. Surely to goodness a few innocent barks aren’t going to be an issue to anyone.
Apparently, we were wrong. From the back alley, we hear some crotchety voice declare, “I’m sick and tired of that barking all day and night.” That faceless statement left my wife and I dumbfounded. Day and night? Surely he doesn’t mean our dog. Whippets hardly say boo regardless of the time of day. And ours is quite dead to the world for the most part of any given 24-hour period, thank you very much. Before I could confront the disembodied voice for a little more detail regarding its concern, the source had disappeared.
Normally, I would have shrugged this kind of incident off. The same way you laugh at the idiot who flips the bird after cutting you off during the morning commute. But this incendent bothered me. And it shook up my wife even more. You see, when she was growing up, some self-righteous moron threw a poison-laced edible into her back yard and a family pet died. She worries that it’s the same type of cowardly person — one who complains but doesn’t show their face — that would poison a defenseless dog. I can’t blame her for worrying, but it’s not fair that some cranky boob behind a fence gets to shake us up and then vanish. Now we’re faced with an unwanted image wedged in the backs of our brains. An image involving our dog and a misguided, spiteful person.
Do we keep our dog quiet every time he’s in his own yard? Or do let him just be a dog and then risk the potential retaliation of someone who obviously needs bit more bran in their diet? I’d like to think that we can keep on doing what we’ve been doing and that whatever stick that person has stuck up their anal orifice quietly slides into oblivion. Come to think of it, he’s probably the owner of that freaking horny tom cat that scares the living crap out of us every night with its wailing and hissing and humping who knows what. Not that cat owners are the enemy here. Some of my best friends are keepers of the feline persuasion.
Dang, I’m ticked off. Does it show?
This item was posted by .
Categories:
Leave a comment or send a trackback from your own site.