A Nice Big Steaming Pile

I used to have a really nice yard at my house in Marietta, Georgia. Being a yard nerd and into manual labor induced muscle pain, I used to spend a couple of afternoons each week and one weekend day doing my “yard thing.” Mowing, aerating, pruning, planting, spreading lime, pre-emergent weed killer, fertilizer—you name it, I had a piece of equipment to accomplish the task and did it religiously and my efforts showed in the quality of my lawn.

I’m also a cat person. I had a dog before, and I’ll have one again when and if I move back to the farm in Alabama or buy a parcel of land larger than a postage stamp, but I like big dogs like Rottweilers and I don’t believe in torturing a large dog by keeping them in the house.

Our next door neighbors in Marietta had five dogs and a small herd of cats, and a fenced back yard to keep the larger mongrels in. They had this one little furry mixed breed beast that was an inside pet, except when he needed to visit the toilet late at night. Then they let him unescorted out the front door of their house, where he proceeded to walk down their driveway to the street, barked a few times at no one and nothing in particular, turned left and wandered into MY yard to do his business.

It took me a while to figure out what the yellow spots were in my grass because the owners were apparently poop-scooping the poop on a clandestine basis, but the little bastard’s urine must have had a PH of 0.1 because he could kill a 12” circle of grass with one little squirt.

The barking was ultimately his downfall because once I figured out who (or what) was responsible for violating my lawn I started staking him out with my BB gun, powered by about four pumps. Not enough power behind the BB to cause injury and leave evidence, but I could make that mutt do a triple axel figure skate jump or a quadruple somersault and leave my yard with amazing speed.

We currently live in a very nice area here on St. Simons Island. Not the best—that’s down at the Island Club or over on Sea Island—but the houses around our condo complex sell from the mid $300K range up to over half a million dollars each.

Although the yards are typically tropical in nature with lots of pine islands and flower beds, EVERYONE has a landscape company do their lawns and the places each look like a botanical garden most of the time.

Which brings me to my point.

Why the hell do all of these snooty homeowners take their $1000 dogs out for a walk to pee and crap all over their neighbors’ curbs, grass, and mailboxes? Is it a mutual thing? “Your dog does my yard and my dog does your yard,” or something. Really, there is a daily parade of fancy dogs ambling along the streets with their owners mindlessly allowing them to ravage an area within ten feet of the curb.

What do I do if I don’t own a dog and am not able to reciprocate in the mutual urination and defecation association? Can I eat a few bowls of chili, drink a six pack, toss on a big ole poncho, grab the newspaper, and wander over into my neighbor’s yard to squat down and take my evening constitutional? On Saturday morning can I drink a half pot of Café du Monde coffee, toss down a few donuts, and scramble by for a little “business in the bushes?”

If no one sees me, so I’m not charged with public indecency, is leaving a big steaming pile on the front lawn against the law?

Just wondering—if Fido can, why can’t I?