Friendly America
07/20/07 07:13 AM Filed in: Stories
Yesterday I was over at
Mitch and Sarah Tucker's house. We were having a
jolly old time, and we decided to head over to the
park near their house. Mitch took the SUV because he
doesn't like to walk, and he had a lot of stuff to
cart over there. I decided to walk with Gus.
The park wasn't even 1/4 of a mile away from their house. You could easily see it from their house, minus a house or two that were in the way. I started my walk, Gus trotting ever-so-slowly at my side. After the first two steps he started panting because the exercise was too much for him.
We were about half way to the park when Gus decided he had to poo. This quickly became a problem when I realized I had nothing to pick this poo up with. And we were on the sidewalk in front of someone's house. (Of course, he had moved onto the grass before assuming the pooing position.) He finished doing his business and hopped back on the sidewalk, looking up at me like, "Well, are we going to finish our walk?" I stood pondering for a moment. What do I do in this situation? A little voice in the back of my head said something about the greater Cedar Rapids area having some law against leaving your dog poo lying on the side of the road. But I had nothing to pick it up with!
I turned around and faced the house. It was at this point I realized there was a lady squatting in the garage, staring me down. I knew we had a problem by the look on her face, which was contorted in such a way that looked like she was about to scream and/or cry.
"You're NOT leaving that there," Mrs. Grouchypants firmly shouted from the garage.
"I know ... I have nothing to pick it up with though," was all I could think to reply.
"You are NOT leaving that there."
"I got that! Can you please give me a paper towel or something so I can pick it up?"
"What are you doing walking your dog without baggy's?"
"Well, he's not actually my dog."
"I ... DON'T ... CARE!"
"Alright, well can you please give me something to pick this up with?"
"You are NOT leaving!"
"We've been over this."
"If you leave, I'm calling the police."
"Get me a bag, I will NOT leave."
"I'm serious ... I'm calling the police!"
Mrs. Grouchypants finally went into her house to retreive a bagy for me and hopefully not call the police. I looked at Alyssa, who I had been walking with, and said, "Honestly, how far am I going to get if I try to run right now? Especially with this fat thing that I'd have to drag behind me."
Mr. and Mrs. Grouchypants both emerged from their house, Mr. Grouchypants holding a ziplock baggy. Mrs. Grouchypants stopped just inside the garage and glared at me while Mr. Grouchypants brought me the bag. He thrust out his hand, holding the plastic baggy, and avoided eye contact with.
"Next time, bring a bag."
"Next time, I probably will."
"You wouldn't want me doing that in your lawn, would you?"
"Stranger things have happened."
I leaned down and picked up the poo with the baggy while Mr. Grouchypants joined his wife in the garage. They both stared as Alyssa and I walked off towards the park.
Honestly, what happened to friendly neighbors in America? Is it really so hard to just walk into your house and get me a plastic baggy? I was doing my best to be polite to the woman ... after all, the dog I was walking HAD just fertilized her lawn. But after about the third time of her snapping, "You are NOT leaving," I had just about had it.
We made it to the end of the block and had about 200 yards to go until we reached the park. We started crossing the street, and in the middle of the street, Gus decided he had had enough. He sat down. I pulled and tugged on the leash, but to no avail. He wouldn't budge.
"Oh my gosh ... Alyssa, pick him up."
So we had to carry him the rest of the way to the park. Gus, you're such a hassle!
The park wasn't even 1/4 of a mile away from their house. You could easily see it from their house, minus a house or two that were in the way. I started my walk, Gus trotting ever-so-slowly at my side. After the first two steps he started panting because the exercise was too much for him.
We were about half way to the park when Gus decided he had to poo. This quickly became a problem when I realized I had nothing to pick this poo up with. And we were on the sidewalk in front of someone's house. (Of course, he had moved onto the grass before assuming the pooing position.) He finished doing his business and hopped back on the sidewalk, looking up at me like, "Well, are we going to finish our walk?" I stood pondering for a moment. What do I do in this situation? A little voice in the back of my head said something about the greater Cedar Rapids area having some law against leaving your dog poo lying on the side of the road. But I had nothing to pick it up with!
I turned around and faced the house. It was at this point I realized there was a lady squatting in the garage, staring me down. I knew we had a problem by the look on her face, which was contorted in such a way that looked like she was about to scream and/or cry.
"You're NOT leaving that there," Mrs. Grouchypants firmly shouted from the garage.
"I know ... I have nothing to pick it up with though," was all I could think to reply.
"You are NOT leaving that there."
"I got that! Can you please give me a paper towel or something so I can pick it up?"
"What are you doing walking your dog without baggy's?"
"Well, he's not actually my dog."
"I ... DON'T ... CARE!"
"Alright, well can you please give me something to pick this up with?"
"You are NOT leaving!"
"We've been over this."
"If you leave, I'm calling the police."
"Get me a bag, I will NOT leave."
"I'm serious ... I'm calling the police!"
Mrs. Grouchypants finally went into her house to retreive a bagy for me and hopefully not call the police. I looked at Alyssa, who I had been walking with, and said, "Honestly, how far am I going to get if I try to run right now? Especially with this fat thing that I'd have to drag behind me."
Mr. and Mrs. Grouchypants both emerged from their house, Mr. Grouchypants holding a ziplock baggy. Mrs. Grouchypants stopped just inside the garage and glared at me while Mr. Grouchypants brought me the bag. He thrust out his hand, holding the plastic baggy, and avoided eye contact with.
"Next time, bring a bag."
"Next time, I probably will."
"You wouldn't want me doing that in your lawn, would you?"
"Stranger things have happened."
I leaned down and picked up the poo with the baggy while Mr. Grouchypants joined his wife in the garage. They both stared as Alyssa and I walked off towards the park.
Honestly, what happened to friendly neighbors in America? Is it really so hard to just walk into your house and get me a plastic baggy? I was doing my best to be polite to the woman ... after all, the dog I was walking HAD just fertilized her lawn. But after about the third time of her snapping, "You are NOT leaving," I had just about had it.
We made it to the end of the block and had about 200 yards to go until we reached the park. We started crossing the street, and in the middle of the street, Gus decided he had had enough. He sat down. I pulled and tugged on the leash, but to no avail. He wouldn't budge.
"Oh my gosh ... Alyssa, pick him up."
So we had to carry him the rest of the way to the park. Gus, you're such a hassle!