Closing the Case

I peered through the blinds of my living room window. This time I was dressed and ready, which included wearing my trusty running shoes. They would not get away with their unacceptable behavior again.

Four days ago I had watched as they moved into the house across the street, a man, a woman, two small kids, and a yellow Lab. I cannot say I was displeased to see the old neighbors leave. I had hopes that the new people would cut their grass more often than once a month. Everything looked promising. I thought we might get acquainted, take walks together, maybe even share a meal.

Things went downhill from there. The next morning, Friday, I started my riding mower and proceeded to mow my lawn. I hugged the front yard curb line and turned at the edge of my property to continue. At first the scent was fleetingly foul-smelling since I was driving with the wind. On my second pass I gagged and upon looking behind me I saw the yellow-brownish ooze swirling around and around on my tractor tire. A picture of the yellow Lab came to mind.

I drove over to the outside faucet, shut off the mower, and proceeded to wash off the tire. Then, I dragged the hose out to the curb and squirted out the rest of the poop. I cut the remainder of my grass without another mishap except for the steam pouring out my ears.

Back inside, after calming down, I resolved to make sure of my suspicions before confronting the new neighbors. Probably, I needed to catch them in the act, or rather, Fido in the act.

The next morning after breakfast but still in my pajamas, I carried my coffee to the front window and peeked through the blinds. Fido, on a leash held by his mistress, was in the midst of perpetrating the crime. I rushed back to the kitchen with my coffee and skidded to the front door in my slippers, but I was too late. They were gone. I could see this was not going to be easy.

I Googled catching the owner of a dog pooper and found some interesting stuff. Installing a video camera was out since I was about as technically inclined as Dolly Pardon. DNA of the poop was possible, but how exactly was I to swab the pooch’s cheek for a match?

I would just have to bide my time. And that is how I came to be waiting and peering through my living room window, fully dressed and ready to rock and roll. I contemplated on exactly what I would say when I confronted my neighbor about her malicious mutt and her rude and inconsiderate behavior. But I waited in vain. Dog and mistress never appeared.

Several days went by without seeing anything of the pooper, and I wondered if the neighbor was letting him roam their own backyard without taking him for walks. I decided this must be the case and eventually quit thinking about it. Then, one morning I saw the lady of the house come out, alone, and continue to walk down our neighborhood street. I decided to settle this once and for all and quickly got dressed. I watched through the window until I saw her heading back up the street toward home. I strolled out my front door and down the driveway until we met at my mailbox. I smiled, introduced myself, and asked, “Where is your dog today?”

She laughed and said, “That was my mom’s dog. She was here for a few days helping with the move. She and Clyde have gone back home to New Jersey, but that’s nice of you to ask. I’ll be sure to tell her that Clyde has an admirer.”

I thought to myself better not to disagree, count my blessings and start fresh from today. Maybe Mom would not visit often.