Sunday, February 22, 2009

I'm gonna shoot Pooka

All right. As I begin to write this, I'm realizing that my previous post was more on the negative side, and the one I am about to write isn't happy either. Maybe I'm just a grumpy person, and all I wanna do is complain. Maybe it's not anger. Maybe I'm just very passionate about certain things. Like, I'm pretty passionate about not just things like movies and comics (or the two combined, which is a total nerdgasm for me. Did you guys see Iron Man and the Dark Knight?!), but I can also get fired up about principles. Principles like justice and mercy and honor.
Which brings me to what I came to the computer to post about. Why the #%@! do our neighbors feel like it's cool that their dog, Pooka, craps on our lawn?! It's one thing to be walking your dog when, in a fit of doggy excitement, it goes to the bathroom in your neighbor's yard. At which point you go and get your gloves and a bag or whatever and pick it up. I'm even willing to allow a freebie, and let the poo lie the first time. Much like the poo next to our front door, which has been beautifully preserved in pristine condition by the wonderful arctic climate we enjoy here in Utah. 
But get this. We keep finding poo on our lawn! I tried to give our new neighbors the benefit of the doubt and consider the possibility that the poo could be coming from passing dog walkers. But we have never had poo show up on our lawn...until those people and Pooka moved in. And tonight, I had my suspicions confirmed. So, we're sitting in the living room trying to agree on something to watch, when we hear a voice outside our window: "Pooka! C'mon! Time to go to the bathroom!" Against my wife's protests for discretion, I jumped up from the couch and threw open the curtains. And what did I see? Pooka. Taking a crap. On our front lawn. Next to our little tree. I watched our neighbor tell his stupid dog (and he is stupid by the way. They have to scream his name, like, 40 times before he understands them. Nassari will confirm this.) to take a dump as he was standing in our yard. And no clean up after.
What really bums me out though is that our neighbor didn't see me staring at him from the window. I was hoping that he would see me staring at him. I had that "you are an idiot" look on my face. You know, the same one that you give to bad drivers when they drive through stop signs and almost hit you. Sadly, he did not see my discontent or feel the sting of my stare which would have opened a pit of shame in his soul, causing him to not only pick up the poo, but all the other poos that Pooka has so graciously donated to our lawn. *sigh* Now I have to go talk to the guy. 
And that sucks, 'cause I'm not the confrontational type. I'll talk big about stuff, but when it comes to ruffling feathers, it's just not my style. I guess I just need to start asking myself the tough questions. Like, do I feel passionate enough about Pooka's poo on my grass? Am I willing to ruffle feathers on account of dog crap? What, do ye suppose that mercy can rob justice? I say unto you, Nay; not one whit. Bing Crosby said that. No. Wait. It was Alma. The point is, maybe I should check the size of the poo. I'm such a coward. 

To make matters worse, the latest episode of Battlestar Galactica still isn't online yet. Now I'm mega sad.

1 comment:

Carrie said...

I'm so glad you guys blog. this is the carrie-bearie by the way.

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