Winter Update: One Snow in and I Already Hate Everyone

society6.com

I think it was the great philosopher Plato who said: “If you can’t be bothered to shovel a fucking sidewalk, you shouldn’t own a fucking home.” Or maybe it was Madame Curie. I can’t remember. The point being, someone over the course of ancient history knew exactly what he or she was talking about.

           If you’ve ever spent any time in Pennsylvania between November and April, you might have noticed our propensity to get a little snow during those months. We’re not talking Antarctic levels. There aren’t marauding gangs of penguins wandering the streets of the Keystone State, threatening children who are walking to school. But we get a little of the white stuff when it gets cold.

           Last Monday, we got quite literally a little of the white stuff. I don’t have the final totals in front of me, but I’d wager that we received somewhere in the neighborhood of two inches of snow. This wasn’t the heavy, water-logged, destroyer-of-backs snow that the heavens dumped on us last winter. This was light and powdery. It might as well have been left behind by a giant powdered donut who’d walked through the neighborhood sneezing.

My girlfriend and I shoveled our house and the sidewalks in front of our two neighbors, threw down some salt and called it a day. We did our neighbors’ sidewalks because we use the sidewalks and one of our neighbors is an old man and the other is a middle-aged cop who is never home and when he is home, he doesn’t give a shit. Despite the extra workload, we weren’t out there for hours, toiling away while the Snow Meister chucked iceballs at us and laughed wildly. It took maybe half an hour max. As far as shoveling experiences go, this was about as pleasant as you’re going to get.

And yet, that wasn’t enough for some people.

After Monday’s snowfall, the Ice Age happened. It was so cold in Pennsylvania last week that ruffed grouses were literally dropping out of the sky frozen solid. It was so cold that Gov. Tom Corbett’s icy heart was literally the warmest thing in the state. It was so cold that locals assumed the Philadelphia 76ers had won the NBA championship because hell had to have frozen over. It was a chaotic, confusing time for us all.

Tiny landmines and time machines: How to train your neighbor's dog

www.dogpoopsigns.com

I’ve got a crappy neighbor. She’s small, white, goes by the name Buffy. There’s an older man in her life.

                Now, there’s nothing wrong with any of that. Hell, it’s all true of Sarah Michelle Geller, and I wouldn’t care if she lived next door.

                The problem I have is that this neighbor has developed an irritating habit of crapping on my lawn.

                Here’s the situation: Our neighbor likes to let his dog Buffy walk around sans lease on his front lawn. So naturally, whenever she has to poop, she crosses over into my lawn and does her business right smack in the middle of it. Oh, and then she rips up a bunch of dirt and grass to try to bury it for good measure.  

And I don’t care if you’re a small fluffy dog named Buffy or even the lovely Sarah Michelle Geller herself, I don’t want you pooping on my lawn. I’m just old fashioned that way.

I don’t mind cleaning up the leavings of the animals who actually provide me with joy and companionship. That’s the tradeoff.

                But Buffy? She provides neither of those things so therefore I’m not all that interested in being her pooper scooper.

                Trouble is, Buffy’s owner is a thousand years old. In addition to predating America, the man is also as sweet as the day is long. So, saying anything to him about it kind of feels like giving George Washington a wet willy.