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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.
