Breaking News: I Finally Caught the Dirty Weasel in the Act!

So there has been a phantom bum raiding my block lately. This person is a phantom, 'cause under cover of darkness - or maybe it's not so dramatic; maybe it's just when everyone else is at work - they've been letting their dog(s) crap on the swale in front of my house and leaving the business where it fell. And if they're doing it in front of my house, you know they're stealth bombing other folks too.

I've been fuming about this person for a week now, just wishing I could do something about it and knowing at the same time how unlikely it was that I'd ever be able to do anything. So in full bitterness, I've had to go out and scoop up some other dog's 'do and discard it. I mean, how hard is it to clean up after your pet? And if you can't or are too lazy or too busy to pick up after 'em, then you don't need a pet. You need Jebus, 'cause you're a dirty dog yourself.

Anyway, I had an interview up in my neck of the woods this afternoon for a story I'm writing for next weekend. And when I finished with the subject I was very close to home. And rather than head back downtown to Herald headquarters through traffic this time of day, I went to my home office, AKA my front porch.

So I sat, plugged in my laptop, wipped out my notes, and started to write, when I heard a slight jingling outside. My seat sits kind of low, so I peeked up and over the window sill and saw him: a guy I see around the neighborhood all the time walking two little hounds. He's looking around furtively - or at least they seem like furtive looks to me - and stopping every few seconds as his dogs stop to sniff things. Well, he crosses the street and doubles back the direction he came from and found himself right in front of my house. He stops. He's staring curiously, which annoys me for some reason. Maybe he was just admiring our quaint little shack. But I'm suspicious when someone just posts up and squints and stares 30 feet from your front door, as though they're looking for something. I stop typing for a moment, 'cause I don't want to make a sound and spook him. Well, after a moment he stops checking out my house and looks down at his dogs. He waits another minute, and then drags them on down the sidewalk. I give him a few seconds to move away, and go out to the sidewalk. Sure enough, on the swale is a fresh steaming pile.

I don't know which of those little biscuit-benders committed the offense. But they're dogs. They do what's natural. Their owner is the culprit. And I caught that fink red-handed! I suppose I could've confronted him, but if you've read my posting on when keepin' it real goes wrong (http://burnettiquette.blogspot.com/2006/04/speaking-of-reality.html), then you understand why I didn't. He could've been nuts or carrying a weapon or something. And I'm too young to go to Heaven (I hope), and too pretty to go to jail (for smackin' the dog poop phantom).

So I let him go, but I did call the very cool, very responsive neighborhood resource police officer for my small corner of my fair city, who assured me that he'd be on the lookout for the guy and would slap him w/a ticket faster than his head could spin.

Laugh if you want. It's only funny till you have to clean up after someone else's beast.

And your dog crapping on dirt that I don't own but am required by the city to maintain translates to bad Burnettiquette.