Over the weekend, our new neighbors moved into the house next door. If you remember, this is the same house the hubby and I almost put an offer in on, until we found out the owner and his soon-to-be-ex-wife were both drunken nutbags with a penchant for blowing contracts.
The hubby has met all members of the new family: the husband, wife, teenaged son with his own landscaping business (god, I love an entrepreneurial teenager), and teenaged daughter (if she’s cool, I’ve got summer babysitting plans for her). They seem like partiers, which is perfect because that just makes us look totally middle-of-the-road. They also have an ancient basset hound. He seems fine, although a little too enthralled with our yard.
On Sunday, we leave to run some errands, and what do I see? Three piles of dogshit in the driveway. For the record, I do not hate dogs. I actually find them to be some of the more charming members of the animal kingdom. The chief reasons we don’t already have a dog are:
- We need to fence in our 1-acre yard. This will be a very expensive venture.
- A toddler is more than enough to take care of.
Let’s be honest. I don’t want to mess with the hassle of kenneling the dog every time we leave for the weekend. I don’t want to pick up dogshit out of the yard. I don’t want to incur the always expensive vet bills associated with any pet (I had a diabetic cat, for chrissakes). In other words, when the toddler is older and can actually help take care of the animal, fine. Until then? Not so much.
So, it annoyed me to no end to find someone else’s dog’s shit in OUR driveway on Sunday morning. If the neighborhood dogs are nice, they can trot through our yard, even though everyone on this street has an acre and therefore, more than enough room, but WHATEVER. One thing I will not tolerate is finding dog turds on our property. Where our toddler runs and plays. Where I don’t watch every step I take because…WE DON’T HAVE A DOG.
The hubby cleaned up the crap. Thus far, we haven’t seen any more, but I’m taking the toddler outside this afternoon. Let’s hope for everyone’s sake that it’s a shit-free excursion. The hubby has also assured me that he will talk to the neighbors. I hope they’re as cool as they seem, because if they’re not, I will not hesitate to call animal control, even on a 90-year-old basset hound. When I worked in retail, I called the cops on a 6-year-old for stealing a 25 cent rock. That kid needed to learn a lesson before he was stealing cars.
I don’t fuck around.
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