Jun 25, 2015

Neighbors and Shit - Growing Pains

      So. I have a story to tell you. And to tell it, I must first mention that I'm a dyed-in-the-wool dog person (which you probably know or have sensed at some point already). Another individual who's a dyed-in-the-wool dog person is my boyfriend. He hence has a dog. Since he's also my roommate and I have him and he has me, I also have a partial ownership of the dog. And in case you're wondering, yes, the dog is a dyed-in-the-wool dog person too. Our neighbors, on the other hand, have, the last time I counted, four — that's one, two, three, four — FOUR cats. And in case you're wondering yet again, yes, they all shit in our back yard, which is where our dog also shits from time to time, yes. But this is far from where the story gets interesting.
     This tale of the shit got interesting about a week ago when we found a bundle of doggy poop bags in our yard which the neighbors threw over the fence dividing our plots. My boyfriend, who was the one who found the 'shitty' gift, came running into the house all pissed in shit, talking about subliminal messages and death wishes and pending war declarations and shit. But I rationally calmed the pressure cooker situation down. Of course the sweet old grandma who gave me fresh cut flowers from her garden every week when I first moved in isn't capable of some devious trickery, right? Of course the darling and benevolent, hundred-and-something, fully grey and barely moving lady doesn't mind, let alone care if our dog shits in our back yard, right? Of course she wouldn't dare insinuate anything along those lines even if it did bother her since her cats are having a full blown shitathlon all over our lawn but we, trying to be neighborly, never say anything, right? Of course she just found some extra poop bags and, trying to be neighborly herself, kindly gave them to us, right? Right??
     Well ... Wrong.
     About a week after the baggies appeared in our back yard (a.k.a. the alfresco kitty litter box), my boyfriend came running into the house (yet again) all pissed and shit (yet again) — this time because of the altercation he had with the sweet old darling benevolent hundred-and-something minding-her-own-business-NOT grandma.
     "WHAT?" I couldn't believe my ears.
     "Yes!! She said that it's not allowed to leave dog shit lying around."
     "What do you mean, not allowed?? It's private property. What the fuck?!"
     "I know, I told her! But she kept going on about how rats eat dog shit and that we have to pick it up."
     "You're fucking kidding me. Did you tell her that her cats are shitting all over own lawn and that maybe she should come over and pick up THEIR shit?"
     "Yes! And then she said that cat shit repels rats."
     "Cat shit repels rats? Really?? That has to be the dumbest fucking thing I've ever fucking heard." I actually Googled that afterwards and it turned out I was right, that IS the dumbest fucking thing I've ever fucking heard to date. To be fair to my lovely neighbor lady though, rats do in fact eat dog shit, but so do human shit, horse shit, pig shit, sheep shit, CAT shit and all other shit basically. Aside from snake poo actually, none of the shits repels rats, not even cat's. "But if she thinks that her precious cats' fucking crap is some magic rat repellent, maybe I should go out and tell her that she can rest assured that our dog's rat-attracting shit is more than compensated for thanks to her awesome fuzzy shit-balls and their defecation habits. Maybe I should tell her THAT."
     "Yeah!"
     "Or maybe ..."
     "What?"
     "You know what ... You know what we should do?"
     And this is where the story could've gotten a little crazy, because you have to know that me and my boyfriend are both a tad choleric and thus a tad explosive and a tad insane. Nothing confinement-worthy, fear not, but just enough to keep things interesting. So my uncomplacent brain came up with a plan and my mouth said: "We'll go and throw the poop bags back over the fence!"
     And my more than eager boyfriend replayed: "Yeah! We don't want their stupid bags!"
     To what I said: "And you know what else we could do?"
     "What?"
     "We could go and pick up all of their cats' shit and threw it over the fence too!"
     "YES. That's exactly what we should do. Let's go, I'm up for it!"
     But luckily, some of my almost 30-year-old and thus wannabe adult brain cells stopped things before we got out the door. Or, to be honest, unfortunately. But I guess that's what coming to your senses and growing up is all about: you start reading newspapers, you buy your own groceries and you stop throwing your neighbors' cats' shit over the fence. BOOOOORIIIIIIIING.
     So judging by this boring and rather anticlimactic ending to the story, I am in fact growing up, old, both, neither, who cares, but either way I am growing and it pains me, which is my version of growing pains. And since I obviously can't throw shit over the fence but I still have to alleviate the pain somehow, I'm giving the sweet old grandma the evil eye from now on, as evil as it gets. At least until I find my own private island of solitude and happiness, that is.






     Thanks for stopping by and looking and reading (obviously) my mishmash jumble of cascading torrent of pot-pourri-like craziness, it means the world to me. Therefore, you're welcome to pop by again next week to see what's new on the blog, so hope to see you back on Wednesday since Wednesday's the designated FPS day. But beware, I'm not signing and sealing that in blood so your best bet is to follow FPS via email (or Bloglovin, Twitter, Instagram or Google+) to never miss an update. Or simply come by again sometimes!


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