Displeasure is an understatement. Dog poop indoors is never a happy event. There really is no good place for a dog to poop indoors but that doesn’t stop them from finding the absolute worst place and using it. This morning Ken said he had cleaned dog poop up in the living room. “Odd” I thought. No dog had been in the house so long as to have had an accident but I didn’t give it a whole lot of thought because I hadn’t seen it and there seems to be a correlation between the vision and the amount of upset.

If seeing poop contributes to how much it upsets you, sitting in it is far more upsetting and that is just what I did when I sat at my desk to have my coffee. I jumped a mile (I don’t even know what words escaped me but I’m glad there are no small children or nuns in my house.)

After cleaning that mess up I had a different concern. The poop I sat in did not appear to be well dog poop (an idea that is substantiated by its being in the house). My dogs had not even eaten yet so someone had clearly gotten into something. No one seemed sick so I didn’t worry too much.

Fast forward a couple of hours. The dogs go out into the yard and disappear to the end of the yard they rarely go to. Remember that end of the yard? Go back to January 27 and read about Yucky dogs… that end of the yard. They are right back in the spot where the grease spill was last time. I go to investigate and low and behold there is a big pile of leftover food. Visible to the eye is lots of corn, some mushrooms, some tomatoes (and a large bone that Deva is chewing on). This is clearly food that has been clearly dumped over the fence into my yard.

You know, back when the grease was in that spot I felt kind of guilty for blaming my neighbor for dumping a pot of grease into my yard. That’s a pretty weird thing to blame on someone if you didn’t see it happen and I always like to give people the benefit of the doubt. Today’s incident removed all doubt. SOB dumped a pot of food in my yard. This time I was mad.

It has always been said in my family that we have “Irish tempers” as if claiming it as an inheritance makes our angry actions justifiable. I have had, at many times in my life, difficulty after the fact in justifying my actions so I try to be a little careful even if I am justifiably mad. I don’t want to burn any bridges. I went to visit my neighbor and told him I had a problem with food being thrown over my fence. He knew nothing about it but did remember his wife sending his son outside with a pot of leftovers to dump it. He didn’t know about the fryer either but apparently it sounded believable to him. He assumed (as a parent so foolishly and innocently would) that his child disposed of it in an acceptable manner and assured me that it would not happen again.

I thanked him and turned around to come home when he asked me what was going on with the dead tree in my yard. (I didn’t know there was a dead tree in my yard but maybe this is as dumb as not knowing you shouldn’t dump leftovers into someone’s yard.) He pointed it out to me and said he had mentioned it to Ken and was wondering what Ken planned to do. I know this game and again I considered getting Irish on his ass. My dead tree has absolutely nothing to do with his son’s transgressions and I wasn’t about to start playing who’s the most negligent neighbor with him. “You’ll have to talk to Ken about that again” I said. “I don’t know anything about it.”

Now I suppose I’ll have to start worrying about a dead tree falling on my house, or my neighbor’s house but hopefully I won’t have to worry about food being thrown into my yard.

It’s always something.