Poop Dog Lady

I love dogs.

I really do.  We have had our current dog for about 5 years.   Edie is wonderful (minus the whole getting up a gazillion times a night... check THIS out for THAT story).   She's loyal and loving and a heck of a lot of fun.   

Now having a pet means that there are certain responsibilities a pet owner has.  Food, water, exercise, vet visits, picking up poop.  All part of the deal when you have a pet.  

Unless you are my neighbor.  

There's a woman in my neighborhood who lives on another street.   She has the cutest little mophead looking  constantly pooping yapping demon dog you have ever seen.    The woman, who henceforth shall be affectionately known as  Poop Dog Lady, is religious about walking her dog.   Rain or shine.  Drought or flash-flood.  There she was walking that animal.   And there she was, letting it poop in my front yard.

EVERY.  SINGLE.  TIME. 

At first, we thought it was an accident.   Maybe she forgot her handy-dandy dog pooper scooper.  Maybe she had already picked up all the poop she could, and she didn't have a free hand.   Maybe she was blind in her peripheral vision and couldn't see below her chin.  We didn't know, so we gave her the benefit of the doubt.   Because we are good people.  Nice people.   People who had a clean yard but didn't want to raise a fuss.  Yet. 

Then it happened again, and she did nothing.  Zero. Zip. Nada.  She just kept talking on her Bluetooth and walked away with nary a look over her shoulder and definitely with no poop swinging in a baggie on her wrist.   

Oh no, she didn't.

I got upset.   I wanted to chase after her and hand her the poop.  I could just envision it in my head.   "Excuse me, Poop Dog Lady... I'm sorry to bother you, but here is your CRAP.  Don't let it happen again.  I don't let my own dog poop in my front yard, why should yours get to?"   or  "Poop Dog Lady, here  is a lovely package for you.  Why yes, it is a lovely bag....  It's  also full of the poop you so carefully ignored. Enjoy!"  

But it was not to be.  My dear, sweet husband said it was probably just an oversight.  She didn't mean to leave it there, he said.  Give her the benefit of the doubt, he said.   So I did again.   And again.  And again.

Every time she walked that dog, it would walk past all the neighbors' houses and stop to poop in my yard, and she always let it, yapping away on her phone, ignoring the steaming pile her dog was depositing.  I ignored until I couldn't ignore anymore.   

One beautiful spring day, the front windows were open.  A nice breeze rustled the curtains, and I heard the faint sounds of someone talking in my yard.  I looked out the window, curious.   And there she was.  Poop Dog Lady.  Caught in the act. 

Our boxer apparently caught the scent of her dog and began to growl.   Edie has a low, mean scary growl.   She doesn't bust out with it often, but when she does, watch out.... and apparently, she decided that day was the day.  Edie ran to the window and began to growl.    Then she let forth the most vicious string of barks ever.  Poop Dog jumped mid-push.   Poop Dog Lady jumped, afraid my dog was coming through the screen.  I cackled.   

Then I began to egg it on.   Now, I am not proud of that moment.  It was not one of my finer ones.  "Get her," I commanded.   Our boxer went nuts.   Poop Dog Lady yanked on Poop Dog's leash, and they took off at a run.   Over the sound of the barking, I shouted through the window, "That's what you get for letting your dog poop in my yard!"  

Mature, I know.  I already said it wasn't my finest moment.   GEEZ.

Poop Dog Lady altered her afternoon walks for a while after that.   Angels sang.   Unicorns flew.  Glitter burst forth when it rained.   It was a good time at the Casa de no Poop.  Until she came back.

I was much more .. .mature... in Round Two.  I told her pleasantly, but firmly, not to let her dog poop in my yard and if she did, please pick it up.   I didn't cuss. I didn't threaten.  I was mature.  And boring.   

Never fear, though.  Our story isn't over yet. 

A year went by, and we saw her infrequently on our side of the street.    When we did, she still didn't have bags.  She still let her dog poop. At least it wasn't my yard, I thought.  Until it was.  Again.

My husband spoke to her that time, but nothing changed.  We were not happy, and resigned ourselves to picking up someone else's  poop.   I threatened to pick it all up, put it in a bag, and drop it on her front porch.

Again, my sweet, level-headed husband reigned supreme.  It wasn't nice for me to do that, he said.  It wasn't mature for me to do that, he said.  It wasn't Christian for me to do that, he said.  Stupid husbands.

One day, though, he wasn't with me at the grocery store.  I was just walking in, and there was some woman walking out with a bag boy pushing her cart full of groceries.  I passed her by without a thought, focused on my grocery list.    I heard someone say, "Hey."  Then I felt a tug at my sleeve.  Imagine how excited I was when I turned to find Poop Dog Lady.   

"I think I know you.  Do I know you?"  she aked.

Which led to my other not so fine moment.   

"You know, you should.  You've been  letting your dog crap in my yard every time you've walked by for years, and you never pick it up. So yeah, you should know me."

The bag boy giggled.  Poop Dog Lady's mouth fell open in a gasp.  Her eyes widened in recognition.  Her hand flew to her mouth.  She turned on her heel and walked off in a huff, looking once over her shoulder with a frown. The bag boy glanced over his shoulder, gave me a thumbs up, and mouthed the word, "Burn."

Not so nice, I know, but I got my point across.  It's been two years.   Poop Dog Lady never lets her dog poop in my yard anymore.  In fact, I don't even see her on my street.  Mission accomplished.