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My neighbours left me a bag of poop

Categories: Just For Moms

I arrived home from a brief excursion away yesterday. Awaiting me: drooly toddler kisses, a disgruntled dog, an emptied vacuum cleaner and a giant bag of poop. Dog poop, to be specific, not toddler diapers, which makes the matter even more traumatizing. Left on my lawn.

I wrote last week about how my dog had escaped in the night and pooped indiscriminately in the yard of my (very proper) new neighbours. I have to admit that I have been remiss in dropping over that box of chocolates as an added apology, but I have been very diligent in ensuring that Jordi has remained inside the house and every morning I take him across the street and well into the forest to poop (and then duly clean up with my neat little dime-store baggies). I know for a fact that nary a dog log has been dropped in their yard by my dog in over a week.

But I returned home yesterday to observe the perplexing appearance of a giant black garbage bag in my yard, neatly placed at the periphery of the grass I share with my neighbour's backyard.

"Weird," I said to my Mom,"How long has that been there for?"
"Three days,"she replied,"I think it might be a hint."
"You think she's put Jordi's poop in there and left the garbage bag out? But no, I offered to clean it the day she came over and she said not to bother because the rain had already disintegrated it."

I snuck over to the bag and furtively untied the knot -- peered inside, just to be sure. Grass clumps, dirt -- and was that...nearly disintegrated dog poop? Did she scoop up the dog poop she would not let me clean, pitch it in a garbage bag and then throw it on my lawn while I wasn't home? But why? I have to be clear: my neighbour, though clipped herself, has a very untidy yard. It would have taken a lot of hard work to amble around and scoop up shrinking poop shrapnels to put in a garbage bag for me. And there wouldn't have been very much: my dog escaped one night only.

I have always had very nice, keep-to-myself kind of neighbours in the past. It seems a little different here, in this street of quiet, dignified older people. I kind of think that we are regarded with suspicion: my odd little misnumbered family. That's OK. I still want to be friendly with people: this, after all, is where my son will grow up.

So, do I put the poop and shrapnel bag back in her yard? Ask them about the symbolism behind the garbage bag? Or just quietly haul it away and forget about that plate of cookies?

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