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My Neighbor

 My neighbor's father is visiting. He is upset.


"I brought the dog here to the bus-stop," he says. "This dog never, never shits on the 2:30 walk. So I didn't bring poop bags? But he pooped. He pooped in the middle of the sidewalk."

This man looks at me with intense pain; I feel I can see into his soul. "I mean," he says, "never, never. There has never been a 2:30 poop." He addresses the dog, as if putting the dog on trial: "Not once, before today." It's like the words themselves might sprout legs and stand up--might walk back to the mound of poop and scoop it into a (non-existent) poop bag.

I understand my old buddy's pain, especially because this is a litigious town. Recently, a Facebook ranter complained that the locals are allowing their dogs to walk on various lawns. "Why is this permissible? Would you let your *child* walk through another resident's lawn?"

(I was certain I had committed both of the aforementioned sins, so I was startled when another ranter wrote, "A dog on your lawn is a crime! Call the police!!!")

Looking at my buddy, I understand that I can offer nothing but a sympathetic ear. Soon, an attractive young person walks by, and my buddy is distracted; he begins to make quiet, lecherous noises. 

The dog stays silent, patiently observing various human foibles. He doesn't judge. The bus arrives--and the dog looks at his owner, as if to say, "Easy does it, pal. One step at a time."

He adds, "This, too, shall pass. I think we will be OK."
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