Sunday, 6 November 2011

Never shit on your own doorstep... they say.  Should have told the dogs round our way though, they seem to have missed that memo.  But then again they ain't shitttin' on their own doorsteps, they're shitting on mine!
So, I was home for the weekend, a short two day visit and as we left the house yesterday morning we were met with a great, big, steaming pile of dog shit just outside our door. Right there; like it had rang the doorbell and was waiting patiently for us to answer. I say steaming but it was actually quite cold, freezing in fact. Husband told me that after he nominated himself to pick it up with a plastic bag from JC's. Still, it didn't stop me from checking to see if the culprit was knocking about. I searched high and low, throwing more than a few filthy glances at anyone carrying a lead or indeed, a dog. But what was the use? According to my husband's detective work the dog and it's owner were long gone. We were left feeling astounded, appalled and frustrated. As we strolled up the road together we tried to be optimistic and, initially, made excuses for the voiceless offender: "Maybe their dog had escaped?", "Perhaps the owner had walked on ahead and didn't notice his dog's dirty deed?", "Perhaps it wasn't a dog but a giant cat?" Leaving the estate we passed a grass verge and the sight of another abandoned dog dump unleashed our underlying rage. We discussed what we would do if we found out where the cheeky fecker lived; "Shit on his doorstep, the bastard!", "Shove it through his letterbox'", "Make him eat it", "Kick his head in."  You get the idea. In the end I decided to write a passive-aggressive blog about it. That'll show 'em!

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