Waiting at a red light yesterday, I watched a young woman walking her dog down the sidewalk. He was close to her on his leash, but you could tell he was just a baby, smiling and full of puppy-energy and boundless love for the world. I imagine that if he could talk, this is what he would have been saying:
Walks are the BEST, AREN’T WALKS JUST THE BEST! Whoa, look at that car go by, that car was so fast, and look, there’s another dog down the street, Mom, can we go say hi to that other dog down the street??? Hey, a bird, wow, a bird, birds are so cool, Mom, can we get a bird??!!! Hey, a man, a woman, a bunny, a butterfly, WOW WOW WOW WOW, THIS WALK IS AWESOME, ISN’T THIS WALK AWESOME! I love walks!! Hold on Mom, I gotta sniff here, I think there was a squirrel here earlier, I love squirrels, can we get a squirrel???!!!!
He was some kind of caramel-colored doodle, and much like all doodles, resembled a Sesame Street Muppet. He was sweet and fluffy, and I smiled just watching him, thinking to myself for the quadrillionth time that we don’t deserve dogs. They’re just so much better than we are.
Anyhoo, they were having a lovely walk. He was prancing and showing off his blonde ringlets, she was smiling at his performance. I waited at the light and watched them, missing my dog something awful. Then I spotted a man at the end of her sidewalk, facing them.
Uh-oh, I thought.
His stance looked kind of aggressive, and he was pushing a manual lawnmower. I could tell the moment she spotted him too, because she pulled her dog closer to her. Even her body language changed and became more guarded. I think she and I both thought he was going to tell her to keep her dang dog off his lawn.
Nope. Whew. Disaster averted. I could see him smile at her as she approached, and he reached down to pet her dog. As a former dog owner, I know this could have gone differently. And while I miss my dog in a million different ways, I do not miss the stress of walking him in the summer.
My first dog was Michie, and then I had Mojo, so I have been walking dogs here for thirty years, and I could write a book about people who have yelled at me for not only having the nerve to own a dog, but the temerity to think it’s appropriate to walk my dog past their house.
One guy stands out in particular.
I was walking Mojo down a different street than usual. In the summer, you learn where the off-limit yards are, where the yard signs that announce “No Dogs” are, and where the friendly yards are. Those are the ones you try to aim for, but on this day, for whatever reason, I decided to take a different route than usual.
Mojo stopped to sniff in front of a house that had a patch of impeccably-groomed grass the size of a bath mat. No lie, it was the size of a Twister board, with a “No Dogs” sign prominently displayed. I mean, the sign was bigger than the yard itself. I imagine the owners used fingernail clippers to cut it. It’s best to keep your dog close when you see a tiny manicured lawn like this, because it’s an ego thing, and inevitably, the size of the patch of grass is usually in direct correlation to the size of the man’s…
Lawnmower. What did you think I meant?
I always try to abide by the “No Dogs Allowed” signs. The people are kind enough to warn me that they don’t like dogs, so I try to accommodate them by adhering to it. So Mojo was gently sniffing this grass, but standing on the sidewalk. He didn’t have one paw on that patch of grass. Nevertheless, from the closed-in porch, I heard this:
“Keep your dog off my grass.”
My head whipped around, and I squinted into the bushes to see a man facing me, arms crossed across his scrawny chest, and a face that (excuse me for using a phrase my late husband liked) looked like it was smelling a fart. He looked mean and imposing, and so taken with his own patch of grass that I wondered if he spooned it at night when no one was watching.
“Ok,” I said, “but he’s not on your grass.”
“Keep your dog off my grass.”
“He’s not on your grass.”
“Keep your dog off my grass.”
I began to walk away, but turned to reply.
“Is this what you do in the summer? Stand on your porch with your arms crossed and staring at your grass? Sounds like quite a life.”
“Keep your dog off my grass.”
“Pretty sad.”
“Keep your dog off my grass.”
“I’ll stop by later tonight when you’re asleep and let him use it.”
“Keep your dog off my grass.”
“So what you’re saying is that you want me to keep my dog off your grass?”
“Keep your dog off my grass.”
He had me there.
To this day I am impressed with his steadfastness. He never budged from his position, never gave an inch. I couldn’t even instigate a confrontation, my favorite activity in the face of injustice. The subject was cut-and-dry. It was his lawn, and he didn’t want it trodden on. End of story.
Here at the Jersey shore, on an island filled with intelligent, educated, attractive, fit people who consider their dogs members of the family, we don’t see the kind of animal problems you see in other areas. We don’t have dogs roaming around off the leash and getting hit by cars. We don’t have dangerous breeds tied up to chains in scary chainlink fenced-in yards. We don’t have dog bites, or strays, or rabies.
So why the animosity?
C’mon, you know why. Say it, you know you want to say it. Repeat after me.
Dog shit. Mean people yell at you when you’re walking your dog because they don’t like the fact that dogs have to poo and pee, and they have devoted their lives to making sure that dogs don’t poo and pee in their yards.
Now, let me put forth an estimate of 95 percent. That’s right, I say that 95% percent of people on this island pick up responsibly after their dogs. You want to argue that statistic, you can fight me again.
Years ago I got involved in a conversation thread on our local Patch about dogs, dog owners, house owners, and dog refuse. And the main argument the cranky houseowners made was this:
Train your damn dog to take a crap in your own yard. Or take him to the dog park.
You can’t argue with these people. Even when you maintain that you pick up after your dog, you get this:
It doesn’t matter. My grandchildren crawl and run all over my lawn, and I don’t want them crawling through the remnants of dog poo and dog pee.
Good point, and inarguable. In conclusion, we love our dogs, but we have to remember that not everyone else does. And just for the record, I love your dogs, so you can bring your dogs to my grass whenever you want. And let me end by saying one last thing to mean yard people:
You can keep us off your lawns in the summer, and we’ll cooperate. No problem. But in the winter, all bets are off. Please click on the link below that shows how Mojo always did what yard signs told him to do. He was always such a good boy.
Miss ya buddy.
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