Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Revenge may be the dish best served cold, but I served mine while it was still warm.
From 2:30 till about 6:30 almost every day for weeks, someone’s dog barked like my mind thinks—incessantly. But the dog bothered me more.
I resorted to wearing my shooting muffs while I worked in an attempt to concentrate. Considering one’s home should be their sanctuary, my coping device seemed contradictory—though I had contemplated shooting something.
By week five, I wore permanent circles around my ears from the muffs, and my tolerance had worn as thin as the seat on my favorite jeans. So I ventured down the street and began spying behind people’s houses.
There it was, the culprit: a Lab mix wagging its black, long-haired tail as it pranced back and forth in its backyard that abuts my kinder neighbors’ backyard. The dog probably hoped its owner would hear what the rest of the neighborhood had gone insane from and let the neglected beast inside.
But derelict petkeepers aren’t concerned about what their dogs need, nor what their neighbors have to suffer. The unconscious flybrain probably wouldn’t even notice if every house on the block displayed a For Sale sign, with arrows pointing toward the perpetrator’s house.
I know everyone on my street, but not everyone on the adjacent street where Inconsiderado lived. Had I known this person, and being the diplomatic, sensitive person I am, I would have promptly suggested his or her moving to North Korea.
In my investigative, CIA style, I learned that the inattentive, irresponsible black hole was a female! I jotted down her name and phone number and decided to ring her in a courageous moment and have a little chat.
But I don’t have many courageous moments anymore and never got the nerve. Instead, I donned the shooting muffs again and tried to work. After wearing the muffs so long I could hear my thoughts twice, I decided to walk around the block with our fairly well-behaved, nonbarking Lab, Shiloh.
I first tossed the ball a few times to encourage him to deposit treasures on my own lawn, rather than another’s. Once accomplished, I leashed him and embarked on our journey. We rounded the corner at block’s end, walked the short end of the block, then turned right again, proceeding up Numbskull-Neighbor Street.
Only two houses into this block and good ol’ Shiloh yanked me to the side to produce yet more jewels for my collection. I stared up at the sky, hummed a little all-I-ever-do-is-pick-up-doo, I-need-to-feed-him-less ditty, and awaited my opportunity to bag the morsels.
Great, I thought, that’ll cut my walk short, because I will not hike with this odiferous, porous bag at my side. And then I started to smile. Today was garbage day for some. I continued forward about eight houses, and Bingo! Such excitement! Her garbage container awaited my warm, thoughtful gift. I surveyed my surroundings, saw no one watching, and with the widest, most devilish of grins, I slipped my Warm Dish of Revenge into No One Is Really Home’s empty bin.
Revenge may be the dish best served cold, but fresher and warmer with a little side odor is more gratifying. What a stinker!
copyright © 2008 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.
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