The bombing zone

Why did you let your doggie doo-doo in my yard? In fact, why do you let him relieve himself of his burden nearly every day? I see you come sauntering down the street with him, stop in front of my house, look both ways and then somehow give him telepathic permission to go.

Yes, I have a nice big front yard and there’s plenty of space, and since you do your dastardly deed in same spot every day I know the territory to avoid, but why do you do it?

I’ve seen other dog walkers carry little plastic bags that they’ve carried out from the grocery story and some even have containers made especially for that purpose … (available at, $6.99 for 120 bags, unscented, leak-proof, Earth-friendly, and delivered on one day’s notice if you belong to Amazon Prime.) I have spare bags if you need few. But why do you let him do it?

I’ve been watching your dog and since I’ve never heard you call him by name, I’ll label him “Bob.” Bob doesn’t seem to care where he does his business. I’m not that much up on canine psychology and reading the faces of boxers and poodles, but when Bob comes loping down the street it looks to me as if he simply has to go and doesn’t much care about where. I’ll be honest, lady … I think you’re the one who’s demanding that Bob make those deposits on the banks of my lawn. I see you coming a half block away – and I see Bob, straining at the leash and carefully sniffing out each lawn. He looks to me as if he’s been trying to build odiferous nests all the way up and down the street, but for some reason you keep frustrating his plumbing by making him hold it until you get to my house.

Have I done something to you, lady? Did I inadvertently drop a gum wrapper on your pristine and doo-doo-less lawn down the street? Is it something I said … something I wrote? If so, please write a letter to the editor, then cut it out of the paper and use the clipping to clean up your mess. What’s your motivation? I’m a nice guy, I think, and I’ve never once walked down to your end of the street and done something disgusting in your petunias, and I don’t even have a dog.

Bob seems to be an old dog as dogs go and being accustomed to aging myself I know that there are times that nature gives you no choice, but why must it be directed to my yard? Most senior citizens keep a sharp eye out for the nearest restroom, but they don’t all end up in yard.

I wonder … just surmising here … I wonder if you and Bob have a conspiracy. I wonder if you get up in the morning, Bob of the Bowels at your side, and plot the day’s dastardly activities. Do you feed his morning Alpo, Bob munching happily, both of you knowing full well where that dog food is going to end up? Do you draw little maps with bombing patterns outlined in red? Do you have a topographical map of the neighborhood with Ground Zero being my front yard? Is this all a plan to get me out of the neighborhood one dollop at a time?

There’s a fellow down the street who every day walks three dogs at once and never have I seen him guide his canine trio to my grass … and he carries his doo-doo bags in his back pocket. His dogs all duly note where you and Bob have been, so I’m not the only one who’s noticed your contemptuous behavior. His dogs don’t look any more pleased at your calling card than I do.

No, I don’t have any grandchildren who’ll be playing in my front yard, sliding into second base to find that Bob has already dropped a bunt there, but a homeowner has to maintain some sort of sense of decorum, and if Bob ever moves his spot a couple feet west then my mailman, after he gets up, will think that I’m a lousy citizen.

Okay, let’s strike a compromise. Could you at least walk Bob after dark? I mean it’s bad enough that you do it at all, but does it have to be in broad daylight as you sort of advertise my place as the dumping ground? Isn’t that rather blatant of you to have him transact his business with the whole world watching? Isn’t there some sort of law against this … defecation of character?

No, I won’t shout out my door at you. If you want to live your life this way, that’s fine. I won’t cause a scene. My dad said that when two people disagree, it’s the wiser of the two that’ll have to stop the argument – so I’ll take the high ground here and simply sigh as Bob returns much needed minerals to our ecosystem.

But dog-gone it, why do you it?

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About the author

Ken Bradbury is an adjunct instructor of theatre at LLLC after retiring from Triopia. He entertains on the Spirit of Peoria riverboat and is the author of over 300 published plays. Website:

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