Dear Dog Guy

The much anticipated (by who?) Christmas blog had to take yet another back seat momentarily. Please enjoy the following open letter to the owner of the dog that keeps knocking over my trash can. If you happen to know the area I live in, and happen to know who would own such a dog, please let me know so I can deliver this to him in person.

Dear Sir,

For the past three months, I’ve been having somewhat of a power struggle with your dog. Allow me to explain.

In the beginning, it’s quite possible I was at fault. I can see where I may have been guilty of enticing your dog by leaving my waste container by the sidewalk every day. You see, I just found it more convenient to leave the trash can by the sidewalk, and then just roll it a few feet on Thursday mornings to stage it for pickup. I suppose being the only house in my immediate location with a constantly beckoning container of table scraps left by the side of the road would be pretty irresistible to me as well (if I were a dog, of course). Not historically being a quick learner, I would clean up whatever refuse your dog declared unappetizing enough to consume on the spot, and continue to leave my waste container by the sidewalk. I would dismiss each as an isolated incident, and hope it wouldn’t happen again. Luckily, my wife has been home this past week and decided to clean out our freezer. She loaded up the rubbish receptacle with long forgotten about meat, vegetables and pudding pops, and left the can by our garage. Knowing your dog is a lazy one, I had no fear it would walk the extra 15 feet onto my land to scatter our weekly trash asunder. It turns out I was correct in this assumption, as our trash can was left untouched all week. Relishing in my minor victory over your unintelligent dog, I rolled my garbage can to the staging area last night. A brazen move, I know. I left mine 3 feet from my neighbors matching green plastic dumpster on wheels. As I drove off to work early this morning, and passed my very upright garbage bin, a smile broke out across my face. I couldn’t help but feel superior for thwarting your dumb dog’s efforts to dine on my rejected food waste. For five full hours at work, I would imagine the look on your dogs face as it realized the easy meal was not where it should be. It would be wandering the streets in the middle of the night in search of delectable treats, but finding none. It would return to your house, sad, lonely, dejected and hungry. Rib bones would be protruding through its mangy fur, and for no other reason than looking as pathetic as possible, it would be limping. When I returned home for lunch, I found my empty garbage can where it usually is after the garbage man gets through emptying its contents into his truck – left askew in the middle of the road, and only in the general vicinity of my driveway. As I walked over to retrieve my waste receptacle, my feeling of triumph quickly faded away. I noticed a note sticking out from under the lid. It was a form note with pre-printed phrases on it that the garbage man would circle to fit whatever message it was he intended to pass along. In this case, the circled phrase was “Your waste was scattered when we arrived”. It was at this moment that I noticed an unopened luncheon meat package, an empty Black Butte Porter bottle, 3 brown banana peels, 4 ½ baby back rib bones, and 2 empty Pepsi Throwback cans lying in the gutter. Humbly, I collected the items your idiot dog decided to leave behind, and rolled my garbage bin back to its safe place by the garage.

Up to this point, I’m sure you’re uncertain as to the intent of this letter, so let me explain that.

First: I would like to express my hope that your dog ate the 7 month old raw chicken that was in there. I also hope it vomits said chicken on your carpet and/or area rug. I would also be pleased if it pooped on your sofa, but I understand such things aren’t very realistic.

Second: I would sure enjoy catching a glimpse of your dog in the act so I could do one of two things. I would either kick that useless animal upside down, backwards and inside-out, or follow him back to your place of residence so I could beat you like you owe me money. I feel fairly confident you would be locking your mutt inside the house at night after having to walk into work the next morning wearing your ass as a hat.

I certainly hope this hasn’t come across as too abrasive, and I would never wish harm on your flea bag dog, but I do hope that raw pork gives him a terrible case of worms so he will drag his disgusting hind quarters across your carpet and/or area rug.

Please feel free to contact me if you have any questions about this. You can find my house by looking for the undisturbed garbage can resting next to a garage door.


Respectfully Yours,

Your Neighbor

*Note to the reader: I know for a fact it’s a dog due to the fact that each time I find my garbage can lying on its side, it’s accompanied by the telltale paw prints in the mud and/or snow of a dog. Not a raccoon, skunk, mountain lion or beaver.