Ya know, there are some things happening in this country that make me wonder. No, actually they make me want to turn off my computer and View No More. I'm not real sure of how any of this actually happened, but here's a likely scenario.
One morning, I believe it was in late June or early July, the year is unimportant to the tale, the Apartment Manager walked out her door to pick up the paper. She loved reading on her veranda in the cool mornings, it gave her an hour or so to herself before starting the daily chores.
Her paper, which she insisted be left on her porch, was instead in the south half of her front lawn, nearer the sidewalk than her door. "Must be a substitute carrier", she thought to herself, "my regular paperboy knows it needs to be on my porch EVERY day or he'll not get the 50 cent tip from me at the end of the month."
Now you and I know 50 cents will still buy a doughnut somewhere in Sierra Leone, if you're willing to dodge a stray bullet or two as you savor it's flavor, but it won't even buy a Baby Ruth candy bar in America these days. So, I'm sure you'll be as happy as I was to learn this selfish and stingy Grande Dame stepped in a freshly deposited pile of dog poop on her way to fetch the paper. Yep. Sank in almost to her ankle, and ruined her brand new slippers.
Ordinarily I'd say something like "Serves her right." and move on with my life. That's what I should have done this time too, because by sticking around, I was exposed to The Rest Of The Story. You old timers will recognize the title of Paul Harvey's long running broadcast. If you're too young to remember, I'm sorry for you. He was that good.
Well, remember she was THE Manager? The rest of the story is that later that month an order was issued from her office to all the tenants, who owned pets, requiring said pets to submit samples of their DNA. No more would pets be able to go unpunished for mornings alone. Owners would be required to either accompany pets and clean up after their morning rituals or pay a heavy fine.
I have no idea how you happen to look in the morning, before breakfast and before brushing both your hair and teeth, but I do know how I look. It's not a pleasant sight. In fact, I scare my dog in the mornings. He is unable to perform his ritual in my presence. He can only work alone.
If I can scare my dog, who depends on me for love and food, try to imagine the effect my appearance will have on you, being unencumbered by these attachments. Well, unless you happen to be Sandra Dee in her prime, I'm betting that dressed in a robe and slippers, you'd have the same effect on me. Folks our age just shouldn't be seen following our pets around early in the morning, in just our robes and slippers. No one within viewing distance will have a nice day, and it's just a really mean thing to do to someone at the start of their day. Might as well join the GOP and vote to take away Medicare.
When I read the story about tracing a dog's pile with the use of DNA obtained from samples of the dog's present to mother earth, my mind went into overload. Just how on God's green earth can we afford to waste good money DNA typing dog poop? Get real. People, this is just plain dumb.
If ya can't be responsible with your pet, don't get a pet. But it's still a funny story, at least it appeals to my whacked out sense of humor.
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/02/us/02dogs.html?_r=1&ref=us
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