It's a fact of life, in every neighborhood, there's that one thing that makes it personal and unique. For some, it's that beautiful two-story brick house, with the little white-picket fence. For others, it's that sweet grandmother-figure that always has a pot of warm coffee on and serves it with a warm smile. For our neighborhood, it's the next-door neighbor's dog, Lucky.
Lucky is a black shaggy dog, with no particular, special sort of pedigree, just a particular, special sort of arrogance, which I believe was instilled within him from his owners. They didnt believe in leashes or dry dog food. They believed if one had no boundaries (or food with perservatives for that matter), one would be able to determine right from wrong in a more reasonable way. They were wrong.
The neighborhood was Lucky's kingdom and all of us, were merely his humble subjects. Lucky roamed the orange and red gravel-paved yards with a certain je nais se quois, not really caring whose land he stumbled upon, just so long as it was kept clean and available to him. And like all rulers before him, with no heart, he shit all over his kingdom. Literally. Which would have probably made for good comedy in a cute Disney Channel Original Movie, but unfortunately, this was real life. And it was not cute.
Which is why I was in a particular foul mood, Thursday afternoon. Lucky had graced our yard with his pressence, which really wasnt all that lucky for me. In fact it was disgusting. And I knew, as I was picking up all that dog doo, Lucky wasnt wagging his tongue because he was hot...he was laughing at me. And apparently at all the other neighbors too, since it appeared he had visited them, as well.
No one in the kingdom was happy and so, one mere mortal peasant, Ms. Pelba, took a stand and rebeled, by calling the Pima Animal Control. They came while I was getting the mail, but I didnt know who they were, and figured they must have been the Mexican workers, our neighbor hired.
MEXICAN: Is this dog bothering you?
ME: Yes! Can you please take him away from here?
I turned and walked back into my house, not really caring who came to get Lucky, just so long as he was taken off our front lawn. Later that day, Lucky's owners came to our house, asking if we had seen their dog. Of course, we hadnt seen him since that afternoon and really didnt care one way or the other where he was that night.
The next morning, during her morning grunting and puffing, also known as her morning stroll, Ms. Pelba walked by, just as I was leaving, and let me know it was her moment of brilliance that led our neighborhood to a peaceful morning. I didnt know what to say or do, and so, I left, trying to figure out the right way to tell my neighbors that it was I, who sent away their dog, and that it was I, who would try and being him back.
And speaking of getting lucky, that afternoon, in a little bistro across town, Louie was having lunch with Maria. It was all so perfect. The food, the lighting and even the instrumental jazz in the background, all added up to the perfect ambiance for Maria to tell Louie that instead of partying hard and getting drunk at all odd hours of the day, she would accompany me to California. But before Maria could break the news to Louie, he had his own news to break.
Louie felt the whole drinking til dawn trip was a little prosaic, so instead he initiated a little camping trip to Patagonia Lake. As Louie raved about the not-so-great outdoors and the thrill of roughing it with no running water, Maria could see the excitement in his eyes and the happiness in his hands as he moved them all about...and foolishy, accepted his invitation to go camping. Ugh. As Maria retold the whole lunch conversation to me, I knew she felt bad about the whole outcome of the situation. She realized she had hurt a friend to help save the reputation of another friend, who she would end up hurting later. I could've gotten mad and rubbed it in Maria's face til the end of time like any good friend would, but knowing that this would be Maria's first time camping in the woods with no electricity, no running water, or the possibility to color-coordinate made me feel just a little better.
Sometimes, when the answer's right in front of you, it's hard to see. Sometimes it's begging to be revealed and sometimes it lingers around and waits...waits to see how everything will unfold or wait until a more perfect moment can present itself. Either way, when the truth is finally revealed, someone is bound to be hurt and crushed...is there really anyway to help soften the blow?
Lucky is a black shaggy dog, with no particular, special sort of pedigree, just a particular, special sort of arrogance, which I believe was instilled within him from his owners. They didnt believe in leashes or dry dog food. They believed if one had no boundaries (or food with perservatives for that matter), one would be able to determine right from wrong in a more reasonable way. They were wrong.
The neighborhood was Lucky's kingdom and all of us, were merely his humble subjects. Lucky roamed the orange and red gravel-paved yards with a certain je nais se quois, not really caring whose land he stumbled upon, just so long as it was kept clean and available to him. And like all rulers before him, with no heart, he shit all over his kingdom. Literally. Which would have probably made for good comedy in a cute Disney Channel Original Movie, but unfortunately, this was real life. And it was not cute.
Which is why I was in a particular foul mood, Thursday afternoon. Lucky had graced our yard with his pressence, which really wasnt all that lucky for me. In fact it was disgusting. And I knew, as I was picking up all that dog doo, Lucky wasnt wagging his tongue because he was hot...he was laughing at me. And apparently at all the other neighbors too, since it appeared he had visited them, as well.
No one in the kingdom was happy and so, one mere mortal peasant, Ms. Pelba, took a stand and rebeled, by calling the Pima Animal Control. They came while I was getting the mail, but I didnt know who they were, and figured they must have been the Mexican workers, our neighbor hired.
MEXICAN: Is this dog bothering you?
ME: Yes! Can you please take him away from here?
I turned and walked back into my house, not really caring who came to get Lucky, just so long as he was taken off our front lawn. Later that day, Lucky's owners came to our house, asking if we had seen their dog. Of course, we hadnt seen him since that afternoon and really didnt care one way or the other where he was that night.
The next morning, during her morning grunting and puffing, also known as her morning stroll, Ms. Pelba walked by, just as I was leaving, and let me know it was her moment of brilliance that led our neighborhood to a peaceful morning. I didnt know what to say or do, and so, I left, trying to figure out the right way to tell my neighbors that it was I, who sent away their dog, and that it was I, who would try and being him back.
And speaking of getting lucky, that afternoon, in a little bistro across town, Louie was having lunch with Maria. It was all so perfect. The food, the lighting and even the instrumental jazz in the background, all added up to the perfect ambiance for Maria to tell Louie that instead of partying hard and getting drunk at all odd hours of the day, she would accompany me to California. But before Maria could break the news to Louie, he had his own news to break.
Louie felt the whole drinking til dawn trip was a little prosaic, so instead he initiated a little camping trip to Patagonia Lake. As Louie raved about the not-so-great outdoors and the thrill of roughing it with no running water, Maria could see the excitement in his eyes and the happiness in his hands as he moved them all about...and foolishy, accepted his invitation to go camping. Ugh. As Maria retold the whole lunch conversation to me, I knew she felt bad about the whole outcome of the situation. She realized she had hurt a friend to help save the reputation of another friend, who she would end up hurting later. I could've gotten mad and rubbed it in Maria's face til the end of time like any good friend would, but knowing that this would be Maria's first time camping in the woods with no electricity, no running water, or the possibility to color-coordinate made me feel just a little better.
Sometimes, when the answer's right in front of you, it's hard to see. Sometimes it's begging to be revealed and sometimes it lingers around and waits...waits to see how everything will unfold or wait until a more perfect moment can present itself. Either way, when the truth is finally revealed, someone is bound to be hurt and crushed...is there really anyway to help soften the blow?
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