Doggy Doo 

Jite Bill 2004 - Anyone who rats on a neighbor for lawn violations shall be taken to the nearest airport, put on a plane and dropped by parachute over central Ethiopia with only the clothes on their back, $10 and a return ticket (non negotiable for a period of one year).  

I want to know why you kids keep dragging your blankets out into the living room. I’m sick of taking them back two or three times a day.” Rack complained to the jumble of moving fabric on the floor in front of the TV.
“We didn’t bring them out here Dad, but they are nice to lay on.” The Big One replied.
“Well I didn’t drag them out here. I asked your Mom if she had and she said she didn’t. So that leaves the two of you. Just admit it.”
“We didn’t do it Dad, it was Buddy.” The Little One confessed.
Hearing his name, the hundred pound replacement Golden Retriever got up and pushed his top end into Rack’s lap and pressed his head under his chin whining doggy love howls.
“Yeah, and I suppose he’s the one who got in the freezer yesterday and ate twelve ice cream bars too. Come on you two, fess up.”
“We didn’t do it Dad. Leave us alone.”

The next morning Rack pretended to leave for work sneaking around the back to peek in the window to see if perhaps it was the dog. He could see the dog staring at the front door he had just closed, but after scratching at it once, it turned and went down the hallway to the bedrooms. Soon it came back with Rack and Flower’s king sized quilt in its mouth, dragging it between his legs. He dropped it in front of the TV, laid on it, wadded a hunk of it in his mouth and stared at the wall for a few minutes. Soon he got up and did the same with the kid’s blankets. Rack thought it was kind of cute, after all, four years and the dog had not chewed up either the blankets or anything else. He reminded himself to apologize to the children that night.

Since Rack had taken the kids to see the movie Air Bud, about a replica of Buddy (with even the same name) who became a basketball star, he was forced to put up a backboard in the driveway. After many hours of the family trying to teach the dog the game, he could not grasp the shooting baskets part, but did quickly understand the point of the game; to get the ball away from the other guys. Soon the kids had most of their friends over after school hooping it up with the dog. After spending the day alone on a pile of blankets staring at the wall and hearing the bounce of the ball and the children’s shouts, he would sadly peer out the window until Rack let him out. Buddy did a fair job at the game, interacting with the kids under the basket and often getting control of the ball and rolling between his front legs away from the half dozen small children. The kids would chase him and laugh until he would give the ball up, follow them back to the hoop, and do it again. A good time was had by all.

Rack smiled thinking of an old Norman Rockwell Saturday Evening Post cover he remembered with a small boy on a bike riding down a suburban street with his dog jumping beside him as he roared through a pile of leaves. He was brought out of his reverie by a police car pulling in the driveway.
“We had a couple complaints so here I am. Again.” Officer Sabrina scolded.
“But I was sitting in my office right there,” Rack pointed to the front picture window, “The dog has only been out for five minutes and he never left the yard. He’s playing basketball with the kids for crying out loud.”
“The law says a dog must be under adult supervision.”
“Well I was supervising, I was watching.”
“No, you said you were inside, you must be outside.”
“Gee. Okay.” Buddy gave Rack the opportunity to show everyone the classic stubborn dog drag; the sit position, front legs digging in, the collar pushing up the ears and the long hard drag in the front door. Once inside the two sat in front of the window, Rack watching the ball playing, and the dog staring at Rack rather than the driveway.

“I know Buddy, I am thinking the same thing.” Both understanding there was no good reason why he couldn’t be playing ball with the kids. Officer Sabrina backed out the driveway with a wave, a small indication that she too thought the complaints absurd.

A few days later, early on a Monday morning, the doorbell rang to a young Hispanic man with a clipboard in hand. He explained he was the animal control officer and that “we” had a dog problem. While talking about “our” problem, the replacement dog got past Rack, through the door and jumped into the arms of the young man to see if he could perhaps wiggle his head into his nose. Even the dog catcher was having problems taking complaints against Buddy seriously. Buddy, whose best friends were the mailman, the garbage men, the cable guys, the paperboy and to be sure, any potential burglars who may happen in.

“Well, look... the Mayor got 12 complaint calls at home concerning your dog.” Who introduced himself as Paulo, stated.

“The dog was not out of the yard yesterday! I was out futzing around, I was supervising it the entire time. This is absurd. Arrest Marvin on frivolous complaints or something.”

The dog catcher looked at is clipboard and said that Marvin had complained on both Saturday and Sunday. Rack of course knew who was complaining, but had no proof until that moment. He smiled at his success in getting the official information. They talked and laughed about Marvin and the man departed.

Over the weeks the police came often though reluctantly. Police cars were parked in front of Marvin’s house numerous times a day, fingers pointing in Rack’s direction. In the few hours a day the police were not there, he could see Marvin standing in his yard looking at the Jitehouse with his cellu phone in hand, talking to them.

Rack put his neighbors out of his mind for a spell, packed up the kids and the dog and went to the nearby Quickie Mart for a fill up and a dollar quickie wash. When they entered the store to pay up, Marvin was standing at the counter. Late sixties, dirty, smelly, shorts, bare feet, a baseball cap on with the commander scrambled eggs on the visor. He of course noticed the retched Jite’s behind him, but would not meet Rack’s eyes. Marvin gave the pony-tailed young attendant a $20 and upon receiving his $5 change, he loudly exclaimed, “Yer pretty smart for a White boy!”

The attendant didn’t much like the racist remark and sloughed it off. But as Rack was in line, Marvin had to keep the counter to be his irritating self. He began tapping his open wallet with the big silver POLICE badge toward Rack and the kids. It now became clear to Rack why local law enforcement was pandering to this shithead.  

Mad at the attendant for not enjoying his racial slur, Marvin demanded a free car wash on the badge. The attendant made it hard for him by going in the back room to get a form for him to fill out. Marvin faced away from the counter during the process still tapping the badge so Rack couldn’t miss it.

Soon the attendant returned with the “give the retired cheap cop a free car wash” form and asked him to slide down the counter a bit so he could take the next customer. Rack paid for the gas and was waiting for the change when Marvin whined to the attendant that he didn’t know his license plate number.

Rack had the perfect opportunity to say, “Yer pretty stupid for a White Boy” but passed on it, instead he just took a dollar of his change, handed it to the attendant, and said, “We Jite’s pay our own way, here’s a buck for the wash.”

Rack stopped the car at the hump inside the quickie washer, checked the windows and put it in park. The Big one asked what Marvin meant by his “Yer pretty smart for a White Boy” statement just as the whirly-mops hit the car from all sides. This new experience for the replacement dog caused it to think the end of its doggy world was at hand, it jumped the seat, landing on top of Rack’s head, and this time somehow actually managed to get a major portion of its body inside Rack. The licking and crying with legs swinging in all directions while it’s body circled ever deeper into Rack’s body was the most intense excitement the kids had experienced thus far in their boring little lives. BIG FUN IN THE CAR WASH. The minutes dragged on for what seemed hours, but finally the end of the world was over, the dog was on the floor with his head under the seat and Rack could finally answer the question.

“Look kids, what he said was an example of racism, he was saying Blacks were dumber than Whites in an overtly sarcastic way. Marvin is a creep, a cheapskate, an asshole and a racist. Stay away from him, if he says anything to you ignore him and come tell me.”

 A week later the local paper came out with two of it’s 12 pages dedicated to the new animal laws for the neighborhood. Obviously Marvin had pestered enough people to get it written. Rack found the $2000 maximum fine per dog-poop rather funny, but the new law allowing any individual to impound anyone else’s animal on their property without having to inform the owner, and take it to the SPCA to be put down, Rack found beyond disgusting, so much so, Rack was rethinking his stand on the assault rifle ban.  

Realizing that this specific case was not about dog-poop, but potential dog poop, Rack lost himself once again in deep philosophical thoughts of dog shit. What was it about dog poop that set people into such craziness? Contrary to sub Urban legends, it is not dangerous, it is so low on the bandwidth regarding disease, it is never listed. It is very good lawn fertilizer, it decomposes in a few days, it only smells bad if you are on your hands and knees wanting to smell it or if you step in it and put your feet up to your face. Well, it does smell when you hit it with the lawn mower I suppose. And if it is so bothersome, a hose with an any adjustable head can eliminate it in less than five seconds. Rack pondered it all and finally arrived at the conclusion that this issue was a pointer to perhaps the most serious problem in America today.

That we are no longer neighbors, we are potential trespassers. We are not concerned with serious problems but with very trivial matters mostly because they are things we can actually affect. We care more about the color and texture of our lawns than we do about getting along with each other. Perhaps it is even one of the reasons THEY hate us so much. An embarrassing shallow self interest.

Doggy Doo Two

Rack was in the back yard working on the damn stump all Memorial day afternoon. Dulling the chain saw in the dirt and wearing out his arms with the ax, he finally resorted to fire. He threw a bunch of charcoal atop the damn thing, got the wet-vac blowing on it. The initial whoosh of sparks sent the dog running to the front yard where the neighborhood kids were shooting hoops.

Rack looked a sight in nothing but shorts with sweat, dirt and ash covering him, his hair a soggy tangled mess while he hopped around burning the bottoms of his bare feet on embers flying this way and that. Suddenly the Big one came whipping around the side of the house tears flowing, “Marvin is going to kill Buddy! You have to hurry! Please Dad, hurry, he’s going to kill him!”  

Coming around the front of the house Rack soaked up the scene. Half a dozen kids between the ages of 3 and 12, Flower holding the two year old Golden Retriever by the collar and a large white pickup stopped in the middle of the street with everyone yelling.  

What looked like the risen dead from the back yard, shouted for silence. Rack approached the woman in the passenger seat of the truck to ask what was going on. She began by saying that they had to stop the truck and blow the horn to get Buddy out of the middle of the street where he was pushing the basketball away from the kids chasing him. A ten year old neighbor boy interjected that when they blew the horn the dog freaked, and with tail between his legs, ran out of harms way across the street, unwittingly stepping onto a corner of Marvin’s lawn between the sidewalk and the street.

Suddenly the missing Marvin, who was short enough to not show up on the other side of the truck cab, walked back toward the bed coming into view with a large club in hand and shouted. “I’m going to kill that damn dog! I’m gonna kill that Goddamn dog now!” Waving the club madly over his head.

“Been drinking today Marvin?” Rack asked, which turned the man from red to purple.
“Your dog crapped on my lawn!” Marvin screamed.
A whole chorus of children layered in claiming: NO HE DIDN’T! HE ONLY STEPPED ON YOUR GRASS FOR A SECOND!
“I’m going to kill your fucking dog!”
“Get away from me and my family you sorry sack of shit!” Rack retorted. This caused the people in the truck to pull away from the confrontation, leaving Marvin standing alone in the middle of the street, with club waving, purple faced and hollering foully about killing the dog he came forward into the yard of frightened children. 

Rack, also moved forward. He pointed at Marvin’s nose to made it clear, “Look at yourself pal, standing in my yard drunk, swinging a club in front of all these kids telling them you’re going to kill their dog. I am going to say this only once, get your ass away from my family you sorry sonofabitch.” Covered in dirt and hopping a bit to ease the burns on the bottom of his feet, managed the desired affect. 

Off the mean little old man ran to his own yard. And the phone. Rack moved back to the bench on the side of the garage to sit out of view of the asshole. Buddy jumped up next to him and rested his head against his chest. The kids clamored around with comments about how cool Rack was to cuss out Marvin whom they all feared. 

“Why are you sitting there?” Flower asked.
“Waiting for the police.”
“Police? What are you talking about, we should be calling the police on him.”
“Come on Flower, this is suburbia, where brandishing weapons, frightening children and threatening violence is quite secondary to a possible potential dog poop.”
“Dad.” The Little one said from around the corner in the front yard, “Marvin is talking on the phone in his yard.”
“He’s calling the police on ME? Impossible, he’s not calling the police.” Flower went on in her fantasy world.
“Dad.” The little one said after two or three minutes, there are police cars parked in front of Marvin’s, he’s talking to three of them.”
“I can’t believe this shit!” Flower went on.
After about 10 minutes Officer Sabrina pulled the patrol car up the driveway, got out with her ticket book and began writing as she approached Rack with Buddy still scared and hugging him on the bench.
“What’s your social security number Mr. Jite?”
“Why?”
“Because you are getting a ticket for Dog at Large. It seems your dog just relieved himself on Mr. Ornery’s lawn.” That caused all the kids to talk at once denying it, explaining Buddy had only stepped on the corner of the city property between the sidewalk and the street, and then only for a second.
Sabrina listened politely and went on writing the ticket saying that issue could be addressed in court, and asked once again for Rack’s Social Security number.
“How much is this ticket anyway?” Rack asked.
“$150. What is your Social Security number.”
“Let me get his right. I am to pay $150 because an obviously drunk bitter old retired cop was standing in my front yard waving a club screaming at my children that he was going to kill their dog. Because the dog was less than 100 feet from our house and barely touched the city property in front of his house?”
“So you are admitting your dog was at large. And Mr. Jite, your dog is presently at large and you are breaking the law, would you please put it in the house. What is your Social Security number?”
“It is against the law for me to sit on a bench in my own yard holding the dog in my arms? This dog is not at large, in fact he is presently being the opposite of at large. Has this town gone completely off it’s rocker?”
“What is your Social Security number?” With this Flower entered the conversation.
“Wait a minute. We’ll give you that in a second. Rather than call 911 as you are already here, I want to lodge a complaint. Officer Sabrina, I just had a dangerous obviously drunken man standing in my yard, waving a big club over his head, threatening to kill my children’s dog, scaring them and driving some to tears. I’ll give you my social security number after you go ticket him.”
“There is no law against waving clubs, threatening to kill dogs, or making children cry, but there is a law concerning dog at large. What is your Social Security number.” Officer Sabrina repeated turning from Flower back to Rack

At this Flower could no longer restrain herself. “How absurd! You know damn well that creep has called the police on us hundreds of times, all of which concerned the dog being IN OUR OWN FRONT YARD. My children are afraid to even go down that side of the street. For a year he has been running madly about wielding that club threatening to kill our dog for no good reason at all. My kids have nightmares about it. And the only reason you and city hall give that crazy sob any credibility at all is because he is a retired cop, and it stinks to high heaven!”
“Mr. Jite, what is your social security number?” Sabrina said ignoring Flower again.
Rack finally gave it while the half dozen children enjoyed being privy to all the angst, quietly listening to all that was said and recording their thoughts on law and order.

The first step was to go to City Hall, plead not guilty and ask for a court date. After a few weeks Rack was called by the DA to come to his office for a plea bargain. All the Jites’ went down with Buddy in tow. Of course they wouldn’t let the dog into the hearing. The Jites were soundly ridiculed for even thinking such a thing would be possible. The DA offered to reduce the fine to $50. Flower liked the deal, but Rack refused saying he would not pay anything without his constitutional right to confront his accuser.  

The court date was set for the following month while Rack worked on his speech over the next few weeks. Though technically the dog was at large, he decided on an extenuation and mitigation response. The gist of which was the hundreds of calls to the police about the dog being in it’s own front yard, the deranged club waving, threats scaring the children, and the fear the children felt in their own neighborhood. But the core of his argument was a plea to the judge concerning the purpose of the law itself. That with so many people these days wanting to show their macho stupidity by buying Rottweilers and Pit-bulls, all dogs were now unjustly treated as killers.

Rack honed the piece and felt that even if he lost, it would be worth $100 to give the asshole a whack in public rather than just rolling over for him.

The week before the court date, Flower was outside with her broom sweeping cement, grass, walls and what have you when the next door neighbor asked her what Rack had done this time. The  neighbor told her they had been subpoenaed, so behind Rack’s back, Flower went and paid the $150 to curtail the gossip. Mr. Jite was last seen chasing Mrs. Jite around the front yard all red in the face, waving a large club around his head.  

Doggy Doo Three

The morning after the last installment Rack was out in the driveway getting in the van to take the dog to the vet. He opened the back door and the dog jumped in. Before he closed the door the Little One came out and wanted Rack to listen to his bike, it made funny noises he said. He hopped on and rode it down the driveway turning into the street while Rack listened. The dog jumped out the open door before he could get a hold of the mindless beast. The dog caught up to the bike in front of the next door neighbor’s where both the kid and the dog stopped face into the chief of police’s car. The chief whistled while he wrote.  

We don’t need 100,000 more cops on the streets, we just need to move the hundreds of thousands we already have in these squeaky clean suburbs where they are primarily referees for shallow disagreements between spoiled neighbors, downtown where they can do some actual police work. And take a few of the neighbors along with them for a taste of reality.