Dumber'n Dog Poop

This week's can of Whup-Ass goes to thoughtless dog owners.

The sad thing is that you probably wouldn't recognize yourself even if your unleashed dog came up and bit you on your pootie.

I'm not talking about that particular breed of sloths who are irresponsible breeders. I've already written about that once.

I'm talking about the "leash laws don't apply to me, and if my dog destroys something/hurts someone/makes a mess, it's not my fault" kind of dingleberry.

The lovely BP over at Southern Circle of Hell wrote a really good post about this, and inspired me to add my own 2 cents.

We live in a rural mountain area.

Sometimes when people first move up here, the lack of oxygen clouds their thinking. They assume the laws (such as leash laws) that are in place in urban areas don't apply, and there they are quite wrong.

So if Rover needs to "do his business" they just open the door and let him run.

Bad bad idea.

Dogs are pack animals. Even harmless little "Fluffy". When you get 5 or 6 dogs running around together on a regular basis, they can terrorize a neighborhood.

At first people in the area would call the specific dog owners and complain. "Get up here and get your @$*%&# dog!"

Some owners would correct the problem and figure out how to keep control of their dogs, and some just didn't give two shits.

One day this pack of dogs went onto a family's property, destroyed their rabbit hutches and mauled a bunch of prize-winning rabbits. The survivors had to be put down. The family "knew" who the dogs belonged to, but because they didn't actually capture them, the police could do nothing except take a complaint.

The dog owners swore that Rover or Spot was inside at the time, and that their precious poopies were never allowed to run free, much less run with a band of marauding mutts.

It became a he said/she said kind of thing.

So the mother of this family started a war. Good on her.

Every time the "pack" of neighborhood dogs made the rounds to her neck of the woods, she'd trap them. Then call animal control to pick them up. And give them the names and addresses of the owners.

First offense: $50.00 fine. Every offense thereafter was doubled. After a while the idiot dog owners figured out that their fecklessness was getting mighty expensive and took care of the problem.

When I was a kid in the suburbs, this guy down the street had a dog that would frequently knock over and tear up people's trash on garbage day.

It would drive my father absolutely insane, because not only was the dog humongous, it was mean too. If my dad tried to shoo it away or got too close, the dog would turn from ripping up the trash bags and growl at him.

He'd call the owner up and say, "Your G*ddamned Dog is over here going through my trash."

Neighbor would say, "It's not my dog. My dog is right here." And hang up. Which would make Dad swear even more.

Thinking back, I have no idea why my dad never called animal control or filed a complaint. A man thing?

He'd just lurk by the front window every trash day at 6am to see if that *&%^$# dog would be in our trash again. If it was, he'd call the owner.

"Next time your dog is in my trash, I'm going to shoot the sonuvabitch!"

"It's not my dog. My dog is right here."

Click. Buzz.

More foul language from Dad.

This back and forth went on for years. Dad even collected a few implements in the garage to throw at the dog to chase it away, although the sling shot idea never really took off.

He did peg it with a can of Coke once.

We'd get a couple of months of respite, and then the dog would be back at it again.

Who knows why it liked our trash so much. Maybe because we ate a lot of steak?

One day Dad just had enough. And I know you pet lovers are going to get mad, but sometimes a person just reaches a breaking point.

He shot the dog.

In the ass.

With rock salt.

It ran screeching down the street.

About two minutes later the phone rang.

It was the neighbor. And he was screaming his damn fool head off.

"You shot my dog! I'm going to sue your &#%&$ ass!!"

Dad had a huge grin on his face. "No you aren't," he said. "Because it's 'not your dog.' Remember?"

'Nuff said.