Tales From The Hood (Part IV)
The Story Of Grisby's Grass & The Waffle Offal.As regular readers are no doubt aware, my rather pleasant nature seems to be threatend of late, by several minor (& often major) annoyances. Thus, my attempted hiatus from political muse. Even so, lately I find myself perturbed non-politically. Specifically, by those who see no good reason to police their "precious babies," and by this I mean their pets. The case in point: a woman who lives up the street from me, let's call her Jenny From The Block, is in the regular habit of walking her dogs in front of my house. This is a good thing, as both the animals and she get the requisite exercise their bodies are craving. That being said, a problem remains and is mainly as follows.
For the last few years, I have caught Jenny, at various times, allowing her animals to meander into my lawn. I know this may be shocking, coming from a thirty-something Blaine resident, but I do care about my lawn. A lot. In fact, fellow blog-mate, Mike, has accused me of suffering from the dreaded "old man's lawn disease," the etiology of which remains safely hidden in the deep recesses of the human psyche. Although, in my case, it's cause isn't that hard to figure out. You see, living in the NW suburbs for nigh on ten years, I have been tormented by the sandy soil. It nearly keeps me awake at night. The water it takes to make things grow--my goodness. Of course, the upside is never having water in the basement, but that is small consolation to a man without a garden.
I employ the term torment, for my father-in law is a green-thumbed, lawn & garden god. His vegetables-delicious. Flowers-thick with blossoms. Fruit plants--high yield. It is no surprise, that as a farmer, his crops were highly sought after. You'd think his name was Adam. When walking in his grass, you leave footprints. I'm not kidding! You see the crooked indentation of every toe. It is that thick and lush. On Larry's Lawn TM, one is compelled to dispense of his/her footwear and is soon overcome with wanting to [best Rocky & Mugsy voice] "make like a" deer and curl up under the shade of his trees to nap.
I know that it must be clear by now. I have lawn envy. Yes, I do. And no matter what vain attempts I conjure to make my own lawn beautiful, I find myself thwarted. Whether it's seeding trees, Creeping Charlie, ants, or others' pets, I seem destined to frustration. And that brings me back to the matter at hand.
When emerging from my garage, back yard, or wherever, I may be, the canine lover from up the street, um...Jenny, is found to be exuding a shameful expression, as though she is about to receive a paternal scolding for having her hand in the cookie jar. Why the look? Do I strike fear into the hearts of my neighbors? I hardly think so, but my entrance into the front yard, is met with the, uh-um, cough, Jenny trainer's reprimands to her beloved babies.
"C'mon now" Jenny tugs the leash. "Why imagine that, Mr. Grisby! Them dumb dogs just wandered up'n thar whilst I was contemplatin' the Grinch's horticultural comptincies."
Incompetencies is more like it. For those of you who've been to Casa Grisby, you know of which I speak. One doesn't need to be psychic to see what is going on. Jenny feigns concern when I appear, but otherwise, her babies meander with impugnity.
Soon after, Jenny departs the block and I discover the root of her facial contortions. A moist, waffle-like, deposit on Grisby's Grass. Unfortunately, it's discovery was a squishy prompt to get out my spade and with a surgeon's precision [tear down the cheek], dig the offensive matter out of my lawn. I could see no other remedy for removing the foul display. Adding insult to injury, a few days later, I find urine spots in my grass on the other side of my driveway.
"Confound you Jenny! Must I post sentry in my own yard?" I guess it's time to invest in a BB gun. I'm really starting to fit in here in Blaine.
posted by Grisby @ 11:49 AM
1 Comments:
Ah yes, the evils that hath been wrought upon our lawns by those four legged beast . . . man’s best friend indeed.
Luckily, other than the occasional wandering dog, my lawn is free from “land mines.” But that was not always the case. When we first moved in we discovered that our neighbor had a beautiful old golden retriever. (note to reader: I do like dogs. I had them growing up. I do not have one now.) This dog, however, had a very bad habit of coming over to our front yard to “take care of its business.” At first we thought this was a minor mistake made by the dog. But it continued. We thought surely the neighbors see us picking up after their dog. Apparently they didn’t and don’t call me Shirley. We thought the neighbors would notice that although they let their dog out to do its business, no evidence was ever found in their yard. They even watched me pull into my driveway, stop, and chase their dog out of our front yard. (Another note: based on a later encounter, we came to the conclusion that they were not oblivious, they were just weird.)
It was getting serious. Now every dog that walked past discovered the neighbor’s “presents” and seemed to think that my front yard was the neighborhood toilet. We couldn’t let our children play in the front yard. I even bought dog-repellant, which didn’t seem to do much. I threatened that if I ever caught their dog in mid-squat, it would be that dog’s last squat. Also, that would give me the evidence needed to confront our neighbor (I never did actually see their dog in the act, but I knew it was their dog based on the caliber).
But then that glorious day arrived when the “for sale” sign went up in their yard. Followed shortly thereafter by the even more glorious day when the “sold” sign was attached. Since they have left, our lawn has been “land mine” free.
So, stand firm my good friend. You must fight them in the flower gardens, in the front lawn, on the beaches and on the landing grounds. You must never surrender.
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