Never have I ever been followed by the poop police, until the other night. Let me explain. I live in apartments that have walking areas all around. I walk my dog Abby around there all the time. It is sort of an unspoken rule that you should clean up after your pet. Meaning, use a bag to clean up your dog’s…excrement. A lot of people adhere to it, but a lot don’t. It’s really never been a big deal in the past 4 years that I’ve lived there.
So the other night, after a long day and seeing the Bourne Legacy, I arrived home at around 11:00. I was tired, I was lazy, and I still needed to walk my dog who had not been out all day. I proceeded to take Abby out for a walk, minus a bag for any surprises. Too bad everyone.
I started walking around the apartment complex and come across a strange women that I had never seen before. She was just meandering around, enjoying the night. She was taking up the entire path by walking right in the middle, incredibly slowly. I was a tinge agitated since I was trying to walk Abby quickly, so I said “ma’am, I’m going to walk around you!”. She didn’t say anything. Ok, no problem, moving on. I continue walking a few yards and Abby decides to “do her thing”. I turn around, and there is the woman, standing there staring. I jump a bit and ask her if she needs something. She says, “oh, just making sure you clean up your dog’s CRAP”. Wow. Ok. I proceeded to tell her that, no, I was not going to, because I don’t have a bag and it is dark. Sorry, ma’am! She keeps asking repeatedly, “Are you going to clean up your dog’s CRAP?!?!” No, no I’m not. I do not have anything with which to pick it up, so that is a definite no.
I continue walking, with her still asking me. She follows me. At this point I am 50% annoying and 50% freaking out. I walk a little faster and arrive at the front of my building. She’s still behind me. I look back and ask, “ma’am, are you following me?”. She says, “YEAH, I am following you. I want to see where the girl who doesn’t pick up her dog’s CRAP lives.” Ok wow, things are getting weird. I say, well I live right here, so there’s no need to follow me. She keeps walking. I say it again and she screams, “I HEAR YOU!!!”. This is getting intense. I run inside and lock the door. I’m terrified that she’s outside plotting how to set my building on fire or somehow have me killed in my sleep.
I wake up the next morning, fully prepared to have Abby’s poop at my front door in a paper bag. Nothing there. I walk down the stairs and look at the 100 bulletins that the apartment complex posts above the mailboxes. There is one there that says something about cleaning up after your dog. On it, written in red pen, is a note that says, “APARTMENT 11A BETTER READ THIS LETTER!!!!!!!!”
Someone has a little too much time on their hands.