I have no dog, so please keep yours out of my yard

When you live in a city full of people, a little extra effort is required in order not to be bothersome to your neighbors. If you own a pet, let’s say, that includes making sure they don’t roam all over the place causing mischief and doing their business in other people’s yards.

For me, this is personal.

When I was a kid, my very best friend James owned a dog named “Blackie.”
I like dogs. They are cool and loyal and have a lot of personality. I liked Blackie better than most.
But when James and I would go into his backyard to play, Blackie’s drawbacks became apparent. I spent many forlorn hours scraping Blackie’s smelly leavings off of the bottom of my shoes or washing it out of my clothes (actually, my mother did that). You just never quite get it all.

One time, a few friends joined us for an ill-conceived game of tackle football. I had just caught a pass to rival the “Immaculate Reception” when another friend of mine blindsided me in a most vicious and cowardly way with a soul-wrenching tackle that sent us both crashing to the turf. It was as if my life suddenly went into slow motion. As we glided through time, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a monstrous pile of Blackie poo. It was dark and rich looking with a swirl of yellow. Steam was still wafting up into the air from it. I’m sure Blackie was proud of this particular effort.

It seemed like an hour went by as my right cheek began to descend inexorably to ward the pile. I twisted, turned, fought and cursed all the way down to no avail.

SPLAT!

As I made contact, the pile exploded. The gooey mess covered my face, squished into my ears, pieces flew in my mouth. As fate would have it, my tackler also got a little flung into his open piehole, a fact that gave me a tiny bit of solace in the disgusting period of retching, spitting and cleanup that followed.

That was a pivotal moment in my life.

I decided then and there that while dogs are indeed interesting creatures, and having one as a pet is a pleasure all its own, I did not want to own one myself. I desire a pile-free yard to play in. It is important to me.

A few times since then, I’ve thought about adopting a dog, but the memories of that day are still raw and vivid. My wife and I have talked about getting a dog for our daughter, but I can never get over the idea that my little girl might fall into a filthy pile face-first like I did so many years ago. I consider myself a better parent than that.

So it is disconcerting to me to watch as numerous dogs that belong to people in my neighborhood use my yard as a toilet. Other dog-free households feel the same way. It happens all over town.

I often wonder about the mentality of someone that just lets their dogs roam free and loose in a city full of people as trough we are living on a 500-acre farm or a wildlife preserve? Do they think their dogs are so wonderful that everyone will want a pile or two in their grass? Do these dog owners think their neighbors look forward to cleaning up the garbage these dogs have torn into and strewn about in their canine quest for a chicken bone or some rotten meatloaf? I’ve nearly met my maker a few times in order to avoid one quite beautiful dog that seems to fancy taking a rest in the middle of Barton Mill Road regularly. The owners of this animal have no right to cry and blubber when their prize pooch is being scraped off someone’s bumper. They knew better.

The only conclusion I can reach is they don’t care. They don’t give a hoot what anyone around them thinks because what is most convenient for them is to let their dogs run free.

And that’s why we have a leash law. It is for those who don’t care. To make them care, we have citations and fines and other measures to get their attention.

Not so long ago, the city police engaged in an enforcement effort to rid Corbin of a plague of junk vehicles parked in yards and driveways all over town. It worked and I supported it fully.

I’d back the boys in blue on a similar leash law enforcement blitz if they chose to do so.

Unfortunately, police intervention is the only language some people understand.