She had obviously done it again, possibly in her sleep. Did her laser beams cross circuitry? This was another galaxy, something from a David Lynch film.
But SuperWoman’s eyes were wide open, and it was as clear as day. She couldn’t mistake what she saw: A tenaciously thin woman with skin stretched toward the sky, walking a little white dog in a stroller, her lips plump as a crescent roll.
It was SuperWoman’s second undercover trip to the Alligator State. To all who knew her as merely a suburban mom, she was “getting away for a while,” but to her boss, Amaza, she was meant to investigate a secret potion which might be used to put a person in two places at once. She was slightly set off course by the relationships these human women (at least, she thought they were human) had with their little dogs.
A-ha!
She realized, when people “ooh-ed” and “ah-ed” while passing the furry creatures on planes and in the streets of town, that these were not dogs at all. They were princes in disguise, and only subjects in certain parts of the world knew it. (Namely, Manhattan and West Palm Beach.) These women were just their servants, very happily standing guard.
Yet as SuperWoman returned home to her sometimes-quiet suburb, she recognized that people all over the country, who live in cooler climates and do not have the honor of serving covert princes, feel similar affection for their dogs. A car in her neighborhood, for instance, prominently displays a bumper sticker that says, “If my dog doesn’t like you, neither do I.”
SuperWoman doesn’t have a dog, and plans never to own one. They get in the way of conquests and other-worldly battles. Not only that, but other people’s dogs interfere too often with her aims of achieving domestic perfection.
And yet, as in some divine comedy—or divine punishment—she is surrounded by them in her corner property where two streets meet. SuperWoman can actually read the minds of dogs (one of her many superpowers), and knows what they’re thinking as they approach the longer than usual stretch of grass that makes up the side of her house. Poop! Wuff! Poop! Wuff-wuff!
SuperWoman hopes the owner of such Philistine mutts will pull on the leash and show the animal a more appropriate place to let nature call, but this does not usually happen. In fact, it is much more the culture of SuperWoman’s neighborhood to let a dog poop where he pleases and then pick it up, even if that happens to be directly outside SuperWoman’s window, up by her air conditioning unit. Every day.
Yes, it is frustrating.
Unfortunately, SuperWoman cannot use her enormous strength or powerful laser beams in these instances, because she would be exposed, fodder for media tabloids like Nancy Grace. So last week, she decided to do what ordinary, pissy mortal women do. She bought pre-made signs from Petsmart that request of owners, quite nicely and handsomely: “Please curb your dog.”
SuperWoman could have spoken to the new neighbor about the fact that she has children wandering around, that she does not own a dog, and thus does not want the worry of dogshit or bright neon spots where dogs pee. But she suspected if she did that, she’d only have to contend with other beasts on another day. Was she to run out every time she saw a dog squatting, mid-poop, and ask the owner to command his dog to use another lawn? His own, for instance?
That is so beneath a superhero.
SuperWoman wonders if these human dog-servants would dare advise their dogs to piss and poop on a neighbor’s lawn if that same neighbor was standing there, watering her flowers or playing with her children. She supposes they would not. So why allow it when they suspect no one is watching?
Humans are strange creatures.
It really does take a village—of both superhero and mortal—to keep lawns safe from dog dung.
SuperWoman: Protecting lawns since July 20th.
{ 6 comments… read them below or add one }
We have four dogs at the moment, but we’ve had up to seven adults and eight puppies in the house at one time (we do rescue). You’re so right about them interfering with “aims of achieving domestic perfection.” I can sweep, vacuum, and mop while the dogs are in the backyard, and five minutes after I call them inside, there will be dirt and grass tracks on the hardwood and hair in the couch cushions. It’s a losing battle.
Strollers for dogs are ridiculous. These are descendants of WOLVES we’re talking about. And good for you for buying yard signs! I try to make mine go potty before we leave for a walk, but if my dogs sniff while we’re out I immediately drag them as close to the curb as possible. And I ALWAYS clean up afterward. That’s common decency.
SuperWoman, I believe you know of my feelings on dogs, so I imagine you can guess my opinion of dogs in strollers and dog poop on lawns.
Scoop it up and bring it back in a nice tray. With a nice card that says: your dog forgot to bring this home.
Ok. In the super hero alternate universe we’d be able to do this…
To be honest, people do pick up around here. The photo is from a house I saw on my morning walk where obviously, someone did NOT pick up. But even if they pick up, I’d rather not have the worry that there is residue or something left over. You know? (Um, I mean, this is how SuperWoman feels.)
I am not a dog person either. My hubby has a hate on for this old lady who lets her dog go in our yard every time they walk by. Our lawn ins pristine (hubby’s pride and joy) and he can’t stand it! At least she picks it up and we don’t really play in our front yard so I don’t really care. It is annoying though.
How are the signs working out?