The Judge RANTS!
Bungtime For Bonzo
I've just walked along the stretch of pavement ('sidewalk'
for our US reader) which runs along the opposite side of the road to my
In the space of scarcely seventy metres I found ten, yes, ten
piles of dogshit.
OK. I'm not a dog person. Some dogs are OK: my friend Alex had a
dog which used to bark like mad when I knocked on the door, then
disappear into the living room, only to return carrying a sofa cushion
in his mouth. "Sit down and take your ease, friend", was the
clear message there.
Other dogs are not so charming. This includes the group of
hyperactive, neurotic Dachshunds kept by the woman who lives in the
house behind mine. I'm sick of being perpetually yapped and yipped at
by three disturbed novelty draught-excluders every time I open the back
But, well-disposed to pooches or not, it surely can't be
unreasonable to object in the strongest terms to having to dodge
dog-dumps on what is supposed to be a footpath?
Especially as we're not talking just about the curs who run free.
Time after time, I see one of these surrogate children on the end of a
lead, sad human in tow, stopping and making a deposit on the pavement,
while their proud (or, alternatively, resigned) 'owner' stands by and
lets them...and then walks away, leaving it there!
There are notices affixed to the lamp-posts hereabouts, warning of
a fine for all those who let their hounds crap on the pavement. They
might as well be written in Cat for all the difference it makes
to either party.
I have a grass verge by my gate which suffers similar depredations.
One or two 'owners' I am sure bring their animals down here just for
the purposes of placing little surprises in the greenery. Short of
electrification, I can't find any way of stopping this.
So then, whelp fans, it's time to shove a bung up Bonzo's
bum...before someone shoves a bung up yours.