We were busy people yesterday, what with repainting the living room (including trim – unfortunately it’s always been painted), which includes built in bookcases, cupboards, and more doorways than you would think a living room would have.  But we managed to get the woodwork primed and the walls primed and final coated.  For the most part, the Pooch cooperated with us and laid in her bed chewing one of the most disgusting bones we’ve ever purchased for her.  But it kept her happy, occupied, and out of the paint, so it was worth it. 

The Pooch has her schedule and so, about an hour or two after she’d had her evening meal, Al took her for what we call The Poopy Walk.  She goes on at least two of these a day… first thing in the morning and then in the late afternoon/early evening.  Unless it’s cold and snowy, which causes her to suffer from her seasonal constipation, she’s a pretty regular little beast.

Since Al had less paint on himself than I did (yes, I tend to get myself rather painted up when I work), he volunteered to take the pup on her stroll.  It wasn’t long after they left the house that I heard the Pooch barking (I think most dog owners will tell you that they can distinguish their pooches’ barks from that of other canines) and I heard a loud voice, but the only word I could discern was “dog.” 

Knowing our Pooch’s penchant for barking at strangers we encounter on walks, and many strangers’ desire to pet our Pooch, I assumed that Al and the Pooch had encountered once such individual and the voice was loud simply because someone was attempting to be heard over the Pooch’s boisterousness.  However, when Al returned home shortly thereafter, I learned that this was not the case.

It seems that as Al was proceeding up the sidewalk into the next block south, the Pooch stopped to sniff a STOP sign.  Of course she did.  She’s a dog.  And, as a dog, she must sniff anything that has any hint of the smell of another dog.  And I think everyone, even nondog owners know, male dogs lift their legs on just about anything that’s vertical – fire hydrants, trees, fence posts, mailboxes, and sign posts – which means all the other dogs have to sniff them and, most likely, add their own dog smell to the mix.

Anyway, the Pooch got a whiff of something she liked and decided to squat and piddle.  At which time our ever-so-lovely neighbor, Psycho, stopped his car in the middle of the street and started to yell at Al for letting the Pooch wizz on “his yard.” 

Everyone is aware that stop signs are not normally placed on private property, right?  Stop signs, such as this example, are placed in what’s known as the Public Right-of-Way.  In the City of Erie, most property owners actually own the land from the edge of the sidewalk in towards their house and the City is the owner of the sidewalk and the grassy area between the sidewalk and street.  Property owners, however, are charged with the upkeep of the sidewalks and the strip of grass.  Al and I assumed this was common knowledge.  I’d only ever encountered someone this ignorant once before – a very elderly lady who used to tell me to get off her sidewalk when I was walking PugPei.  When I told her the sidewalk was for public use and it was not, in fact, hers, she started babbling about not wanting her sidewalk to smell like dogs.  At that point, I just figured she was senile and ignored her and kept walking. 

Psycho* started spouting off about how he pays Chemlawn to keep his grass looking nice** and he didn’t want our dog ruining it.  When Al responded that neither he nor his dog were on private property and that they were, in fact, both standing on the public right-of-way, Psycho got out of his car and started approaching Al, which is when the Pooch started barking and lunging toward Psycho.  Don’t ever doubt that the Pooch has a very protective streak in her or that she’s a very good judge of character. 

At that point, Al asked Psycho if he would like him to call the cops.  Psycho said, “yeah, go ahead.”  So, Al pulled his iPhone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial for one of the cops we’d talked to in the past about the problems we’ve had with stalkers and the neighborhood wingnuts.  Al told the cop what was happening and the cop told Al to walk away from the whackjob, but to stay on the phone in case the loose cannon got physical.  Al followed the cop’s instructions, Psycho got back in his car, the confrontation ended, and Al and the Officer ended their conversation with the Officer telling Al to call him back if anything else happened. 

So, apparently Psycho thinks there is some kind of law giving him the right to control who walks on City property, but is completely oblivious when it comes to the law that does exist which regulates the volume at which a citizen can listen to his music (Article 705.99(n)), as the entire neighborhood is often subjected to the country & western ditties emanating from Psycho’s stereo.  There is an ordinance requiring that when taking dogs out in public they be restrained on a leash and that owners clean up the poop.  There is no ordinance regarding dogs urinating on public property. 

We’ve got two theories behind Psycho’s very odd and aggressive behavior.  First, we’ve considered that perhaps he takes steroids.  He’s a rather burly fellow and walks like I remember the football players in high school walking – like a gorilla – they hold their arms in such a way that it appears they are carrying invisible bags of groceries under each arm.  And he doesn’t walk, he struts.  And he usually has an angry scowl on his face.  And he drives too fast and turns his stereo way up.  Wait.  Maybe it’s not steroids.  Maybe he just never grew up.  I mean, let’s face it, chronological age (we estimate this nutbar is about 55) is never a guarantee of maturity.

Our second guess is that he’s just mentally unhinged and/or plain ol’ not too bright.  Because, really, confronting someone about a dog piddlin’ next to a sign post?  Really?  It’s been almost 24 hours since the incident and we’re still just amazed as we were when it happened. 

* If you’re wondering how Psycho got his name, it’s because from the day I moved in, every time he was outside when I would walk by, whether with or without the Pooch (I didn’t get the Pooch until I’d been living there for a couple of years), he would stop whatever he was doing and just stare at me.  He never said a word… he would just stare with an ugly scowl on his face.

** I’ve had dogs all my life and they’ve all had their favorite piddle spots.  Amazingly, the grass in the areas of these favorite spots was never affected.  Shrubberies, on the other hand, will turn brown when a dogs lift their legs on them enough.  And, on the off chance that some piddlin’ would affect grass, my suggestion would be NOT to pay for Chemlawn to put poison on grass you do not technically own.  But, hey, that’s just me.

May 23rd, 2009 | Category: Dog, Harassment, Houses/Home Improvements, Laws, The Beverly Hillbillies Minus the Money | Subscribe to comments | Leave a comment | Trackback URL