The figure jumps, I notice with a smug surge of satisfaction. “Rusty,” they call loudly.
I can’t tell if it’s a man or woman, but dressed in all black with that leather jacket makes it look like they’re up to no good. “Is it pooping on my lawn?”
Whoever it is shrugs. Forgetting about the fish cooking, I rush to the door.
“Do not let it excrete on my lawn.” Fists clenched at my sides, I block the doorway, ready for a quick jump back inside in case the dog starts to sniff in my direction. The dog that is still gallivanting around the yard until—
It spots me.
Ears up, tail wagging, teeth bared. I step back into the house as it –
“Rusty, no.” Now I can tell it’s a woman, wearing very snug fitted black clothing and a tiny toque. More importantly, she grabs hold of the dog’s collar, stopping the run towards me.
I’m too angry to notice she’s very pretty.
I clutch the door, ready to slam it in the animal’s face if she loses her hold. “Get it out of here,” I say through gritted teeth.
“It’s adog.” The disgust in her tone is mirrored on her face. “A small dog just doing dog things.”
True, it doesn’t seem very big, but it’s still a dog. Trying to breathe normally, I lift an arm and point.Away.
“C’mon, Rusty. There’s no love here.” Without another word, she pulls the dog across my neighbour’s lawn, hurdling over the line of tiny dogwood shrubs that separates my property from Mrs. Gretchen’s.
I sag with relief. But there was still a dog on my lawn, and so what if he left something? “Wait!” I cry. “What if he—?”
I step onto the grass, right onto something warm and soft. “Jesus Christ!” I splutter as the smell assaults my nose.
It squelches as I lift my foot.
It’s all over my sock. “That stupid dog— ”
The sound of a slamming door stops me mid-rant and she cuts back across Mrs. Gretchen’s half of the lawn to find me standing on one foot. “What’s up, flamingo boy?” she asks with a smirk.
“What? I stepped in it! It’s on my lawn and I stepped in it!”
She doesn’t even bother hiding the smile. “Oops.” She holds up a plastic bag. “Forgot my bag, but if you’ve already taken care of it…”
Hopping on one leg, I pull off my sock and fight the urge to throw it at her. “Get it out of here. And keep your dog away. I’ve been here for three months and I keep finding piles on my lawn.” My nose curls from the smell as I inspect the mess of my sock, brown goo marring the bright blue covered in test tubes and beakers. “This is my favourite pair of socks.”
“You should watch where you’re going then,” she says blithely. “And wear shoes when you’re outside.”
“My class gave them to me,” I tell her angrily, checking the edge of my khakis to make sure the mess didn’t spread.
She doesn’t reply but stoops with her baggie open and grabs at the remainder of the pile. Most of it is on my sock. “Look, what do you want me to do?” she asks. “Buy you another pair of socks? Fine. I’ll get right on it. But just so you know, I always clean up so your other piles are not on me. I let the dogs pee on the lawn but I always clean up their poop.”
“You have more than just that thing?” I hold the corner of my sock a foot away and scowl at the world.
She scowls back as she ties the baggie. “Rusty is not a thing.”
“Rusty? What kind of name is that? That’s not a dog’s name.”
“What’s your name?” she counters.
“Boen.”
“What kind of name is that?” she mimics.
My jaw drops in shock. I’ve never had a woman speak to me like that, never met someone so rude and unapologetic and—
