The boyfriend’s sister and many of his ex-girlfriends attended this school.

After reading a couple of posts from local bloggers about dogs off leashes, Tim at Mother Tongue Annoyances wrote about dog walking etiquette. His post addresses the typical no-nos: not picking up the poop and keeping your mutt on a lead. But the last segment of his entry gave me pause. He writes:

When I see some of my spandex-clad neighbors biking or running by, literally dragging
a doddering, panting Beagle or overweight Labrador Retriever behind
them, I want to start throwing punches. Yes, we live in a society of
overcommitment, where folks want to "multitask" and so forth. Here’s my
message:

Leave your f*cking dog at home when you exercise. Go run, and then walk your dog later. Stop abusing your pet.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of these "human/pet exercise
partnerships" where the dog looked like it could take the stress of the
run. That is to say, I cannot recall seeing a Saluki, Italian
Greyhound, or the like. No, I tend to see stubby-legged little dogs who
have trouble keeping up with their masters; animals who perhaps wonder
when this torment will be over so they can lap up some water and lie
down in the shade.

This is the first time I’ve ever seen anyone make this complaint aloud. Before I owned a dog, or did any sort of jogging, I always thought it was mean that people made their dogs run with them. Running sucks! Why would they force their pet to go along with them?

As I grew older and wider I started to exercise for my health’s sake. Mostly at the gym, but during the cooler months I’d walk/run outside. Then I got Tootie.

Tootie is part terrier, I’m sure of it. She has the high-energy personality of a terrier, and could, if we had time, go on 45 walks a day. She’s highly curious, easily bored and always bounding across the house. After a bit of dog training reading I discovered that most of Tootie’s behavioral problems could be resolved by running her ragged. If she’s properly exercised, Cesar tells me, she won’t be as likely to chew up the couch.

So, we went jogging together. And hiking. We don’t do this very often, but if I head out for a three mile walk with some jogging thrown in for good measure, she sometimes comes along. And she loves it. I bring plenty of water and stryofoam bowls for her to drink from. And it’s never been a problem.

I did a little looking around and found lots of legitimate-looking online resources for instructions on how best to exercise with your dog. Nothing I saw recommended against taking the pooch for a quick run.

If properly prepared, running with your dog seems perfectly healthy. Is there something I don’t know? Am I abusing my pet?

So, I’m walking the dogs this morning, doo-doo bags securely in my pocket, when this old hag creeps from her house in her maroon robe, inching slowly toward the driveway. And she is staring at me. Not just regular ol’ staring; no she stops to stare. I yell out a "Good Morning!," but I get nothing but an icy stare in return.

Once at the top of the hill the pups and I change direction and head back toward my house. Once I pass her again, I notice the old lady is now talking to herself while staring at me.

"Good MORNING!," I say again, more loudly this time.

"Don’t let your dogs shit in my yard….(mumble)….mailbox."

Now, I’ve dealt with the psycho neighbors before, so I was prepared for this nutjob.

"What did you say? Excuse me?," I hollered back, insinuating that I couldn’t hear her cowardly ass mumbling under her breath.

"Don’t let your dogs shit in my yard," she said more clearly this time.

"I don’t," I said to her, "I’ve got doggie poop pick-up bags right here. I clean up after my dogs."

"Well, there’s a pile here and here, and some shit over here," she whined.

"You do know that there are dogs in this neighborhood who are not on leashes who roam around who could be responsible," I informed her. "Or those cats over there."

"I’ve called and called and they won’t do nothin’," she complained some more.

"Well, I clean up after my dogs," I told her once again. "But, sorry about your luck!"

Then she said, turning from me, "I used to have dogs and they never shit in the yard."

By this time I’d had enough of her fucking whining. So I yelled back, "Yeah, they quit breeding those magic dogs who never shit about ten years ago. It’s too bad."

Then we went home.

Stupid bitch.