Pointing the proverbial finger

A disheveled heap, I bolted out of the door at 12:24 PM this afternoon in order to meet Dave for lunch. I promised to make it to the restaurant (Pei Wei – awesome food, FYI) by exactly 12:35 PM – long story – when I swung around to lock the door and noticed a note from the apartment complex posted near the entry.

After locking the door, I promptly pulled the note down and proceeded to skim the letter for content. Suddenly, rage filled my body and I almost screamed out of sheer anger. Someone told the apartment complex that Dave and I were not cleaning up after Aries. Or, as I like to put it, someone tattled and said we were incapable of picking up our own dog’s shit.  

I would have been fine with the accusation had it even been TRUE!

BUT IT WAS NOT!

So, after Dave called the management office, after I stopped in there personally to address the matter, AND after I spoke with the property manager and the vice president of the real estate group that holds the deed on the whole place, we cleared up the situation. Sort of. It still stands that someone – or some people – that we do not know decided that it was Dave and I leaving piles of doggy doo-doo lying around the grounds.

To put it simply: why would we move an animal 1000 miles from our origination only to not be responsible for her? I understand plenty of pet owners find it the job and position of others (read: maintenance crew) to clean up after their pets – the evidence is sitting in small steaming piles around this place – but make no mistake: that is not the case in this household.  

So, in order to prove we pick up after dog, we have resorted to photographing and video taping her most private moments.  That is correct: Aries is the star of her own little poop shoots.

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