A couple of days ago, I was sitting in the backyard, reading David Remnick’s “Reporting“, when a man walked by me. Well, he didn’t just walk by me, I don’t think I would have noticed him had that been the case.

I noticed him because his dog stopped, and decided to take a dump on our lawn.

No, seriously. The dog retreated into a kangaroo position, pulled his ears back, and just … let … it … rip.

Meanwhile,

I’m sitting here, witnessing all this. The dog owner, the guy with the blue IKEA bag, is standing there, at the other end of the leash, waiting.

The dog’s taking a dump, and having some trouble with it. So he’s taking his time. I’m looking at the dog, the owner is looking the other way. I look at the owner, he looks the other way.

The dog’s pushing and doing the embarrassed-dog-taking-a-dump look with his eyebrows and ears.

All three of us are waiting.

Then the owner looks at me, smiles, and nods. I don’t know why, but I nod back, and pretend to get back to my reading even though I am keeping an eye on the dog, and try to think of good quips to the owner should a drop of shit land on our lawn — as if the dog even trying to take a crap there wasn’t bad enough.

The owner pulls the dog up, and the two of them keep walking.

I go and check the lawn. There’s nothing there.

Dammit.

Two minutes later, they come back. The man, the dog, and the IKEA bag, now empty. They turn around the block, so I run in and follow them from the inside of our apartment. Their car is parked right outside our balcony.

I have the perfect steakout spot behind our TV so I see the dog hop in the car, and the man throwing his IKEA bag into the trunk. They drive off. I tell my wife that the man’s a freaky frigging sicko, and go back to the yard to read.

Two minutes later, I see their car coming back again. I run inside, and see them park the car in the same spot as before. He opens the door, the dog jumps out. The man takes some stuff from the passenger’s seat, and stuffs it in the IKEA bag he has taken out of the trunk.

I run back to the backyard.

I see them turn around the corner. The man sees me, and he nods. I lift my eyes from the book, nod back, and think, “Freak-o, that dog better not take a dump and what are you doing with the bag?”

Two minutes later, they come back again. I run back in again. They drive off again. They come back again. I run back to the yard again. He nods again. I nod back — again. They return, they drive off. Again. They come back. All afternoon.

What a weirdo. He should really get a life.