So my neighbor has this dog, see?

The dog, Bumble, is a Mastiff/Irish wolfhound mix. It’s a gentle dog, as many large dogs are, the kind of personality that makes him a joy to be around, a head the size of a basketball and a tongue like a big, wet welcome mat. Everyone loves Bumble.

Everyone, that is, except Ms. N at the other end of the street. She’d come home from whatever she was doing all day, let her yappy little anklebiting furred annoyance out, and it runs straight for Bumble. Bumble, not being a mean dog, assumed the anklebiter was there to play, and would try to play- jumping around, huge tail wagging up little dust devils as he frolicked. The anklebiter just yapped and nipped at Bumble’s feet and nose whenever he could get close enough. This went on for years.

Well, one day Ms. N sees bumble (who will rarely leave his yard unattended) frolicking down the street with Precious nipping, yipping, and hopping around, and screams bloody murder. Police, Animal control, the fire department, the sherriff, and a couple of Ms. N’s surlier relatives are there in minutes. All hell is about to break loose, because she fears “that hideous big BEAST is going to eat my precious!” Nothing could be further from the truth, by the way, Bumble might lick precious soggy but would never hurt it.

So not being one to step in where I’m not wanted, (and not wishing to appear on COPS later that night) I watch through the window, and listen.

In a few minutes, Ms. N and her coterie have convinced Bumble’s owner to tie Bumble up or face possible prosecution. There are leash laws but Bumble is such a remarkably well-behaved dog nobody in the neighborhood has ever cared.

Ms N still lets little Precious out every day, and Precious still runs down to annoy Bumble, but apparently that’s OK. I’m beginning to get annoyed.

I make a point of visiting Bumble when I can, and the chain is like a prison sentence to him. We play, he jumps on me,knocks me down and licks my face with that soggy shag rug tongue, and is so happy that anyone is paying attention to him he’s visibly shaking with joy. When I try to leave, he carefully grips the heel of my shoe as if to say, boy, I’d sure like it if you stuck around some more- I can’t run and play, I can’t chase bunnies, I can’t come sit in that nice shady spot in your backyard anymore. Couldn’t you stay a little longer?

I look at him and he lets go, big brown eyes looking at me, then the tongue comes out and the tail starts wagging. He knows I’ll be back.

So a couple of weekends ago, having the day off, i’m doing some work in the backyard (between cooling off periods, it was hotter than Satan’s scrotum) And I hear Ms. N pull in her driveway. I look around the corner of the house, and see little Precious being let out (as usual,not on a leash), running, yipping, down the street, and making a beeline for Bumble, who runs to the end of his chain, tail wagging, not even barking, wondering why the little dog won’t come closer so they can play.

After annoying Bumble for a while, and shitting in Bumble’s yard, Precious heads off for home. I go back to work, and after a while I start to hear this noise. Skraaaaak, Skraaaaaak, Schkruuuukkkh Skraaaak. I put down the shovel and walk around the front of the house.

Bumble’s owners live in a relatively new house, and when they tied Bumble down the first time (to a tree) he pulled the eyelet out of the tree. He pulled a larger eyelet out of the tree. He pulled a huge eyelet out of the house.

So to keep Bumble from wandering, his owners have purchased one of those big concrete picnic benches you see at county parks- two huge legs made out of cast concrete, and big thick boards for the seats and top. They had to move the pieces and assemble it in place. Then, they chained Bumble to it.

Now, Bumble is dragging this monstrosity down the street. Skraaaaaak, Schkruuuukkkh Skraaaak. Pieces of asphalt are ripping out of the pavement. Hunks of concrete are shearing off the table. Bumble is gonna play with Precious if it kills him.

I grab my cellphone and call Bumble’s owners, and I sit on the bench of the picnic table. This is a quiet residential neighborhood so nobody is likely to come by in a car, but I’m not taking any chances. Bumble comes and sits on the bench next to me, and I rub his ears as we wait.

Jerry, Bumbles owner, shows up and unleashes him, he walks back to the house wagging his tail,(bumble, not Jerry) and I get my tractor and pick the table up, drive around the back of the house with it- My tractor is a beefy thing, and it can barely move the table. Bumble dragged it nearly 1/4 of a block, by himself.

So I think to myself. Should I fillet Precious and feed him to Bumble? Should I fillet ms. N and feed her to Bumble? Should I stuff Ms. N with Precious and bake them, and then feed them to Bumble? then I think, that’s just not right. I don’t have an oven big enough in the first place, and Bumble’s family have trained him to only eat the food they feed him, for his own health. KIDDING! I’m KIDDING!

I have called animal control and bitched repeatedly, and Ms. N is now keeping Precious on a leash. I still visit Bumble every day.

The longer I live the more annoying oxygen bandits I meet.