When it comes to walking my dog, Silas, an age-old riddle comes to mind: Where does an 800-pound gorilla sleep? The answer is remarkably close to a riddle I have myself. When, exactly, does a 90-pound, high-strung and incredibly fussy Doberman pinscher go for a walk?
Whenever he wants to — and he will take his evening walk just before midnight each night, every night, thank you very much.
I enjoy owning a dog. It better allows me to ponder committing actual property crimes, everything from petty theft to criminal mischief, which is the best kind of mischief to be causing if you’re asking me.
When you own a dog you can get away with a lot more in life. If you decide one night to lurk behind your neighbor’s property like a would-be stalker expect to be dealing with the cops and a restraining order in the near future. But if you own a dog, then you’re just some guy out for an evening stroll (at midnight on a Tuesday).
Sure, that’s liable to get the kids around your village labeling you as the stereotypical weirdo who walks his dog at night, but it’s a darn sight better than being pegged as a suspected stalker and panty-thief.
Many people in the small village where I reside are particularly finicky when it comes to home or property security. They spend outrageous amounts of money despite the fact that the last crime in Laura, Ohio, took place back in 1988 when the police (before they disbanded due to lack of crime) tried citing me for jaywalking.
I noticed recently one of my neighbors decided to place a high-powered, eye-melting motion sensor light in his back yard and pointed it toward the back alley. Motion sensor lights have always bothered me, and not just because of my propensity toward crime. Most of them are extremely sensitive and go off frequently, lulling a home owner into a false sense of security. Is it just a car going down the street or is it the zombie version of Ted Bundy coming to collect another soul? Bah, it’s probably just another car driving down the road.
I’m not sure why my moronic neighbor points the light directly at a public right-of way. He might as well just leave the light on all night because his prison spotlight self-illuminates during the mildest of breezes. Or, each time I walk by with Silas, which is embarrassing because the light can be seen throughout the tri-state area.
Last week I noticed Mr. Moron upped his ante and added a new piece of high-tech, home security gear to his crime-fighting repertoire. Now when Silas takes me for his evening dragging and the light is triggered it is followed with a repeated warning that comes across a loudspeaker that proclaims, “Warning, you are trespassing! Warning, you are trespassing?” The monotone voice emitted from the speaker sounds exactly like Stephen Hawking is yelling at me.
Apparently walking down a publicly-funded alley is what passes for trespassing these days.
I’m not sure how this system is designed to make me feel. Should I feel threatened by it? Am I supposed to fear it? Perhaps the warning is just the sort of subtle encouragement I need to purposefully defy the security system all together?
Regardless of these new developments, I knew from the first time I heard the computer-sounding voice of authority that I would defeat it, that I would succeed where Garry Kasparov failed when he battled Deep Blue. This isn’t the first time I have battled with a speaker shouting warnings at me, you know.
I’m not quite sure what this guy is trying to protect. His rusty patio set with complimentary broken umbrella, or maybe that under-inflated basketball over in the weeds? Although on second thought he does have a pretty wicked garden gnome I’d love to get my grubby hands on.
My girlfriend, Christine, hates walking by there at night with me because I like sneaking around on my tiptoes down the darkened alley trying not to trip the system as though I am a stereotypical 1920s bank robber. I don’t want to alarm you, but so far I’ve been unsuccessful.