I discovered upon leaving the house to walk Daisy J. Dog today that someone had parked in front of our driveway. Okay, that's a bit of a stretch. Parking in front of someone's driveway is an unforgivable offense, unless one's driveway is like the Black Fortress from Krull, disappearing and reappearing every 24 hours in a different location. Then perhaps the driveway wasn't there when you parked.
(But then it might be difficult to find your car.)
Not my driveway.
No, this person had parked so that half of their car was blocking our driveway. Perhaps they had peeked behind the house and discovered I drive a small car. Or maybe they saw the residents of our building and figured that the state wasn't issuing Hobo Drivers' Licenses.
(Or maybe, they were just being a jerk.)
But it was the sort of parking job where you think maybe I can fit, I'll just try it and see and then you get out of your car and you pull up six inches and then you get back out and reassess and then you pull up a half an inch more. Then you start to curse the at the Universe for your fate of Being Born into a First World Country Where You Get to Own Your Very Own Silver Chevy Malibu And You Have To Find Parking On Street Cleaning Day.
(Clearly it would be easier if you were born without clean drinking water. Or feet.)
Bouncer was born into a world where dogs are disposable, so I have to eat his face off to ease the pain.
As I strolled through the neighborhood with Daisy J. Dog, I weighed my options.
I could do nothing. I didn't have to leave the house until 12:30pm for a meeting. I could probably sneak my car around the offender. I had noticed that there was a collapsed dog crate in the back of the car. Perhaps this person had stayed out late in a daring dog rescue, fighting off ninjas and zombies to break into the vivisectionist's's lab, and had returned home in the wee hours of the morning with their newly rescued canine companion, and simply hadn't seen my driveway right there.
But what it they were the evil vivisectionist, trolling the neighborhood for dogs to kidnap and the collapsed dog crate in the back of the car was a sign that they were on the lookout for their next victim? If I called Parking Enforcement to have them towed, the dog that I could save might be my very own.
I finally decided to take a picture of the offense and post it to the Internet to let you decide.
Except that when I turned the corner, the car was gone.
Thankfully, my dog was not.
(Sometimes I look for Happily Ever After wherever I can get it.)
