I am a fugitive from justice; this is my confession

I am a criminal, a fugitive from justice: this is my confession.  

My usual route for my walks with my Catahoula mix, Goldie, is to turn right off of Meyer St. in Kyle and to go by the library.

Of course, part of the purpose for these walks is for her to do her “business,” and until this day I had not been prepared with a suitable way to dispose of her “business.” Usually, I am well past the library by the time Goldie feels the need to fertilize the yard. But on this particular day, I decided to stop into the library to talk with someone about whether they have any writer’s groups in the area. I tied Goldie up outside, and went in, did my business and came back a little while later. She had held it as long as she could and decided that the library was the place to conclude her business.  There wasn’t anything I could do about it, so I just moved on.  

Unlucky for me, the city grounds crew was mowing the library’s lawn. One of the men in particular spotted what happened and upbraided me strenuously. And he, of course, was well within his rights. I had broken the law. And I would like to see how this law is written. Do they actually use the word “business” for what my dog did? I doubt it. The man went so far as to take my picture. I wondered if I went to city hall my picture would be posted with the other criminals of whom we are to be wary.  

I continued my walk without thinking more about it, except that I needed to bring a bag to dispose of my dog’s business properly. Then I spotted his red truck. I was being followed! I abandoned my usual route in an attempt to avoid being spotted. I knew he was trying to see if I would lead them back to my house on Meyer Street. 

That day, I was not nearly so forth-coming. I walked faster than I had in some time, dragging my dog with me, when usually she drags me. Finally, I ducked into a few alleys and ended up “giving them the slip.” (That’s the slang us criminals use for avoiding capture)!

It was actually exhilarating! I see now that getting away with a crime is 90 percent of the thrill. But we all know, don’t we, that “crime doesn’t pay.” Then why is there so much of it. I never saw that lawn crew at the library ever again, which is just as well. If I did, I hope I would give him my address and my mailing address and accept any fine there might be for the crime I have committed.  

Who knew that walking your dog could lead to a life of crime. Of course, it isn’t very neighborly to let someone else clean up your messes. And I truly apologize for that. But then, I’m kind of lazy that way. We are a community governed by laws. That’s as it should be. And if there is someone at City Hall as zealous for her job as the lawn man was for his, then I will expect to receive a fine and I would reluctantly pay it.  


As always, readers can reach Mark Stoub at, mj.stoub@sbcglobal.net. He is a retired Presbyterian minister who has written two novels: Blood Under the Altar and the forth coming Fire in the Blood.

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