It wasn’t King Solomon, it was the landlord

Such attention!

It wasn’t King Solomon, it was my landlord.  And there wasn’t a baby involved, but a dog.

I knew something was up when he called and left a message, then called again a few hours later.  I didn’t recognize his phone number and was too busy voting to take a call.

He is a wise landlord.  Don’t tell anyone in the neighborhood or at the office that he is evicting my dog Ying.  When I call in protest, he tells me to find out who has a problem with my dog.

I found out that things didn’t add up with the information written in my letter that I showed all but three residents.  I learned that three of her six people that backed the charges of my dog being a nuisance to the neighborhood recanted with personal calls to the landlord himself.

Did these people even sign their names?  Beats me.

Do I care?  No, because my plan of action was no action.  Sometimes that is the most effective and efficient then going off the deep end or seething in anger.  There was no way my dog was leaving me.  The landlord even knew.   But my calling his bluff as he wanted, certainly brought out the truth.

The yards are everyone’s yards.  Get along, talk nice, mind your own business.

I think the message was made clear.  This was his first yard-feud that almost caused “a dog to be collateral damage” as he referred to Ying.  I personally thought of it as a “shit showdown” or “to poo or not to poo, but where is the question?”

Life is never dull and I’m glad this shit is over.

~P.