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Dear Kim,

This is a time sensitive question that I hope you can help me with. My neighbors are currently on a two week vacation, and just last night my dog (Muglie) dug up ALL of their daisies on the side of their house. Normally I wouldn’t be too concerned but they already hate Muglie because he ate their pet bunny last year. Though I really couldn’t blame him, it’s not like Flopsy was wearing a collar or anything. I’m just not sure how to handle the situation because I need to get along with these people.

 

Sincerely,

Flowerless Francine

 

 

Dear Francine,

 

I could simply tell you what to do OR I could rehash a little story, alluding to my advice. I’m going to go ahead and assume you prefer the latter…

About 20 years ago, I was dating this really great guy named Doug. Not only was he sensitive and a great dresser, but he was manager of the Candy Kitchen where I worked and nominated twice for their prestigious “Fudge Packer of the Year” award.

Well one night, after watching one of Doug’s favorite musicals, “Miss Saigon”, he turned to me and said we had to break up. No real explanation and no clues as to why! All I got was a simple “Kim, I’m gay”. But I already knew he was a happy person and I loved him for it…what did that have to do with anything?

Sad and confused, I jumped into my Dodge Daytona and headed home. Through my tears, I didn’t notice the possum crossing the dark road until he became my furry, squishy speed bump. OH NO! Up until that point, I had never hit another living thing…except for Charlotte Morgan…with my fist…on the playgroup – bitch tried jumping in on my double dutch!

I pulled my car over and got out, intending to give it CPR (You laugh, but I saved my cat, Danny, the year before, when we accidentally overdosed him with tranquilizers for traveling purposes).

As I stood over the possum’s body, gathering my wits about me, it occurred to me that he might be playing possum. I mean, that’s how they got their name, right? What if I bent down to give him CPR and he went batshit crazy, wrapping his little paws around my head and chewing my face off?

I ran back to my car for a flashlight, I wanted to see if this tricky little bastard was still breathing. As I was rooting around in my car, this huge truck came barreling down the street and ran right over Pickles (yeah, I gave him a name)! Pickles came spitting out of the rear tires and flipped in the air twice before landing at my feet. I was pretty sure he was definitely dead. Ain’t no CPR bringing him back. Change of plans.

So I started looking around my car again for something I could use to dig a 12″ x 12″ grave. I found a 7-11 Big Gulp cup and started chipping away at the earth. Did I mention it was winter? Yeah, the ground was like a rock and my plastic cup wasn’t making a dent.

Plan B: I went back into my disgusting “Mary Poppins” trunk and pulled out a guy’s XXL Hanes undershirt. WTF? Where did that come from? Anyway, I dragged Pickles into the grass and covered him with the white t-shirt like we were in some outdoor morgue, and I said a few words. Then I wrote a note. For whom? I’m not sure… the sanitation workers, Pickles’ family, my conscious?

 

To Whom it May Concern,

 

Pickles’ last moments were filled with joy and laughter. Just before I struck him with my car, he was dancing in the road without a care in the world. Perhaps if he were paying attention, none of this would have happened. But I digress.

(*in hindsight, I don’t recommend blaming the victim)

I want you to know that his death was quick and he certainly didn’t suffer…unless he was playing possum when was hit again by that Chevy Pick-Up truck with the snow tires, in which case “yikes”.

He was given a proper burial Hanes T-shirt and I spoke words of kindness during a short service (my speech assumed he was a good father and charitable within his community).

Please know that he was cared for in his last moments, and that I kept the foxes from taking his entire carcass away so that you may have some closure.

 

Sincerely,

A concerned and negligent citizen

 

So Francine, I think you know what you have to do….try digging a hole and sticking the daisies back in the ground. If that doesn’t work, then cover them up with a t-shirt and leave an anonymous apology note. And Francine, don’t screw it up, make sure it can’t be traced back to Muglie.

 

Good luck with that,

Kim