There’s no cure for asshole

“Crows,” my husband said.

I was soooo not in the mood for his cryptic nonsense. “Is that code for Curried Rice On Wiener Schnitzel; Cars Run Over Wet Slugs? Give me a hint.”

“Crows carried them from the landfill and left them in our yard.”

The landfill is conveniently located three miles from our house (as the crow flies). I was not convinced, and went into CSI mode. “There was still meat on this bone, and crows would have picked it clean.”

My husband shrugged his shoulders and walked away. Clearly, he didn’t want to deal with my histrionics. That’s only because he did not possess the intuitive clarity to see the cause and effect. My dogs bark, ergo someone threw chicken bones in my yard.

First off, I have a fenced-in yard, I supervise my dogs, and I bring them in as soon as they start barking. Secondly, what kind of sicko would purposely try to hurt an innocent animal? My mind flew to motion sensors, infra-red cameras, and grenade launchers. If it was crows, I was going to catch them in the act and blow their little feathered butts to kingdom come.

Problem is, I can’t afford high tech chicken bone deterrents. I have my suspicions as to the perpetrator of the fowl deed, but I can’t prove anything. I just find it hard to believe that anyone could be so low as to sneak around in the night throwing chicken bones where my dogs can find them. I guess some people are just born mean.

To paraphrase a quote from Winston Churchill:

“You are drunk, sir.”

“Madam, you are an asshole. In the morning I shall be sober.”