You know one of you is getting it in the mail, right?

A month ago, me and Bandit are out front, and he's doing his back-scratch dance that you do when you're done walking. I've heard it called "wiggle-pup" and it's pretty funny to watch. This guy yells from a block over; I could barely see him through the alley.

"Hey!" he says to me, "you got any bubble gum?"

I picked up Bandit and stood there. I guess a smarter or dumber person might have either ran away or toward the bubble-gum-wanter. Unfortunately, I'm neither smarter nor dumber than I am, which is my problem nearly every fucking day.

He sprints between two houses and across the street until we're face to face.

"Don't tell anybody about this. Keep it a secret, okay?"
"I don't know what we're talking about."
"You got any bubble gum?"
"No."
"You got any glue?"

Wait, there's a problem in which bubble gum is Solution A?

I didn't have any glue either. I had tape and offered it. He says, "Yes! Tape. I can go round and round the neck until it stays!"

Bandit and I go inside and return with a roll of packing tape. Yeah, I don't know why I carried Bandit the whole time, or why I brought him back outside. Dude weighs like 25 pounds. That's what I weighed when I was a freshman in high school.

"What happened?"

"I'm working in a yard all the way over there." He doesn't gesture in any particular direction. I assume he ran for a while before he saw us. "And I was bending over like this, and broke the head off a flamingo." And he was gonna use bubble gum to fix it. He told the story again, and acted out bending over and breaking the flamingo again, without my asking him to. I got it the first time. He thanked me, swore me to secrecy, and ran off. The next morning, the roll of tape was in front of the door.

So, a hard month goes by. Let's put it this way: last week I grew a mustache. And every day, I drive past this little scarecrow that someone fastened to the street sign at the nearest intersection. It's not a city thing, it's just some crafty person who wants to celebrate autumn or whatever. But I hate autumn, and I live here, and no one asked me, and all I can think about is that clumsy landscaper, and how if I see him, I'm gonna blackmail him into taking that scarecrow.

Today, I'm walking Bandit, and we see that guy again, weeding. He's right at the edge of a yard, and as we approach, he looks up and laughs a little, then holds his finger up to his mouth, "Shhh". He laughs again. So do I.

And a few feet later, I see the scarecrow and know what has to be done. For my neighborhood. For my sanity. At midnight tonight, I'm doing it. I'm taking that goddamn scarecrow, and there's nothing any of you can do about it.

That is all.