which is what we do, sometimes a little too often.
The gossippy woman several doors down was walking by with her little pink poodle on a leash and saw us.
She looked at the pair of us and asked us if we had seen the disgusting fountain on the front lawn of the house at the end of the road.
"I believe I have," I said. "The fountain of the little boy urinating?"
"That's the one," she replied.
"Maybe you ought to be grateful," I said.
"Grateful for what?" she asked.
"Be grateful the little boy wasn't taking a dump." I answered.
Neighbor Bob nodded in silent assent.
She walked off in a huff and I looked at Bob, who looked at me.
"It must be nice having nothing to do but complain about something like that," he said.
I nodded in agreement.
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