" Make sure you clean up after that bloody disgusting hound!"
That's Mr. Jenkins, he lives down the road from me, loves his lawn, hates animals.
He has lived here all his life, a retired civil servant and head of the neighbourhood watch, a voluntary committee he runs with an iron fist.
This one time, I was banging a lot of hours in at work and by the time I got home I was way too tired to cook, so I ordered take out a few nights in a row.
Ok so it was like a week, ten days straight.
Jenkins sees the same car rocking up to my house night after night, making a delivery then driving off in a hurry. He phones the cops, says I'm a drugs dealer.
True story by the way.
So now you have the cut of Jenkins' jib its only fair to introduce myself.
I'm Lloyd, in my mid thirties and work in tech support for a major supermarket chain. I was head hunted by my current employers two years back and had to relocate to the big bad city.
So I packed up my life, bought the house a few doors down from old Jenkins and me and Digby hit the road.
Oh yeah Digby, he's the star of this tale and the love of my life.
One hundred pounds of old English sheepdog slobber, fur and shit.
He's amazing, he's the smartest dog I know and a really good listener.
I'm the only one on the street who owns a dog, its not so much Jenkins has banned them but he has made his views on "dog dirt" well and truly known.
Digby is a massive hound, on his hind legs he is taller than me so his dog eggs are immense. I'm a responsible owner and would never leave a turd lying on the path.
Sure you need a snow shovel and a sack to pick them up but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.
This doesn't stop Jenkins, I swear the dude has a vendetta against me and Digby. Every time he sees us out he "reminds" me to pick up any offending items.
So that's how we ended up here.
My alarm went off at 02:00 I'm dressed all in black, the balaclava was an inspired ebay purchase and really sets off my costume.
I've snuck out of the house and up the street like a ninja, if Jenkins wants something to moan about I'll give him something to moan about.
I haven't been to the toilet since the day before yesterday, my stomach is killing me.
A few times I have doubted I would make it all the way here.
I double check to make sure no one is around.
The street is deathly silent.
I hop over Jenkins' white picket fence.
Onto his lawn, his pride and joy .
I drop my trousers, crouch down and let out a sigh of relief.