Dear people who eat lunch on the grass in front of the bank near my office;
I'm sorry to tell you this, but my dog just took a big, wet crap there. I did my best to clean it up but you can still see a little bit of it clinging to the green blades just to the left of where you normally spread out your sack lunches and kick off your shoes at noon. We're all enjoying the slight change of seasons, aren't we? Even though it's just a change of light here in Southern California; it's supposed to hit eighty again today.
But seriously: you're sitting in a dog's toilet. And it's not just my dog. Every dog that walks by this little patch of heaven automatically veers toward it for a sniff, and, once it's had a whiff of the glories that have soaked into the roots, nay, into the very earth that sustains us one and all, that dog is invariably inspired to add its own contribution to the creeping brown death of this pretty little lawn. And every week some brave lawn care expert coaxes it back to life, probably through the frequent and judicious use of a lethal combination of chemicals that I wouldn't go dropping my peanut butter sandwich onto, if I were you.
I should probably just go ahead and apologize for all the dogs and dog owners of the world, because we see every park, pasture, lawn, sidewalk, gutter, tree stump, light pole, stop sign, and car tire as a target. Warn your children. Better yet, put them in long pants and gloves before you send them out to play, or at least make sure they get a long hot bath with lots of scrubbing before they go to bed at night.
What we do to the world, it's just disgusting.