Reality Check In The Back Yard

March is a crazy month in Chicago. One day you can be freezing and the next day it seems like Spring is here to stay. Today is one of the latter. It's 70 degrees and sunny and my mood was soaring like the mercury in my Elvis patio thermometer until I took a look into the yard and came to a horrifying realization.

For the last two months my yard has resembled Green Bay, Wisconsin. I have been subjected to looking out the patio doors and seeing a frozen tundra, grey, stark and snow covered. Unlike Green Bay, my yard contained no cheese shops, strip clubs or guys in Packers jerseys. It didn't bother me, since I rarely went out to the back yard during the winter. I didn't go out there, but my dogs did. Therein lies my dilemma. The glacier that was in my yard has melted, exposing hidden "treasures" that even Captain Jack Sparrow would forgo. I have to collect two months worth of doggy gifts so that the yard is inhabitable again. I used to say that I found a zen like peace in the solitude of my mission, but to be honest that was a load of dog gift.

I was trying to remain a "man of the people". By saying that I enjoyed or even looked forward to some of these menial tasks, I thought I could keep hold of my tenuous relationship with the masses. I came to the realization today, as I surveyed my land that I wanted nothing to do with the masses. I wanted to be an elitist and hire someone to clean up after my dogs. That's right, I wanted to sit in my big chair and watch as someone I didn't know or care about, spent hours cleaning up after my pampered mutts. I would feel guilty for a minute, but then I would laugh and wave my hand in a majestic manner while calling out from my perch, "Don't miss any, I plan on cavorting barefoot once you leave." Then I would lose all ties with reality and hire people to do all my work for me. "Not so much starch in my collars my good man." "Yes, I'd love quail and peppermint ice cream for dinner chef." "Doesn't someone have garbage to take out? I know you don't expect me to do it." When I disavow my "man of the people" status, I go all the way. I would do nothing that the common people do. I would have a staff of hundreds to do my bidding. About the only duties I would still take on would be my husbandly duties, and that's because I wouldn't dream of denying "Wife" a little quality time with me.

Well, fantasy time is over. It was fun being an elitist monarch for a few minutes, but a fog is gathering over the yard and unfortunately, I must pick up my yoke of commonality and start scoopin'. Later...Brian