Get Off My Lawn

Whenever I walk the dog, my mother always says, “Go left down the street and right back here. Never go around the block, and never go right.” I never question her, because I always do what I’m told, but one winter in 2009, my friend and I got curious. 

Everything was covered in snow; so thick that no one bothered shovelling. I couldn't tell the street from the sidewalk or the sidewalk from grass. My dog, no bigger than a basket, was being swallowed by it, but he loves the snow. This time I went right since no one was home to tell me otherwise. 

That was a mistake I will never make again. 

We were walking past houses, on the sidewalk, I’m almost sure of it, and my dog trudging through the snow. An old man with feral eyes looked at my dog before he glared at me. If looks could kill, my blood would have stained the white sheet of snow. 

“Get off my lawn little girls, and your dog too.”

Of course, we weren’t on his lawn to begin with, so that’s what I told him. 

Another grand mistake on my behalf. 

He left from the door’s threshold back into his house, and returned with a big dog on a metal chain who looked as crazy as its owner. He was watching my little dog who was yapping at the dog, who could eat him like a biscuit. 

The man yelled again, “Get off my lawn”, giving the leash a little slack. I was too scared to stick around any longer. My friend, my dog, and I ran all the way home and locked the door behind us.

Later that day, whilst I was sitting on the couch, my friend having already gone home and my family already returned, I went to go outside to just to sit in the snow. When I opened the front door, the man, with his dog, was walking past my house. I closed my door and sat back on the couch, but all I could think was, “Get off my lawn, get off my lawn.”

~ Tyler F.