Why did you steal my recycling bin?

You must have noticed that it wasn’t yours.  I mean, for one thing, mine was taller.  Much taller.  It probably had 30% more capacity than your typical bin.

That, and it was obviously newer and much nicer than your UV-faded, weather-beaten, run-over-by-the-car experiment in plastic durability.

I guess I’ve answered my own question.

I suppose you think it’s my own fault for not writing my address on the side of it.  Well, I didn’t think I needed to.  I thought I was living in a civilized society.  Assume good faith, right?

Well, you got me.  I’ve learned my lesson.  My illusion of middle class ethics is forever lost.

My brother-in-law thinks I should insert this picture into a flyer and deliver it door to door, casing the neighbourhood, like some kind of reconnaissance effort for a lost dog.  He’s always been funny that way.  Funny ha-ha, I mean.

But it’s no laughing matter.

I bought some fatigues and camouflage makeup from the Army Surplus Store.  Now I blend in with everything — the ferns, the cedars, even the lawn (if I skip mowing for a few weeks).

Go ahead and try to get my compost bin.

I dare you.

Retraction in Full:
Sorry. False alarm. I really should have checked around the side of the house.