The Poopetrator

We're being targeted.

On the 11th step up to the house, every two to three days, we find a neat little pile of poop. Not on the grass, not in the garden, but in the middle of the step. We've been casting a baleful eye at the yappy dog next door but haven't caught him in the act. He likes to wiggle under the fence and dig in our garden occasionally which to English hubby is a crime of epic proportions and for which he frequently chases Yappy back across the border. So we're thinking it's revenge.

Sure, it might be a deer or a raccoon but the specific nature of where the poop shows up seems highly suspicious. Although we might be paranoid.

E-hub (that's his spy name, taken from an abbreviation by a loyal commenter) decided it was time to employ stealth tactics and set up a night-vision spycam, hung from the railing near the step.

Let's have a look at the evidence.

Testing the camera on a dining room chair. This is good.

I can't see anything... can you see anything?
What's that in the corner?
I think it's just dust on the lens.

Hey hey, what's happening here - it's motion blur...
Someone is tampering with the equipment!

Okay, here we go...


Here we go...


I think I can see something....


It's in the top corner....

BUSTED!

Or maybe our cover was just blown.

As of this blog post, we have not yet caught the culprit although I'm sure English hubby has other ideas up his sleeve. But I'm thinking the spy game just might not be his thing.

This was reinforced this morning when Sweetpea bounced into my room after English hubby had left for work and informed me that Daddy just gave her a shortbread cookie. For breakfast.

When I later confronted him, his email response was:

"She grassed on me!
It was either a cookie or a bite of my toast."

Note:
For those of you unfamiliar with the term "grassed", it is the Queen's English for "narc'd". And if you don't know what narc means, you obviously haven't been watching enough TV cop drama.