Before I became obsessed with ethics, I wouldn’t have given two seconds of thought to this situation.
My wonderful next door neighbors always flee the D.C. area this time of year until Labor Day. In the past they left their home vacant with Grace and I having the responsibility of keeping a watch on the property, an eye out for packages, that sort of thing. This time, however, their recently-engaged college age granddaughter is staying in the house with her fiance.
I haven’t seen any evidence of them, however, since they moved some stuff in over the weekend. Walking Spuds by the house yesterday mid-morning, I noticed a Washington Post on the lawn. I noticed it because my neighbors always get the paper very early: I never see a Post there that late. One of my jobs in the past was to pick up the paper if they had neglected to cancel delivery, which they occasionally did.
Boy, I really miss having a real paper around, even the Washington Post, but I dropped that paper long ago because—you know—and replaced it with the Times. Then I decided paying almost a hundred bucks a month for that propaganda rag was idiotic, and went to all digital.
I was sorely temped to take the paper, but reasoned that it wasn’t my responsibility this time, and also that the paper properly belonged to their granddaughter and her beau, the house-sitters. I walked on, after Spuds had peed on their lawn.
Today I walked him by the house even later, around noon. Two papers were on the lawn. Now what? I considered taking the day-old paper home to read, since I guessed that the couple wasn’t keen on newspaper-reading or they would have picked it up the day before. I considered taking both papers, because now the papers were piling up, sending a “Rob me!” message to miscreants. But maybe the two love-birds were just sleeping in. Should I stick the papers through the mail slot? What am I, the Paper Monkey?
Reluctantly, I left the two Posts on the lawn, and now wonder what I should do if there are three there tomorrow.






