Yet, there's a somewhat crazed looking eight-foot inflatable T-Rex on my lawn, complete with Santa hat, sweater, and a nifty little tree. Why? Because I wanted the Saint Bernard.
As soon as I saw it, I knew I wanted it. Really, really wanted it. A nine-foot tall inflatable lawn puppy. Nine feet of awesome. Nine feet of cute.
But I didn't want it because it's cute. Within minutes, maybe a few dozen seconds, I had a plan. I had it all figured out. I had a three-step plan.
Step 1: Carefully position dog. Place him on the edge of my driveway -- facing my next-door neighbor's front porch. He's not fond of dogs. I have two. We'll just say he made it quite clear that he is not a lover of canines. It wasn't pretty.
Step 2: Outfit dog with motion detector. Train detector on the neighbor's front door. Sensor tripped? Cue 7.2-second barrage of frantic barking. If a cat crosses the path and trips the thing, so be it. I have nothing against cats, but my inflatable dog just isn't a fan.
Step 3: Create another level of realism. How? With elephant dung! I figure a nine-foot dog's droppings are more akin to elephant-sized piles than typical pooch piles. And I even know where to get it. Baraboo!TG's sister uses elephant manure in her garden. Baraboo, Wisconsin is the original home of the Ringling Brothers and home to Circus World, where there's a more than ample supply of elephant crap. A little cross-country mail order and I'd be set.
I shared my plan with TG. In the midst of his hysterical laughter in front of the electrical supplies, he managed the words evil and mean. I would have preferred brilliant, but that's not what I got.
On the other hand, he thought I should get the Saint Bernard because it was cute. And it's true. It's cute. TG does cute. Me, not so much.
Truth be told, I don't do cute very well. And I realized that every time I saw the Saint Bernard on the lawn, innocently and silently positioned toward the street, I'd accuse him of not living up to his promise.
So, I bought the dinosaur.