My neighbor let her dog use my lawn as a toilet every morning for six months and never cleaned up once — I stayed polite until she made one comment I couldn’t forget, and by the next morning I’d taught her a lesson without raising my voice once.

I collected the supplies I had prepared the night before.

And I stepped outside.

Late October mornings have a particular coldness.

The street was quiet.

The houses still.

My breath appeared in little clouds as I walked across the lawn.

Over the previous week, I had been paying closer attention to Winston’s visits.

I collected every bit of evidence he had left behind.

Carefully.

Neatly.

Then I walked across the driveway toward Marguerite’s house.

And returned it.

I didn’t throw anything.

I didn’t smear anything.

I didn’t damage her property.