Thursday
19Jun2008
Hard Hat Area
Thursday, June 19, 2008 at 12:38AM As you may have noticed from the random header WAY at the top of the page, I super suck at this website/html placement whatnot. I apologize. Please have patience while I figure this criz-ap out.
Of course, I could PAY someone to do it for me, but...I don't know if you realize this...that requires MONEY, which I don't want to spend at the moment. In fact, I have three animals that I have to take to the vet tomorrow, THREE, all of which require FECAL SAMPLES. Yes, I have to pay money to SAVE POOP just so they can tell me I'm an AMAZING MOM.
Relaax, Chicken. There...I feel better now.
Reader Comments (4)
So, you came out of the closet and put your pic up there, eh?
Ballsy.
Of course I weed right through all the ancillary chaff and focus on the poop aspect of the post. One thing I think is cool about my dog Penny's unconditional acceptance of everything I do, is her tacit understanding of our clearly defined roles. Her job is to pick a spot, hunker down, and lay some cable on a neighbor's lawn. My job, invariably under the watchful and suspicious eye of the neighbor who always just fucking happens to be out slugging juleps on the veranda, or hosting a god damn tea party, is to then gather up her shit and tote it around the neighborhood in a Kroger bag until I find a suitable receptacle in which to deposit it. If Penny finds this the least bit strange, she has never let on.
Yeah, picking up poop in a Kroger bag is not only gross, but it does go unacknowledged by my dog. Actually, my concern is that I pick up the poo before he flings it everywhere. You see, he likes to poo, and then he's like, "Am I dog? Am I a cat? I DON'T KNOW WHO I AM!" and then proceeds to "wipe" his paws on the grass, by flinging them backwards as hard as he can. So here I am, bag inverted on one hand, dog leash in the other, leaning toward the ground with the bag hand and reaching for the sky with the leash hand, balancing precariously on one foot, face uncomfortably close to the grass and poop ground zero.
All the while, Pipp is happily scrape-scraping away, not knowing that the only thing saving his life right now is the fact that I have to use the bag to pick up the poop, rather than putting it over his head and smothering him.
Our cat Retardo does that scritch-scritch kick-kick thing with his litterbox. I think he thinks he is the god damn feline equivalent of Jackson Pollack or something, such is the drama and swoopiness of gesture with which he flings the soiled little flecks of clumping multicat-formula cedar-scented shit absorber about his little corner of the downstairs. He is really my step-cat. His other name is Toulouse, and he isn't wrapped too-tight. Cats are excellent animals for people who strongly desire storing little sandboxes of shit in their basements. Beyond that, I haven't been able to put my finger on any other practical uses.