I noted before that I have so far used an alarming number of dog-poop jokes in my creative writing projects. (All right, two instances may not really be alarming, but it does indicate that I am thinking about dog poop way too much.) I guess the reason for it is that I have a dog, and she is not a genius dog. She is smarter than I can cope with, but she only beats me at chess once out of every thirty games. She inspired today’s Paffooney, so let me show you the picture before I tell you everything that is wrong with my little dog.
Okay, my dog looks nothing like this. She is a Cardigan Corgi, a dog bred to chase and kill barn rats, or to protect the baby’s crib when the adults are not in the room. She is highly possessive, and she considers me her property. So, here’s where the dog poop comes in. I have to walk her twice a day, and I have to take a Walmart bag with me to pick up the poop in the park (even though it is obvious that no one else in our neighborhood does it despite the posted law). And it turns out that this is not enough to keep her from pooping in the house. The little poop factory can make as many as five times in one day. And even worse, she will poop in punishment if we commit the crime of leaving her alone to go somewhere. We get back from the dollar movie and she has pooped on the dining room carpet, or in front of my bedroom door, somewhere where she knows I will see it and get mad. She doesn’t care if she gets punished in return. She is satisfied if she made her point. So I am drowning in dog poop on a daily basis. It’s no wonder it’s on my mind and I end up writing about it. God help me, of all the things to have on your mind, I have dog poop on mine!
If you are wondering about the rat in the picture, there is a rat part to my doggy nightmare. We live near a city park where there are lots of storm drains and rain gutters for rats to inhabit. And there are throngs of rats. When we kept the dog in the yard on a chain, the rats would come by daily to laugh at her before coming into the house and gnawing rat holes into the walls and ceilings and eat the glues out of the spines of many of my books. So rats are a part of the reason she now gets to live in the house. My wife goes ballistic from seeing or hearing rats. But I think they still laugh at her as they come in anyway. It’s just that they stay quieter with her around and my wife doesn’t see or hear them. So, it would be problem solved if only the poop problem would go away.
Here’s her actual portrait. Sorry if it is too scary for children and the faint of heart.
Catch a Falling Star 