“The more one gets to know of men, the more one values dogs.”
-- A. Toussenel 1803-1885: L’Esprit des betes (1847)
So there they were, two old fuddy-duddys with pooper-scooper-police written all over them. One of them had on a fanny pack that looked suspiciously familiar.
You see, a few days earlier I had spotted the same red, nylon yuppie accessory lying on the dog path. Thinking it might have a wallet in it with lots of dough -- and even making that instant self-congratulatory reflection that sours the milk of altruism -- I figured I’d unzip it, and return it to it’s rightful owner, noble good deed doer that I am. Yuchhh! You guessed it, they are as unmistakable as they are disgusting, the newspaper protector plastic sack full of dogshit. I smelled it, dropped it, and kept going. Shadow’s cackling yip at my disgust noise confirmed she thought all of this was pretty funny.
The man (she wore the fanny-pack), who was looking me up and down real good, finally
Spoke.
“Did you know it’s a $500 fine to not pick up your dog waste?”
I paused for a moment, reached in my pocket, brought out a stick of Black Jack gum, slowly rolled it up, and leisurely began to chew it, savoring the licorice as I let the spittle drool down my chin.
“Look, pops, you may be from Ann Arbor, and you may think you’re some kind of been everywhere know it all retired professor, but this is a hound of a different color. Shadow don’t do the doo-doo, if you get my drift.”
Upon hearing this, the old codger paused, looked at his wife, and reigned in their belly-dragging Basset hound.
“Sir, that’s preposterous, there is no such breed!”
I knew I had to say something, but all I could think about was the smell of that shit baggy from two days ago. I say it again. Yuchhh!
“Listen gramps, Shadow here, is a pedigree Mexican Shitless.”
“A what?”
“She’s a Mexican shitless. You see, what they did was to breed those German Shepherds particularly predisposed to eating their own shit with a Latvian Cadaver Dog-Toy Boxer mix. The result is nature’s perfect recycling organism, a species of canine that just might save the world. Beauty is, I only had to feed her once. She’s been completely self sustainable since then. One thing Shadow ain’t, is a global warmer.”
Well folks, if you can believe it, this pair of fossilized eco-nazis from the People’s Republic of Ann Arbor was speechless.
After a lengthy pause the old dude says, “that’s biologically impossible.”
Knowing this was one of them pedigree academic couples who think science is always right, I chose my words carefully.
“Sir,” I says, “biology is a theory, does Shadow look like an impossibility?
No. Shadow is an example of creative dog breeding. She’s the first generation of the kind of living, breathing, shit-eating, green-pooches the world’s been waiting for, and where better than Ann Arbor to introduce her. That’s why I carry no scooper-pooper-bag. Good day.”
And with that, we went merrily along our separate ways.
The End - Randy
-- A. Toussenel 1803-1885: L’Esprit des betes (1847)
So there they were, two old fuddy-duddys with pooper-scooper-police written all over them. One of them had on a fanny pack that looked suspiciously familiar.
You see, a few days earlier I had spotted the same red, nylon yuppie accessory lying on the dog path. Thinking it might have a wallet in it with lots of dough -- and even making that instant self-congratulatory reflection that sours the milk of altruism -- I figured I’d unzip it, and return it to it’s rightful owner, noble good deed doer that I am. Yuchhh! You guessed it, they are as unmistakable as they are disgusting, the newspaper protector plastic sack full of dogshit. I smelled it, dropped it, and kept going. Shadow’s cackling yip at my disgust noise confirmed she thought all of this was pretty funny.
The man (she wore the fanny-pack), who was looking me up and down real good, finally
Spoke.
“Did you know it’s a $500 fine to not pick up your dog waste?”
I paused for a moment, reached in my pocket, brought out a stick of Black Jack gum, slowly rolled it up, and leisurely began to chew it, savoring the licorice as I let the spittle drool down my chin.
“Look, pops, you may be from Ann Arbor, and you may think you’re some kind of been everywhere know it all retired professor, but this is a hound of a different color. Shadow don’t do the doo-doo, if you get my drift.”
Upon hearing this, the old codger paused, looked at his wife, and reigned in their belly-dragging Basset hound.
“Sir, that’s preposterous, there is no such breed!”
I knew I had to say something, but all I could think about was the smell of that shit baggy from two days ago. I say it again. Yuchhh!
“Listen gramps, Shadow here, is a pedigree Mexican Shitless.”
“A what?”
“She’s a Mexican shitless. You see, what they did was to breed those German Shepherds particularly predisposed to eating their own shit with a Latvian Cadaver Dog-Toy Boxer mix. The result is nature’s perfect recycling organism, a species of canine that just might save the world. Beauty is, I only had to feed her once. She’s been completely self sustainable since then. One thing Shadow ain’t, is a global warmer.”
Well folks, if you can believe it, this pair of fossilized eco-nazis from the People’s Republic of Ann Arbor was speechless.
After a lengthy pause the old dude says, “that’s biologically impossible.”
Knowing this was one of them pedigree academic couples who think science is always right, I chose my words carefully.
“Sir,” I says, “biology is a theory, does Shadow look like an impossibility?
No. Shadow is an example of creative dog breeding. She’s the first generation of the kind of living, breathing, shit-eating, green-pooches the world’s been waiting for, and where better than Ann Arbor to introduce her. That’s why I carry no scooper-pooper-bag. Good day.”
And with that, we went merrily along our separate ways.
The End - Randy
3 comments:
The pooch in the picture must belong to A-Rod, or Man-Ram, or Alex-Rod, or B-Bonds, or R-Clem, or MLB, or Etc,Etc,zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Randy, you are too much!
Thanks for the smile today. :)
Bonni Q
He's the Dog of a Different Color you've heard tell about."
Post a Comment