Poetic Justice

More Dog Turds

BB Guns

Doesn't it frost your ass when some friggin' mutt on a high fiber diet drops one of those 3 pound land mines in your yard. I'm talking about dog turds here. Great, gooey, gobs of shit. I noticed Henry's lawn doesn't have any dog turds, just mine, and it's his turd generator that works the miracles with fiber. I gotta admire Henry's dog training skills or else that friggin' dog is a smart son of a bitch. I can't put up with this. Take a little walk in the yard, walk in the house and the smell of dog shit grabs me by the nostrils and shakes the shit out of me. Nope, this has got to stop. As a youth, we had done some experimental work similar to Pavlov's dogs. Read Dog Turds. My first step was the BB Gun, worked well with Bill the Bull, and this world class shitter is only about a hundred pounds. I'm dingin' the dog in the ass with a BB anytime I see him squat and have time to get the gun, but I kind of like the dog, and I've sorted this out in my mind that the dog turds belong to Henry. I scooped a few with a shovel and threw them into Henry's lawn.

That started a train of thought that was truly satisfying. I noticed Henry had lots of picnics and they played lots of horseshoes. Steel stakes in nice sandy pits, like cat litter boxes. When I thought cat litter boxes, it was all over. These are Henry's dog turds. Henry probably trained that dog to mine my yard. Henry is the rightful owner of these dog turds. I'm not gonna gift wrap them or deliver them in a nice, collected, boxed form. No sir. My youthful experience with dog turds says that it has great practical value. After dark I would shovel up a few of Henry's land mines and toss them into the nice sand in Henry's horse shoe pits. Henry's turds, Henry's pits. Work them into the pits nice so they don't show. Damned if a picnic didn't happen about two days later. Big horse shoe match, with comments like, "God Damn, Henry, you gotta do something about that cat." "Keerist that smells like shit." That didn't stop the play because the game was lubricated with bodacious quantities of beer and the occasional aroma of reefer. Henry took to cleaning his pits frequently, and I looked forward to scooping and depositing the prizes left in the lawn by the super shitter. I loved the game, and couldn't believe how much fun this dog shit could be.

After a while, I didn't try so hard to blend those land mines into the sand because Henry was really getting pissed at his cat, and the cat was blameless. I left those three pound turds whole and just covered them up. sometimes they'd pull a horse shoe out of the pit with half a turd attached. Too big for the cat. Henry figured out they were dog turds, and tied the dog up. Pavlov didn't work with enough dog shit in his research. I mean, for Chrissake', he might have really accomplished something. Skinner might even have researched this area. Anyway, all I can say is I really looked forward to spotting that world class shitter dropping a mine in my yard, once I'd discovered the cure. Think about it. With this cure, I'm not mad at the dog, and I'm not mad at Henry. As a matter of fact, I'm bent over laughing, and these are really Henry's dog turds. He probably felt pretty clever about teaching the dog not to shit in his yard. Justice, Bubba, poetic justice.