Subject: Meatier Showers
Date: Wed, 18 Nov 1998 03:58:24 GMT
From: email@example.com (Mumthra)
Organization: MotPU: Where Binary Moodswings are ALWAYS on the Menu
Newsgroups: alt.foot.fat-free, alt.slack
I don't usually go prowling around my neighborhood with the dog after
dark, but the house was rowdy and there were supposed to be some
lights in the sky. Now that I'm not smoking I have more time and more
lung, so there really wasn't any reason not to go.
Because the dog has a way of disappearing into the dark, I took a
walloping big cop-style flashlight. I also took a plastic bag, because
she's the sort of dog that is never entirely finished with her crap
project. If she gets really excited or bored or territorial she'll try
to shit just a little more to celebrate the occasion. She never fails.
Her life is just one really long interrupted crap.
It was an odd walk. I didn't see any meteors, but of course, I forgot
to look for a while. About a block into the trip, I found what is
apparently the cuddling corner. There's no official designation, but I
saw a few pairs of adults milling and hugging in the street there.
I was a little surprised, because from a distance I would have bet
that they were Teenagers Up To No Good, but up close it was just
another case of Adults On The Loose. Maybe they were excessively shy
people who told their kids that they were just taking out the trash,
when in fact they were going out to the corner to practice kissing in
public--but in the dark. The dog and I moved a little faster past
them, just in case.
I learned that my dog is an excellent Averted Eye Dog. She led me
flawlessly for blocks while I looked up at the sky. The clouds were
too heavy to see anything beyond, and the street lights were
distracting and prevented the dilating of my eyes. I kept trying
anyway, because it was pleasant to look up and trust my panting
Near the swimming pool, she started to get agitated. We stopped and I
hefted the flashlight. The pool house was the only public building we
passed, and the place had its sad winterized and deserted look. The
front door was closed, the little parking lot was empty, except for a
heap in the center.
My squint turned into a wince as I decided that the heap was an
injured dog--a big dog. We waited for it to move. Nothing happened. I
let my dog lead me while I kept my eyes fixed on the other animal
instead of the sky.
Once we were abreast of it, she started trotting sideways and we had
to give up the guide routine. By then we knew it was dead and that it
was a doe. Its placement didn't make any sense--it wouldn't have
dropped dead in the parking lot on its own--unless someone had dumped
it there half-dead.
I was puzzling, trying to imagine someone who had hit and killed a
dear, who decided to move it out of the road, who then had a burst of
inspiration that they would not only move it to the shoulder but would
drive over and leave it at the swimming pool. If the dear go to the
pool, does that mean that the possums get delivered to the golf
course? Have I been missing something in road kill etiquette?
The streetlight went out suddenly, and the dog decided to take me home
after all. We nearly made it before I was halted by a dog-loving
neighbor I hadn't met before.
She told me a great deal about herself in a tamed Welsh accent. I
learned about her dogs, both living and dead. Eventually she warmed up
to the story of the Dog She Couldn't Kill. That dog had been through
four homes and no one wanted him. She took him in spite of her
suspicions. He peed in her kitchen every night for ten years. He
couldn't help it, you see, because he was just born to pee that way.
When the Dog She Couldn't Kill finally died, she had to admit that he
had killed her kitchen, and she had the floors redone.
When we were home again, I told my dog not to get any ideas and start
that peeing thing. I already put up with her perpetual peristalsis
patrols. That's as far as I go for dog love: for urine, you're out. It
would be straight to the pool for her.
This was probably from Mumthra.