The dog dropped an prodigious deuce in an unfamiliar residential neighbourhood today and left me holding the bag. We walked for ages without encountering a trash can or a dumpster and after several blocks, schlepping this turd around was taking its toll on creampuff morale.
Finally, I spied a garbage can. The only catch was that the garbage can was in the courtyard of a seniors home and I was about four feet away from the garbage can, behind a wrought-iron gate.
It looked like an easy shot and I nearly made the junior girls basketball team in seventh grade, so I was confident I could pull it off.
I lobbed the bag of dog shit over the gate. It flew in a graceful arc before completely missing the garbage can and landing in the middle of the courtyard instead.
The bag did not remain intact.
It's hard to know what to do once you've flung a bag of dog shit into the courtyard of a retirement home in broad daylight. While my first instinct was to flee, I hung around for a few minutes, hoping that a senior would come out and, mistaking my tears of mirth for the remorse that most certainly came later, forgive me for my thoroughly disgusting random act of vandalism.
Sadly, all the seniors remained indoors, no doubt calling the fuzz to report that they'd been shit-bombed by some fat girl with an emo dog.
Since being arrested for smearing an old folk's home with dog shit is not on my bucket list, I decided to hightail it home. Emmy Lou did not feel my urgency and tried to slow down my flight by lunging at various fire hydrants and lamp posts. I finally gave in a few blocks from the scene of the crime. And as I was standing under tree to let the dog do her sniffin's, some bird took a big, long, sticky crap all down my new sweater.
Karma. It's real. So, you know...next time you're about to shit-bomb the elderly, think about how great your sweater is.
UPDATE: Bevin, I never made the basketball team. But I was on the soccer team in seventh grade. Behold.
