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We are living with a Mammoth Manure Machine, quoth the Samurai. I have to agree. It's pouring buckets outside, and has been since shortly before I arrived home this afternoon. Casey the Wonder Borkita, bless his furry old hide, zipped out, baptized a bush quickly, and zipped back in. I was grateful for his brevity. After dinner, however, was another matter. Casey began to dance urgently. Out,out! he pleaded. When he began the three-paws-off-the-ground prancing, we knew he meant business. (He's not built for prancing; he's panda-shaped.) Despite a pretty good downpour, I grabbed the umbrella and some plastic bags, and off we went. He drowned an already-sodden bush, then proceeded to excrete approximately five pounds of, well, excrement. I bagged the product and we headed towards the dumpster, Casey lagging. As I glanced back at the pokey doggie, I realized that he was still, um, at work. He left a trail across the road, which I dutifully picked up, getting moderately drenched in the process. (Umbrella, happy, wet, prancing Borkita, plastic bags, big mess.) If Hansel and Gretel had had Casey with them, that trail home would have been marked with flippin' pylons of poop. Now the mostly-empty doggie is lounging about, farting loudly from time to time. He looks surprised when he toots. Silly pup. We have enjoyed keeping Casey, and will be sorry to see him go, but I won't miss his poop. Our next doggie will be smaller than Casey. (Have I said this before?) Lesson learned? Big Puppy=Big Poopy. On the headbone: Little Red Riding Hood, Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs |
 
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Poopy!