I Hate Me, part 266,901
The dog (Lucy, aka Baby Dog Duvalier) needed to go out for a walk. Carrie who usually takes her out was busy so I took her out. We were about a block away and I realized that I didn’t bring a bag for her “leavings”. I was praying that we could get through the walk without incident, which is dumb because that’s one of the main reasons for a walk. She finally went. I couldn’t just leave it, that would be hypocritical of me ( A few times while standing on a soapbox, I might have said “People not cleaning up their dogs shit is one of the signs of society collapsing!”). So I had to clean it up. The dog was looking at me “C’mon, I’m done. Let’s go…what, do you wanna shit too?”. Now, my filing system for personal papers consists mainly of jamming small bits of paper into my pockets and then throwing them out when I do laundry. The largest piece of paper I could find had the phone number of guy that Jacks (the record store where I work) was supposed to buy a lot of records from (around 10,000). I had already lost this guys number once, so I wrote it giant sized on a full sized piece of paper. I was looking around for a big leaf to clean up after Lucy. A horrifying variation on stuffed grape leaves, but no big leaves. The only thing I could use was the paper with the phone number on it. I cleaned it up and when I got home had the unenviable task of scraping dogshit off of the paper and recopying it.
[Carrie, my wife would like to mention that she doesn’t agree with the characterization of the dog in my blogs. She says that Lucy is the cutest, most wonderful dog in the history of dogs]