Jazz to a Junky

For a while now I have been thinking my dog had gotten over her love of rolling in the shit of the homeless. It has been a long time since she came running up to me and rubbed some ripe brown crap on my pant leg. But the shit of the homeless is like jazz to a junky: it is one thing to kick but quite another thing to lay off the stuff when you find a big pile of it laying around.

The Hammer found her treat near the camp of a couple who have been part of the Hockey neighbourhood all summer. No one calls on the cops to move out our camping neighbours so once people set up their camp in the spring they usually stick around until November sometime when it gets too cold and too dangerous (every winter several of the big trees get blown over) to hold out any longer.

My dog smelled like shit after her little pooh roll. But I have smelled worse shit on a dog. It must have been the woman's shit my dog was rolling in. Women's shit does not smell as bad as men's.