A Walk In the Wet Forest

Rain or shine I walk my dog. Or as Sonja puts it, "You wanted the dog to help make sure you get your exercise and fresh air; walk the fucker."

Today we headed into the forest. The skinny trees were bent over the path like an old man on a long losing streak at the racetrack with a wife at home drinking his booze and fucking their building's maintenance guy with a strap-on. The partially rotted leaves, still clinging to the branches like the NDP to socialism, had soaked up the day's rain like they soak up spring sunshine. Other leaves, having jumped from their branch like those seared fuckers in the Twin Towers in New York a few years back, had landed like wet brown snot on the leaves below them.

The Hammer sploshed down the path looking for homeless people to befriend. She knows there are lots of them half-hidden in the shivvery forest. She probably knows which homeless person has the best tasting shit. Dogs know more about the homeless than you or I will ever know. Dogs were homeless too until men and women began to allow them into their igloos and their huts, perhaps 20,000 years ago.

Today the Hammer found a real tasty shit laying on a dinner plate of fresh brown leaves. It tasted so good she did not even roll in it. When I asked her to, "Put that fucking shit down!" she picked it up and tried to run off with it but it slipped from her mouth, as wet shit will do from wet leaves. Unfortunately wet brown shit on wet brown leaves disappears real quick on brown leaf covered ground. So I stepped in the shit of the homeless with my wet boot. One day I will slip when I do this and I will be the one rolling in the shit of the homeless.

It did not smell good so I wiped it off my boot as fast as I could. Then I gave the Hammer a treat from my pocket. The Hammer can eat all the shit she wants. I hear a little shit now and then is good for dogs. It is the rolling in shit that offends me.