Charlywalker's Blog

{February 19, 2010}   Go See a Man about a Blog

My puppy  is surviving the winter better than I am. He doesn’t complain about the weather , well he can’t talk, he can only show me, and, well, I wouldn’t know what a dog complaint looked like.

Is it a growl or a whine or a refusal to eat his tasty Science chow. Or does the complaint come in a different fashion, like maybe diarrhea. How about runny poop droppings all over your front lawn covered with snow in 20 degree weather. I’m talking Hershey mini kisses laid out in the shape of the Big Dipper. I followed my pups constellations for over an hour until his well ran dry and all that was left were air astroids blowing holes in the ice.

I watched him travel the terrain of  my white cliffs of clover to find  a depository spot. I watched him scurry in circles sniffing through two feet of snow to find the appropriate patch to delegate his dog-doo. I watched his worried face grimace while he tried to control what was escaping him without permission from  his tail end. I watched him trek through the alpine with each paw sinking into the white abyss while he scavenged about to find another drop spot. I watched as the pure white blanket of snow slowly converted to the color of a Coca-Cola slushie.

I felt terrible for my eight month old puppy whose rear-end looked as if it were running from the law. I never knew a dogs system could be so sensitive, after all he is a dog. Dogs roamed the earth forever scrounging about in dumpsters out side dimly lit Italian restaurants sharing a string of spaghetti and chasing meatballs.

You never witness any Intestinal breakdowns with  Lady and the Tramp. Or how about all those  Dalmations  canvassing through a winter mayhem  eating everything off the ground and drinking out of Cruella’s puddles. Not one of those 101 offsprings gave the slightest inclination that they had a bowel problem even with all that twilight barking.

I wonder if Lassie experienced any  unfortunate irritabilities on the set. Yeah I could see it now, Lassie’s running to rescue Timmy in the well but has an attack of Montezuma’s Revenge  which causes him to retreat to a latrine with an “L’ on the door and leave Timmy to rot in hell. I never liked Timmy anyway.

I had to watch a lot of television as a kid and my mother would use the TV as a baby sitter instead of doing paper snowflake projects with me. I watched every episode of Lassie until he finally did go home. It was always the same saga: Timmy has trauma and Lassie cures it. I bet when they were done shooting the show Timmy would taunt Lassie and try to cajole  him so Timmy could take the lead. Probably during a break Timmy would offer Lassie a nice tidbit from the catered lunch table that would cause Lassie’s vitals  to evacuate all over the fake scenery. Try scraping that off cardboard. Now there’s a mess Timmy can’t contend with.

“Mommie mommie Lassie’s stuck in the Honeybucket lapping Pepto-Bismol….come quick….”  Cut. Take. That’s a belly blaster.

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