The thing my dog does in the snow

At this point in history I am pretty sure everyone knows my dog is a mean and angry alcoholic lesbian, which is neither here nor there. The real key important thing to know about Beth is that she likes to poo outside, which is kind of important, since she is not only a big giant lesbionic dog, but also she eats like a much bigger dog, if you catch my drift, so the more outside she gets, the better I am about it.

Today we are in the midst of what our local pansy weather man is calling the storm of this century, that is, it is snowing. Barely. I like snow, although I grew up in Southern California and did not experience actual snow until well into my teens, when I was visiting the son of a Hollywood producer and his coke addicted father left a huge pike of the stuff on a mirror in the “library”.

It has been snowing all morning here and when I let my hefty lesbian dog out to do her thing she sprinted into the frozen tundra like she won the dog lottery and could not wait to claim her lesbian dog prize, which I am guessing would involve leather harnesses and a DVD collection of Rosie O’Donnell movies. My dog made it to the far corner of our tiny back yard and then began her ritual and I took notice, because for the first time in weeks, a large smile broke out across her usually dour face.

Unusual, because she is, like many lesbian dogs, a mean spirited and vicious bitch by nature, which is, of course, neither here nor there. But there she was, doing her business in the far corner of the back yard and it struck me, the only thing different from yesterdays morning ritual and todays morning ritual was about 10 inches of snow. Which of course got me thinking, what could be so magic about waking up to ten inches?

I sat for a while and enjoyed some sort of boring gluten free breakfast and the exploits of our new hate filled cat, Foxtrot Tango and it dawned on me, I too could use a morning ritualistic poo. So, instead of walking all the way up to the fifth floor bathroom, and again I do not understand why we do not have a bathroom on any of the four floors before that fifth floor bathroom, but instead of doing that, I decided that today of all days, I would break all the previous imposed “Santorum Rules for Pet Interaction” and poo outside in the snow.

Of course there is some serious preparation one must partake before engaging in such folly, but because I neither had access to the great Google machine, not am I very smart, I just walked outside, dropped trou and let loose. In no time whatsoever I was bothered by my nosey lesbian dog, wondering to herself at long last, have I no shame. So, without reading material or toilet paper I did not waste nearly the amount of time I would usually spend in such duty (doody), finished my business, and made my way inside, leaving my fur coated lesbian dog to remain in the snow, happy as a clam in much warmer climates.

There is a lesson to be learned in all this, but I am quite sure I am not the sort who learns lessons.