It was a beautiful day Saturday. I decided to whip out the lawnmower and give my grass a much needed trim.
Life with a dog, however had me FIRST cleaning up dog poo. As I searched the long grass for piles, I was cursing the damn dog. Why must he poop?
Bo, now to be known as Sir-Bo-shits-a-lot, leaves piles everywhere.
Mr. President, you have your own Bo now, may I warn you? Get a pooper picker upper, someone to pick up poop on the White House lawn. Pay them well, sir.
I think I shall have to find someone to be my poop picker upper, but for now, it is me.
As I scoop another pile I think, dammit, I didn't even want a dog for this exact reason. Why do I have to house the dog? I don't want this dog. I don't love this dog. Besides all the hair around the house, the nose prints on the windows and doors, he eats like a pig and shits like a horse.
After filling an entire plastic grocery bag full of shit, I start up the mower. Thankfully it starts right up, purring under my hands, vibrating my arms. The sun is shining, I am in shorts, it is a beautiful day. Nothing beats the smell of freshly cut grass.
*sniff*
What the hell, pile o shit number one. Damn. Oh well, it's just one that I missed.
Side note, do not wear flip flops while mowing. Just sayin'.
A couple more times around the yard another land mine and another...
There is nothing worse than stale old ass poop chopped up in mower blades to reveal still stank fresher poop on the inside.
The grass looked great after it was all said and done. Especially the extra fertilized parts. Thanks Bo.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Sir-Bo-shits-a-lot
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C'mon, pull up a therapy couch and tell me all about it...