A Dog’s Business

It is 9 AM on just another sunny morning in the Manoa Valley of Honolulu.
On a quiet suburban street, a woman is walking her dog.  They are crossing the driveway to an apartment complex when, without breaking stride, the dog drops his business on the pavement.  Smack in the middle of the driveway.

Now, as anyone who has walked a dog surely knows, this is unusual.  The average Snoopy just doesn’t do no. 2 any old place.  The forms must be obeyed.  Prospective sites must be sniffed out, and it simply is not acceptable, except in dire emergency, to dump on the first possible site.  Then, after the ritual of picking a place is completed, there is the rite of posture.  The Tao of Turd.  The feet placed … so.  The back arched, just this way …  And then, of course, the pile must be inspected before it is left for discovery by the next unsuspecting pair of suede pumps.

It’s either a very strange dog or a very headstrong and inattentive owner that will short-circuit all this ritual, so that the dog will unceremoniously drop his business in the middle of the driveway of an apartment complex in suburban Honolulu.  But, evidently the woman knows her dog.  Looks like they’ve been at this awhile.  She immediately stops, heels the dog, reaches into her purse and pulls out the baggie into which she will scoop the offending objects.

Along comes a car.  A nice, middle-sized, middle-class car, driven by what appears to be a nice, middle-sized, middle-class woman.  And it’s headed for the apartment complex.  Now, it’s a quiet, suburban street, and there aren’t any other cars about.  Moreover, it’s 9 o’clock in the morning, and the apartments are inhabited entirely by Ph.D.-holding faculty and staff at the University of Hawai’i.  One would think that the driver would observe the predicament of the woman and the dog and either wait or go around – it’s a double driveway.  Those in need of haste would be the ones leaving the complex, no?  But this car means to get down that driveway.  Now.  The driver hardly slows down as she turns, practically plowing over the woman and her dog.

Yep.  You guessed it.  Left rear tire.  Put away the baggie, honey, you won’t be needing it now.  Just as well that the complex doesn’t have enclosed garages.

Y’know, I have been seeing an awful lot of rainbows lately.  Like as if God’s trying to remind God’s self of something.  I can almost hear God counting.

“... eight … nine … nine and a half … nine and three-quarters … nine and seven-eights …”

Meanwhile, the cockroaches are carrying on at the foot of the celestial throne.

“Hey, Jah!  Is it Armageddon yet?  Can we take over now?  Huh?  Huh?  Pleeeeeeze?”

- O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2007 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

Quilly is the pseudonym of Charlene L. Amsden, who lives in the Pacific Northwest. When she is not doing book reviews or creating curriculum literature units, she is working on writing the next great American novel. You may visit her writing blog at http://charlene-amsden.com. Quilly is the pseudonym of Charlene L. Amsden, who lives in the Pacific Northwest. When she is not doing book reviews or creating curriculum literature units, she is working on writing the next great American novel. You may visit her writing blog at http://charlene-amsden.com.