"SIDESHOWS AND CARNIVAL BARKERS"

I've been thinkin' (dangerous in itself) about all the "stuff" swirling around in the news... added to the national weather reports (more disasters all at once and the worst I've seen in years) ... and ya know what I've concluded?  God is mad at us.  Mad at all the liars, fornicators, the bloated selfish, and idiots.  And Republicans.  Oh wait - I already said "Republicans".

Trying to take my mind away from all the crap for a while, I found myself contemplating a different kind of crap from a few years ago; hence this essay from 2006...

"ORDER IN THE UNIVERSE"

11/15/2006

Two days early. They were two days early and I should have known.  Traipsing away like the star-crossed lovers that they are, the newlyweds-to-be took off with a flourish for their wedding cruise, leaving the dogs behind.  Two days early.

Instructions would have been nice; that which seems natural to some may be a mystery to others, me being the other in this case.  Two big dogs and a cat – kitties are no problem, even this one who was purported to be cranky and self-serving – it was the dogs that proved to be my undoing.  Who could know that two dogs and a progressively unhinged human could alter the balance of the Cosmos?

Let me see... today is Wednesday.  The Disgusting Dog Debacle began eleven days ago on a Sunday afternoon, when an unsuspecting me realized that the dogs were at the door, masters in tow, for a reason; i.e. to be transferred into my uninformed and unprepared care.  “Of course I can do this”, says I to myself.  “What could be hard?”  And in truth, it began fairly well.

It boiled down to four trips across the yard per day, where the dogs were staying in a neighboring condo in the condo village where I live.  Open the back patio door, buckle dogs to their leads, let them out to do their duty in the grass.  Close the door with me inside, prepare the food, visit with the cat.  Open the door, command the dogs to “Go!”, close the door and wait.  Visit with the cat.  Rambunctious, muddy dogs blast back in through the door, managing to be vertical and horizontal at the same time.  Food!  Food!

Jet gets fed first, so that he won’t devour King’s food.  King is on a special diet.  More on this later; Jet wants King’s food and visa versa.  Did I mention how big they are?  Strapping black Labs, the both of them; seventy to eighty pounds each.  Jet especially, being young, is simultaneously a cannon ball and a battering ram, crashing into anything and everything including me.  I’m beginning to think that I look like a dog toy, chewed and battered.  I know I feel that way.

When the meal is over (“Eat it!  I mean it!  Finish your dinner, damnit!”), it’s off for another trip to the out-of-doors for that final chance to eliminate before the next period of incarceration begins.  If they are successful, I, poop-bags in hand, must venture out into the cold, wet, and now poopy yard to find the fruits of their mission.  So far so good – gross, but manageable.

Unmanageable began with a rude realization.  Opening the door, I smelled something wrong.  Unbalancing the Cosmos began simply, requiring only diarrhea to initiate the flaming demise of my sanity. 

OK, one day would be understandable.  Especially considering that the “special diet” King was expected to eat had spoiled without my knowledge.  Poor old King – he ate it anyway because he’s so obedient; twice in fact, before I was able to smell what was going on.  Now what to do?  Well, clean, of course.  Clean, clean, clean, help me Jesus, there is crap everywhere and I hate dogs.  And then go home and seethe at the world in general for having delivered this horrible day into my hands.  Fortunately, a friend helped me whip up a new batch of fresh food, and things were looking up.  Three more trips across the yard that day, more of the same and keep cleaning, it’s bound to be better now that the bad food is gone and by the way... did I mention that I’ve had it up to my neck and I hate dogs? 

The next day was better; the diarrhea began to go away in reality, though it had somehow permeated my body and invaded my own inner world.  It was everywhere!  No amount of cleaning made it go from my nose, and my prayers for serenity were smothered by the smell before they could ascend.  My vision was awash with it, be it physical or phantom; diarrhea ruled.   Clean, clean, clean, help me Jesus, there is crap everywhere and I really hate dogs.  And all the while the Universe is spinning further out of control, and I am none-the-wiser due to inhalant-induced brain damage.  Don’t you smell it?  You’re kidding, you can’t smell that?  It’s f*’ing AWFUL! 

An entire day passed and so did the diarrhea.  No pun intended – the brain damage is severe enough at this point that puns are beyond me.  It follows then that I, being mired in my own anger, disgust, delirium and anger (did I mention that I hate hate HATE dogs?), was again unaware that the Earth was about to flail madly out of it’s orbit and The Dark Lord of Eternal Diarrhea was overtaking the throne of reason. 

Two more days of darkness, and I cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I can’t even see the tunnel, so filled with noxious brown chunky stinking sloppy goo is my miserable existence.  I eat, sleep and breathe diarrhea.  I wish for death, and especially for the dogs.  Even my tears are brown!  Life as I knew it has left the building, and Elvis is nowhere to be seen either; I wonder if he had any dogs?  The fumes have eaten what was left of my brain and all I can do is sit on my kitchen floor and cry into my poop-stained hands.  Order in the Universe?  You’ve got to be kidding.

All this time, the cat had been an angel, comforting me in her small way when I could find her under the lumpy liquid flow.  And it was another Cat who finally rescued me and restored the order I no longer could even imagine.  Praise be to the Goddess and her faithful servant, The KittyGodMother.   I don’t know how she did it, but on the third day of darkness I awoke with compassion in my heart for a poor old dog that was having an even worse time of it than me.  And, miracle of miracles, my compassion restored the balance of the Cosmos, bringing sanity and a trip to the vet for treatment and boarding in the process.   

“Behold the beauty of Order!” said the KittyGodMother.  And so I did:  King safely ensconced in the lap of veterinary intervention, Jet prescribed and given herbal doggy sedatives for his mounting anxiety (after all, he also lived in diarrhea), and the cat, or should I say the Cats – still, and even more so, are angels.

...and so you see, cats are wonderful, but even diarrhea is better than Donald Trump, 'cause at least I can make diarrhea go away.

(and no, I do not really hate dogs at all!)

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