Poop? Poop!!!

                               December 16, 1961

                Des Plaines, Illinois: Who’s Training Who

 “Mercy, no!”

Within the first week of life at 9116 Balcony Place, renting a post hole digger, purchasing bags of  concrete-mix and eighty-five feet of four foot high, chain link fencing along with fence posts, top rails and all fixtures needed to install a nineteen by thirty-six three sided fence along with a four by six, pea graveled dog pen that Mercy had been and was still in the process of being taught that, “That’s where you poop!”

“Mercy, no!”

The side yard being slightly sloped, and because it was still wet from the rain of the night before, and because Mercy had deposited a fairly large pile’a poop...

“Mercy no!” Twining his fingers around the chain about the seventy pound dog’s neck, pulling her to the pile’a poop, straddling the Dalmatian, forcing her head towards the pile’a poop, “Mercy, no!”

And because the ground was sloped, and because the ground was wet, and because Mitchell’s fingers were entwined around the chain collar about the Dalmatian’s neck and because the dog – being on a lower plane – rather than obediently allowing her muzzle to be forced towards the pile’a poop to, “Mercy, no!” smell her poop and because she decided to back between Mitchell’s legs forcing his hands – entwined around the chain collar – to move backwards, between his legs and, Uh-oh!...

Mitchell’s feet slipping from beneath him, Uh-oh! caused him to... flip, “Oh, shit!” landing face first.

                                          *

Not feeling well due to this month’s menstrual cramps, still in bed on that day...

“Oh, shit!”

 “Mitchell, what’s wrong?”

Hearing him start up the stairs muttering...

“Oh, shit! Oh, shit!”

 Sitting up on her elbows, seeing her husband as he entered their bedroom heading... very quickly heading to the bathroom, muttering...

“Shit!”

Thinking he’d split his head open and brains were oozing from his forehead, panicking, “My, God, Mitchell! What happened?”

“Shit!”

Seeing it closer, “ ‘shit?’ “ Smelling it now, “shit?” Thinking, That oozy stuff’s not his brains. “That’s shit Mitchie? I thought it was your brains.”

“Yeah!” he said, thinking, That’s me, ol’ shit for brains.

Incredulously, “That’s Mercy’s shit!’ ” If laughter truly is the best medicine...

“Mitchell,” the pain of her cramps diminished, “why? How in the hell did you get dog shit all over your...” Laughing, hardly able to get the word out. “...head?”

Stripping his clothes off, stepping into the shower, “Damned dog rubbed my nose in it!”