Subject: two strikes, you're out
ever fewer rings merit an answer. it was a good friend. like the giant Palouse earthworm, a tragically rare breed. apartment sit? he was asking me to shovel poop. out limped his arthritic axiom: "chicks dig a guy with a dog". it's an alluring twist to a fellow listing to one side and taking on water. of course, my prickly paramour's sobering promise that she would "cut me" if I wandered into a neighbor's yard quickly flattened any speculation of dreamy conquests. the dog - whom i shall refer to only as "vince" - greeted me with but a sliver of the enthusiasm he reserves for rumps. the 6 am call to nature was a wee early but worth the discovery of what some call, "morning". new york yawned golden. the waning winter's wind had just enough bite. a glistening east river unraveled before us as languid vessels cut it to ribbons. without warning, vince flamed this utopian respite with a gross violation of our one walk, one drop agreement. he decorated the path in front of a police kiosk. reading my panic, a passerby surrendered a single sheet of the ny times. saved...but i was now tethered to a ticking time bomb. our return trip was a jittery affair. i withheld the complimentary doggie treat. vince huffed and curled in a tenebrous tub, perhaps to mull over the debacle. or gnaw his tattered Star Wars themed towel. the broken trust proved unmendable. man is dog's best friend? i think not.