You can't help but reflect on your life when you're standing over a hot air vent, heating a small dog to make it poo. It's just not a scenario anybody's imagination serves up when envisioning the future, and it comes as something of a shock to find oneself in it.
Yes, the same dog that wears panties and a maxi pad. She also wears a little sweater. While remarkably effective at making her look completely stupid, it really doesn't do a whole lot to keep her warm come February. No sweater can fully compensate the fact that small, twenty pound terriers were simply not designed to withstand the elements of a harsh Canadian winter. Small twenty pound terriers were not designed to withstand the elements of a kitchen where the refrigerator door has been left ajar.
See, twenty pound terriers have two speeds: on, and off. When she's on Allison runs hotter than a blue star sipping a Tabasco sauce smoothie. When she's off, she's but a tiny burnt ember of a dog, with not so much as a faint glow left to keep her warm while she pees.
So she doesn't finish. She just stands there, shivering and unblinking as her eyes frost over, psychically screaming into my soul to take her inside. So I do bring her in, knowing full well that she's still fully equipped to turn our flooring into the saddest place on earth.
The trick is not letting her feet touch the ground. The tail hole in her little doggy diaper allows for freedom of more than just wagging, and as soon as the blood thaws in her happy bits she's ready to finish what she started. Under no circumstance can she be allowed purchase on a squat-able surface until that's happened. To speed up the process I hold her over the heat vent so we can hurry back outside for the exciting conclusion of her two part act.
Unfortunately there's no speeding it up to the point where you don't have an opportunity to think, and the thoughts you think when heating your dog's nether regions are never very charitable. A person can't help but think unforgiving thoughts about where their life has taken them. It's bad enough I don't have a personal genital warmer, but how did I wind up being the personal genital warmer for a dog? I admit, it makes a person feel pretty pathetic. It makes a person feel like the biggest loser on the planet.
But that changed today. A stranger changed my life last night, and helped me to see my life through fresh eyes.
Somebody stole my garbage bag. Took the garbage out, and stole the bag. Yes really. Yes really times a million, because I know that's how many times the word "Really?" is going to go through your head. Somebody really did unwrap a complete stranger's garbage just to steal the bag it was packed in.
Yes, the needs of a dog's ass come before my own needs. Yes, that's pretty pathetic.
But I don't steal used garbage bags.
Thank you, stranger, for being more pathetic than a woman who is subservient to a canine's rectum. It is because you exist that I can never be the biggest loser on the planet.
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