I Work So My Pets Can Crap
It was New Year’s morning. I was sitting on the sofa, chatting with Cali, and I realized:
I work so my pet can crap.
As the “mom” to two dogs and two felines, there’s an inordinate amount of crap that’s in various places in my home. Litter box, backyard, bathroom…the occasional “unauthorized” location. The current favorite UA is the basement. You see, Small Dog has this thing about walking in the snow. I swear to Christ, I should get her a tiara and make her sleep on a pile of mattresses with peas in between. But I digress.
Small Dog will go outside with Big Dog, run around, pee and play. But 20% of the time, she will not make a cookie. She then comes inside and when I’m not looking, trots down to the basement (her own little Easy Bake Oven) and…bakes. Cookies. Thankfully, they’re the side of those two-bite brownies from Whole Foods and nothing like the dog logs my 55 lb’er lays down.
The cats…well, they’re going on 11-years-old. Adopted in Japan at the tender age of 6 weeks each, they would write “Die, Dogs, Die” in blood on the wall if the fuckers had thumbs. They’d make quite the marketing moguls, the pair of ‘em, with as often as they think outside the box.
And my days? My labors, my writing, my sex blogging and SEO copywriting. Social media consulting, article marketing and all it is that I do…I do it all so my pets can crap.
Here’s the simple logic.
Human works to earn money.
Money buys dog food, cat food and cat litter.
Dog and cat food makes crap.
Work = pet crap.
It’s a lovely way to begin my new year: realizing that my labors are funding a veritable crap factory. Happy new year, my lovely readers.
