I Want to Go Outside
A tickle in my belly. The outside. Must go outside every morning. Sometimes Tony and Shelly don't understand, so I get up on my hind legs and stretch for the doorknob. It's like begging, and I don't care. Today, Tony lets me out right away. I step onto the back porch. I look across the walkway between apartments to see if Tytan, the dog who eats potato chips, is loose and running about. I've smelled him at this end of the building before. I can't be too careful. I'm outside! Standing on the back-porch welcome mat, filled with ghostly leftover scents of squirrels, ants, spiders, and yesterday's snow. It's drizzling and I'm not afraid. A breeze riffles my fur. I sniff the welcome mat. Chew on a leaf.
posted by Shimmy at 7:35 AM
2 Comments:
Mmmmm...potato chips...
You know, despite your hostility toward me and any scent of me on any humans who enter your abode, I find myself agreeing with you about the great outdoors, particularly the back porch area. In fact, I've re-discovered the joys of crunching through piles of fallen leaves to find the ideal place to urinate. Mommy's cold standing out on the porch waiting for me? She can deal. I'll be done when I'm done.
She can deal. Of course, you're not done until you're done. I imagine potato chips taste good to dogs, but have you really tasted the pleasures of sinking your fangs into a mouse's jugular? I did once, in Fall 2001. I'll never forget it as long as I live.
Shimmy
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