A Surrealist Dog Takes A Shit

Need to go out. Go to door. Wag tail. Wag more damn it! Somebody must let me out! Molten spleen of the right fielder emanates a Dickinsonian nectar.

Someone coming. Grabbing a leash! All is well. The beating pulse of arterial splendor casts lightly upon one’s shelter.

Outside. Must walk. Can’t shit too close to house or walk ends. Volcanic frequencies flash aft, as if emanating from the sun.

Have traveled around 2 corners. Must pull leash. Stop walking! Time to squat. The brightness of odorous limbs claims royalty per heaven’s lost pastries.

Ah! Oh…yessss! Finally dislodged the bastard! And in 4 separate places so the human has to move his bag all about the knoll as he searches for my waste. Plaid dexterity is gaseous upon contextual power.

Back inside. Feel something under my tail. One last job: Must wipe ass on carpet. Lucidity is never superficial in the wake of secession.

Fini.

A Surrealist Dog on a Family Vacation

Tuesday
Family loads car. Wag tail. Wag. Wag and prance. Wag, dammit! Want to go. Let me in. Letting me in!! Car going. Must push head outside window! Ensuing pain. Windows all closed. Lay down to sleep. Kids asking when we’ll be there. Trees rush by, their dander forming screaming scepters of meaningful depth.

Car slowing down. Jump up! Wag tail! Wag more! Let me out! Rest stop! Leash on, leave car. Pee here. Pee there. Pee again. Wonder how deviled eggs would fare against a jury of diseased cat carcasses.

Back in car. To sleep. Dream of granite tadpoles with the haunting accents of long dead languages.

Wednesday
Kids in pool. Splashing, yelling. I run. Must run. Circling pool, barking. Meat hooks travel, yet are no match in time for cigarette smoking ne’er-do-wells.

Dinnertime. Left in hotel room alone. Make squealing noise. Bark at jerkball pounding on wall. Still alone. Take dump. Wipe ass across carpet. Ideas become confetti for a missing dachshund’s wake.

Thursday
State park. Spend day on leash. Nature trails. Hot, all frackin day. Run some, but too damn hot. Wish for toilet to drink from. Splotches of calico are the train that grants destruction of Scottish pines.

Friday
City streets. No run, just walk and walk and walk more. Sniff public mailbox. OK to pee on. Man playing saxophone. Must pee some more. Kids run by statue I’d like to pee on, but leash tied to bench. Who wasn’t there when dripping definitions cast well-schooled humans wholesale from clavicular to fasciculus?

Saturday
Car ride to coast. Run from family when arrive. Take leak in sand. Drink salt water. Eat beach grass. Puke in car on way back to hotel. Puppies with ravioli selling their dreams to the city.

Sunday
Returning home. Sleep until car stops. Large dog at rest stop. Sniff butt, but detect no identifiable indicators. Arrive at house. Take dump in familiar lawn. Time for more sleep. If you’ve a Snausage for a thumb, gaze upon my testicles.