Garbage Day

I remembered to take out the garbage today, but I forgot to unload the little tin can we keep in the driveway. The little tin can contains the solid waste punted out by our two dogs, who weigh a cumulative 210 pounds. They are massive animals and prodigious shitters. Greta is dignified and predictable in her ways, always purging her bowels in one of two or three discreet locations, laboring quickly with a look on her face that signifies deep humiliation and regret. Hazel, by contrast, shamelessly ejects her mighty deposit wherever the mood strikes her; she is in fact so preoccupied with her own rubbish that she begins to sniff at it mid-act, twisting her head around to her ass and spinning in place, the end result being a perfect ring — a Stonehenge in small — of carefully-inspected turds that she somehow avoids stepping on most of the time.

Today's inspiration comes from Slavoj Zizek:

"In a traditional German toilet, the hole into which shit disappears after we flush is right at the front, so that shit is first laid out for us to sniff and inspect for traces of illness. In the typical French toilet, on the contrary, the hole is at the back, i.e. shit is supposed to disappear as quickly as possible. Finally, the American (Anglo-Saxon) toilet presents a synthesis, a mediation between these opposites: the toilet basin is full of water, so that the shit floats in it, visible, but not to be inspected."

I see now that Greta (left) is French, and Hazel (right) is German. Regardless, our driveway is not doing to smell very good this week.