Through the early morning mist I peer, straining my eyes to see into the white fogbound distance as I wend my way wearily into work..
There is an eerie silence to the autumnal dawn; figures move around in the half-light like ghosts, they glide on a blanket of cloud, fading mysteriously in and out of view as the breeze mixes moisture and man into a supernatural soup.
I breathe in the dank air, making my lungs feel heavy, forcing the sleep from my body, exorcising my tiredness and rebooting me into the new day..
And then I see the star, the same terrible star that taunts me every day, I try to look away, but the power of the star is too great, like a visual black hole it draws my gaze, it’s gravitational pull forcing my attention to focus upon it as it throbs and pulsates, as it expands and contracts, as it screams into life and belches forth a stream of filthy dark matter upon the fresh dewy grass.
Again, within five minutes of leaving the sanctity of my home, and stepping forth into the world outside, I have born witness to a dog’s pink and puckered poop chute shedding its shit shamefully upon the streets.
Nothing brings you back to reality like a dog taking its early morning crap. All your dreams and happy feelings are cast aside in the face of Poodles poo hole, or a Rottweilers ring piece defiantly defecating on your doorstep.
Now I don’t per say have anything against dogs, just their arses, they disgust me, they trigger my automatic retch reflex, not because they pass fecal matter, but because they pass it in such copious quantities, and pass it everywhere.
Our parks and paths are littered with dog eggs, left by Labradors, discarded by Dalmatians and shed by Shiatsus, and frankly I’m sick of it.
I no longer wish to see dogs in that position, scuttling along with their legs bents, tails on high and unashamedly anally open.
I no longer want to find little ‘dog messages’ littering the lawns of our land, I want them collected by the owners, and I want failure to do so highly punishable. I want the owners who allow their dogs to leave their excrement exposed to one and all force-fed their pet’s pellets till they puke.
I want dog nappies; I want the nether regions of Newfoundland’s covered, the arse of an Alsatian no longer al-fresco but concealed and camouflaged.
No more then shall I see the early morning star, and my life will be just that little bit better, knowing for certain that the soles of my shoes will remain shit free, and that I can happily frolic like a child, in fields free of festering foxhound fecal fossils.
Dogs, pah!