Poop Shute

Sadie Goes Potty

It's a balmy night. Not warm. Not cold. A perfect temperature for a short stroll to pee. It's quiet. The only sounds that make it to us, behind our apartment building, is the pulsing soft hum of the freeway on the other side of the hill.

A car pulls up beside the patch of grass I'm standing near. It's brakes make an almost inaudible whine right at the last second before stopping. I hear the parking brake engaged, and the loud purr of the engine shuts off.

It's 9 pm and I'm waiting under a street light for my dog to find just the right spot to pee. Sadie, like many dogs, is keenly aware that every pee has a preordained perfect spot. Every pee has it's own destiny and she will be damned if she won't find it. Sometimes it's right at the outset of the trip. Just two simple sniffs and... AH-HA! There's the rub. Mission accomplished, and the bladder empties. But not tonight. Tonight she's taking her time, so I let my eyes wander over the newly arrived car.

It's just outside my orangey pool of light, so I can't make out the model, but I can plainly see it's expensive. You can tell by the shape, the lines of the thing. It is a car that makes a statement. I can see through the window the vague shape of a female driver with a cigarette between her lips. In my mind I decide to call her The Duchess. Then I quickly realize that I'm being judgemental. For all I know she could be a nanny and it's her employer's car. Still though. I decide to stick with Duchess.

A blond woman in her mid 40s steps out of the driver's side. She sighs for a moment, looks around and then stubs out her cigarette butt with her high heal shoe, and smiles at me. It was a weak smile. Calling it half-hearted would have been giving it too much credit. It was a smile that made it very clear that it was the minimal possible effort she could manage at being pleasant. As if to say "you don't look important enough for a full smile. I'm saving those up. You get this one instead. It's the same one I give to the neighbor whose dog shits on my lawn."

Yep. The Duchess it is.

Apparently. Sadie was finishing her potty break. That head-to-toe shake that dogs do when wet is something of a tick for Sadie. The Duchess is startled by the sound of Sadie's ears slapping against the sides of her tiny dog head as she gives a good shake, a compulsory finishing move for her, akin to the human male's "follow up jiggle." The Duchess's attention shifts from me to Sadie. On first sight of the dog, suddenly the woman's fake-almost smile grew to a full beaming ear-to-ear. This is the one she probably gives to the pool boy who is secretly banging her behind her husband's back. There I go again. I don't even know if she's married. Or if she even has a pool.

She then looks back to me, gracing me with this new, second smile. "Your dog is SO adorable. What's her name?" Apparently I'm also SO adorable by association. Suddenly now I'm worthy.

I might have responded favorably if it were not for the sickening smell of stale cigarettes and hand lotion pouring off of her.

No. Who am I kidding? There was never any way I was going to respond favorably. "Go fuck your pool boy," I righteously shout as I walk on by with my SO adorable dog.