The Lone Turd

Once upon a time, there was a single, solitary turd. He was born from Britta's butt, but he knew not who Britta was, nor that she was a dog. He did not know the amount of preparation that had gone into his coming about. And he did not know that within seconds of his birth, he would be headed to his demise.

Oh, the frustration that went into his being! First, Britta had to alert her Momma that she needed to go out. Of course, the turd was conceived long before this - at least a day. But let's not start at the beginning. We will start in the middle, like Pulp Fiction. Once Momma was alerted to this need, she had to get up from under the warm covers of her bed. She had to put on pants. A big thick jacket. Shoes. She had to search for her hair clip, so as to clip her hair up so wind will not blow it in her face as she searches in the grass for the future turd and what should have been his comrades. She had to put the collar on Britta, who does a little dance and shakes her head around as if playing "You can't catch me" with Momma.

Once outside, Momma and Britta both have to endure the cold, wet weather. Britta doesn't like it one bit. They both stand there, on the sidewalk looking at the wet soggy grass, and then looking at each other, as if daring the other one to go in it and "do business". Finally, Britta concedes and steps in. Now the real labor ensues. It's wet, and no spot is a good spot, so Britta must walk around forever, back and forth on her leash, and do a series of "pretend potties". She squats like she's about to go, but quickly stands back up and looks for another spot. Testing out each patch of grass but standing back up without doing anything, because no spot lived up to her standards. Finally, after bone-chilling minutes have passed, she finds the one pure spot and gets in that specific hunched position. Slowly and with great concentration from Britta, the turd is born and falls into the grass. But Britta quickly stands upright and jumps off the soggy greenness back onto the safe firm concrete. She is done. Tail wagging, she is ready to go back inside to her warm house, her warm bed. Momma is standing there, looking at the lone turd, muttering words that sounds like "That's it?" Momma tries to lead Britta back into the grass for some more, but Britta is adamant. It is time to go in. Momma pulls out a blue baggie and scoops up the lone turd, thinking what a waste of a baggie, then ties it in a knot at the top and throws in it a trash can. There, the lone turd suffocates to death. The lone turd never knew he was in a trash can for his kind... one of many baggies all consisting of other turds, some lone, some not. It is the holocaust for turds, piled on top of each other, all sent to their inevitable doom.

Due to the graphic nature of this story, no photos related to the incident will be published.