The Yard Buffet

I have a new tool in my endless battle against dog crap. No, it’s not Barbie. It’s Zane.

The kid is drawn to poop like flies are drawn to, well, poop. He finds landmines in the yard that have gone undetected for years. The stuff is fossilized. Just this morning he picked up a handful of what could possibly be dinosaur droppings.

I don’t know if he has some sort of deficiency, you know like the kids that eat coal and dirt, or if he’s just too lazy to chew his own food, but I’ve had to run across the yard to block his bite, like Jordan on Bacon, too many times for my liking. I almost spilled my beer once.

I clean up the damn dog crap every day, yet without fail the supply is always restocked. I think the key ingredients in dog food must be coffee and Taco Bell.

In fact, the only thing I’ve ever seen poop as much as the dogs is Thing 2, that being Zane himself. As I mentioned before, the respect is mutual. Perhaps that is all this is, the bond of artists appreciating the work of the other. Whatever it is, it’s pretty gross.

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