A Snowstorm Makes River Reflect on Poop Neutrality

I didn’t sleep well Friday night.  There was something in the air, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.  I was awake before the alarm went off.  When Daddy took me outside, I realized the foul, officious malignancy that had upset my normal sleep pattern.  It was snow.

I spent my first year in Florida surrounded by too many dogs and too few humans.  I have it so much better now.  There are two humans to every sibling.  There is always an open lap.  I get lots of individual attention.  My life could not be better.  Then someone made it snow.

I want nothing to do with it.  Most of the time I find humans pooping and peeing inside a refillable water dish reprehensible.  And they call us animals.  But when there is snow on the ground I wish to join them in this most malicious act.  Move your feet human, for, while I may not be able to lift my privates over the rim I can certainly evacuate next to the porcelain throne.

“Bad girl,” they say when I do the same act they complete several times a day, more so if they have eaten Mexican.  When I am outside, my death of Adam tickling the snow, they insist I pee.  They train us not to pee in the house and most of us (Pocket’s company excluded) learn.  We all become professors of voluntary urine retention.  My bladder could be bursting, but I can stand in the cold and hold my pee barely showing the slightest effort while my parents shiver and shake in the cold.

I could hold out (or in, as the case may be) until I break my parent’s will, we go back inside, and I let the water loose like the Hoover Dam opening, but I inevitably pee because the yellow stain would make my parents more frustrated, and I, like all dogs, have the unconquerable instinct to please them, and making them impatiently stand freezing is revenge enough for not being given equal indoor pee and poop rights.

They say this storm “only” dropped four inches of snow, but when your legs are only three inches high, four is more than enough, especially when you run around without pants on, which is why Harvey Weinstein can’t get a movie funded in Hollywood anymore.

I will not pee without permission, but if the snow persists, I will cinch my bladder tight, and slowly break them, until I gain temporary indoor pee rights, something Pocket claimed by having a weak bladder years ago.

Then peace shall reign throughout the land.