This picture was taken on Monday (July 11th 2016) on my way from work so the pile isn’t fresh. In the morning when I came to work, it was fresh with a fly flying around it (oh, btw, if a fly is flying, is a bird birding? think about it). During lunch I mentioned the pile to my colleagues. I was wondering whose pile is it and how could anyone (dog? human being?) be so precise without injuring his a*s on the wall. They are accustomed to me and my mind so they even tried to provide me with an answer. One theory was that it is dog’s and since we were eating, one theory was enough even for me. After work I took the pic and sent it to the only female colleague that had had lunch with us that day. She agreed it was a dog, a well mannered dog because the odds of one stepping into it would involve some pretty mystique circumstances.
I had the urge to write about this because I still cannot comprehend how can anyone make that pile without injuring himself. And no, the pile wasn’t made somewhere else and dumped there because I saw it when it was fresh. Someone would left some stains around it. I deleted the pile pic from my phone by accident so I had to ask my colleague if she kept it.
“Thank god she kept it for these three days!”, I can hear you say. Indeed, it is great to have somebody in our lives who is saving our sh*t. Literally. I told her that too because I wanted to let her know how much I appreciate her. Also, I made it clear that me asking for a pic is NOT an invitation to her to ask me why I need it. Again, it is great to have somebody in our lives that is able to deliver sh*t she had been saving, on command, without asking about petty details. Now, allow me to connect this pile of sh*t (Am I talking about my post or the pic? One will never know…) to today’s prompt.
Were you ever near a child that didn’t get his or her portion of afternoon nap? Those kids are usually rather nervous and it takes just a small poke to turn them into a raging storm of nagging and complaining and whining/whimpering/sniveling. If you make a mistake and say “You are tired, you need to rest.” suddenly little storm focuses on you.
“I do not need rest, I doooooooo noooooooooooooot. You said I need a rest but I dooooooooooooooooooooooon’t!” (Let me make a pause here to kiss my mouse that is still napping…done! Please do the same with your mouses even if they are storming right now.)
As a child I learned quickly what a proverb
Do not poke a sh*t.
means. It meant when my sister is in a bad mood, I shouldn’t provoke her tears because that is precisely what she is waiting for to start a storm of whimpering. Being who I was (I could just as well say “am” but at the moment I am pretending to be a grown up), sometimes I would ignore that proverb, poke her and enjoy the show. I would do the same with my brother.
Anyway, last year, my mouse and me were having a walk when we stumbled upon a sh*t. It was dog’s and I had no concerns about how dog made the pile without injuring itself since it was on a meadow. It was almost white and it didn’t stink. I gave my son a small stick and encouraged him to poke it. At first he refused but I was stubborn and insisted on it so finally he poked it. The sh*t stank.
“This is why, my little mouse, we don’t poke sh*ts, because afterwards they stink. Can you smell it?”
It would be my style to offer him a comparison with real life, the one I shared with you already, but this time I really can’t remember what words I used to introduce that topic.
Prompt was Storm but I had writermindnow‘s comment in my mind while writing this. Some things can remain only ours and hoover in journals/souls/minds until they fade away and something else comes in our way. Other things, even these that I shared today, can become piles in our posts. We can poke them as much as we want to because if thinking hurt us, we would not get into blogging in the first place.