The Kids Got a Dog by JC Hendley

The Kids Got a Dog
by JC Hendley

The kids got a dog.

Well, I got a dog.

The dog is two years old. They say he could live to be 12. Possibly 15.

If I’m lucky.

My son could be 30 and living in Australia with a wife and kids by then.

I’ll still be standing in this park with the dog.

Lucky me.

I’ve learned a lot about dogs.

Our dog’s farts are woeful. I mean, fuck me. Stomach-churning humdingers. Proper hum.

Our dog — hmm, my dog — poos two to three times a day.

I don’t remember feeding him that much.

I suppose his system is a bit like the loaves and fishes, only in reverse.

I’ve acquired new skills. Skills I didn’t know existed.

Like how to pick up dog poo.

I count how much he squeezes out. In chunks.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

The first one is usually the biggest, then progressively smaller. Usually.

I count them so I don’t miss a bit when I’m picking it up.

There’s a skill to it. An art, really.

Do I go for the quick wins first and pick up the big bits, or do I start with the smaller ones and make the end of this disgusting job easier?

Smaller ones first, I think.

I can’t believe I’ve written this down.

But you’ve got to think of something when it’s just you and the dog.

We spend a lot of time together, me and the dog.

Why not write it down? Share it. Connect with other eejits.

The smaller bits are usually softer. Firm to mushy.

The big bits are firmer. Easier to pick up.

So, small to big it is.

I’ve now perfected the technique. I can get the whole lot using one inverted bag.

Initially, I needed three bags.

Amateur.

But you learn.

I used to think the temperature of it would be the worst part.

Turns out, it isn’t.

It’s the fucking smell.

And sometimes it’s hard to open those bloody dog poo bags.

Try as I might, sometimes the darn thing just won’t open.

I pull it apart. Rub it between my hands.

Dog lead under one arm.

Perhaps if I lick my fingers and rub the bag, it’ll open.

Perhaps not.

Since getting the dog, I wash my hands more frequently than I did during Covid.

Then, in the evening twilight, you suddenly notice the writing on the bag is upside down.

Fuck’s sake.

Who knew you needed reading glasses, poo bags, a coat, a lead, extra bags just in case, the ability to open fucking plastic bags in the dark and drizzle, all just to walk a dog?

I now walk around the local streets and parks with a dog lead in one hand and try to nonchalantly carry a bag of dog shit in the other.

Like this is completely normal.

Why can’t it be the 70s again?

You didn’t need to walk dogs.

They just wandered around and pooed wherever they wanted.

And the rest of us just walked in it, then traipsed it down the hall when we got home.

My mum was good at cleaning it off our shoes.

She had a special toothbrush.

That was her skill.

Mine is picking it up.

The kids got a dog.

I got a dog.

Fucking dog.