Picking Up Crap

My brother and his wife recently went out of town, leaving me to house-sit for them. I've done this for them in the past, and I've always enjoyed it. They have Direct TV, which is clearly a step up from basic cable at my parents' house and no cable in my apartment at school. I spend half my time not actually watching anything, but just scrolling down the menu screen to see what my options are. I usually don't end up watching anything different from what I would usually watch, but it's a nice feeling to know that, if I get bored with my normal programming, there are two hundred other channels to choose from.

Also included in the house-sitting duties is the care of my brother's dog, Boris. Walk him, feed him, play with him, keep him company. I had a dog as a kid, and I remember what a pain in the ass it was then, but that's just because I was thirteen and lazy. Now I am twenty-two and lazy, but the care of the dog seems like less of a pain now than it was then. I'd like to think it's the wisdom of age, but I'm pretty sure that that's bull. Maybe I'm just less lazy now.

Whenever I take the dog out on a walk, I have to carry along a plastic bag. This bag serves one purpose and one purpose only: it's what I use to pick up Boris's crap after he gets rid of it. It's a shit bag. I don't disagree with a law that says we can't leave dog crap everywhere, but it's still a little annoying. I'm not sure which is more humiliating: having your dog crap on someone's lawn while they watch, or having your dog crap on someone's lawn and then picking it up with a plastic bag while they watch. I've never actually had either of them happen to me, but every time I take Boris out, I worry that today will be the day. Someone's going to watch me pick up crap today.

Invariably, as I'm walking back to the house, full shit-bag in hand, with Boris leading the way, I get to wondering. If there is intelligent life in the universe, and they happen to be watching me at that moment, what do they see? They see a furry, four-legged animal, leading around a larger, two-legged animal, and the two-legged animal is carrying a bag of of the furry animal's shit with him. What are they going to think? 'The furry one maintains dominance over the large one! Look at how it leads the other on a leash!' Boris really does drag me along with him when we go for walks - again, I'm lazy - and, with very few exceptions, I just go where he wants to go. There would be no discernable evidence to indicate that the relationship between dog and human is anything other than master and servant.

Boris spends most of his time laying around the house, looking out the window and doing nothing. It seems like a pretty good deal for him, and I can't say I haven't wished to try it. So one day I did. Nevermind that I was sick at the time, but I replicated Boris's behavior the best I could. I took time out from sitting in my brother's recliner to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon. I watched bad sitcom reruns on TBS and struggled to stand up to get something to eat. Even once I got the food, I was too tired (or lazy, I'm not sure which) to chew it; I was thus limited to a regiment of apple sauce and bottled water. At the end of the day, I looked over at Boris, fast asleep on the couch, and wondered to myself how he could keep up the breakneck pace of his everyday life.

As much as I envied Boris, though, I had to remember that, whereas I could eat at any time, Boris had to wait to be fed. I could hit the head whenever I wanted to, but Boris was again forced to wait for someone to let him outside. It's a small price to pay, I suppose, for the sheer entertainment that must come from seeing someone pick up your feces with a plastic bag.