of innocence and dogshit: A Parable

when i was a kid, i would jackrabbit and cavort everywhere with sheer innocence and delight in life. out of the car. across the yard. on the sidewalk. on the playground. y'know, human kid places.

in time, as i segued to adolescence, i began to notice a pattern and a certain mmm je ne sais quoi, shall we say, capricious humor from the Heavens Above. because it seemed everywhere i would jackrabbit and cavort with innocence and delight, my waterbuffalo-ish peds would land squarely in a pile of DogShit. now this may be cosmic retribution for our childish games inflicted on the string of dogs we had that all seemed to mysteriously disappear. but that is another scooby story for another day.

now DogCrap, as it is well known, is nigh impossible to remove from the treads of one's shoes. wiping the soles of one's sneakers on grass or concrete does not suffice and point of fact only serves to streak the shit and work it in deeper. grinding your shoe soles in a puddle while hoping you don't backsplash any sludge on yourself is equally ineffective.

while the labyrinthine tread of your shoes is great for say running on asphalt and skidmarking wood floors, it is the cu chi tunnels for doggy doo. the festering substance is well and good squished up in the intricate crevices requiring a toothpick or some such to diligently furrow it out while freaking out about having to be millimeters away from bane fecal matter expurgated from the anus of a foul omnivorous slavering beastie, gagging from the offensive malodorous goo, and wretchedly indignant from the whole experience and now everyone's looking at my feet and knows i wear pro-wings. if the free lunch pass hadnt already given it away. damn. entire psychotherapy sessions could be based on such a thing.

while divested of my innocent delight and seeking preventative measures, i prevailed upon myself to develop my own defensive strategy which entailed diligent observance of where i set foot since the sneaks had to last til my next growth spurt. this preoccupation-from-necessity of mine in time became a subconscious habit of mine like a virus software unobtrusively scanning one's hardware for imminent threat. having this in the startup files of my operating system efficiently diverted me (and my companions) from further crapulent contamination. and the fortuitous incidental side effect of shit-radar is finding wadded up money in random places where some foolish wallet-luddite had creased their hip pocket just so like manna falling from heaven into my deprived little hands thus rectifying adolescent cosmic imbalance.

ah, but a lifetime of looking out for shit is just that. a lifetime of seeing shit. i literally see (and avoid) shit everywhere i go, because dogs, being dogs, shit everywhere their cussed owners let them. ("walking the dog" really just means befouling someone else's yard/public space. a selfish transference of responsibility. it is the American Way.) i oftimes don't notice the wildflowers or breathtaking horizon because i'm holding my breath scrupulously avoiding the fetid mound despoiling the earth (because when you smell something you are actually ingesting particulate molecules of that substance. shudder.) and simultaneously derailing my companion from meeting that fate with a luchador-worthy fullbody check. and if its not Feces, then it's its nasty cousin Vomit or Gum or anything Undesirable to get on One's Sole.

so here we come to the Moral of the Parable:

• if you look for Shit, inevitably, you will find it.

• concurrently, if you traipse about Life Unaware, you will step in Shit and defile yourself.

• penultimately, Shit Happens.

• and lastly, i'm a great person to walk with when you have Shiny New Kicks.

Choose-Your-Own-Moral (CYOM)™. multiple contradictory truths coexisting simultaneously. thus spake feralnative.

weo, this aint jonathan livingston seagull's blog.

shrimpy says "truuue story."