While Picking Up My Dog’s Poop, I Hear My Neighbors Having Sex

I pluck my dog’s shit from the backyard with a shit scooper that looks like a cyborg arm and I drop the turds in an old Walmart bag. The bag gets heavy with broken down Old Roy Dinner Rounds, wheat toast, fruit snacks, strips of shoe leather, part of the grill cover, twisted knots of nibbled grass, the finger of a Barbie, the horn of a plastic triceratops, a half loaf of banana bread and the tinfoil in which it was wrapped, the splintery bones of the squirrel carcass he choked down on last Friday’s walk.

I am lost in the listing of the foods in Wiley’s shit, and what the list might say about his palate or ours, when I hear our neighbor, Misty, and her boyfriend Karl, having sex. Misty is moaning, saying:

“Karl, Karl, Karl, Karl, kuh, kuh, guh, guh…”

I imagine her Gilda Radner hair splayed out on a dirty pillowcase, her eyes rolling back in her head, her busted teeth piercing her crusty bottom lip. It’s too hot to be having sex like that with the window open, I think. The air is wet; the heat index is a dog-killing 105. Her bedroom has to smell like a high school wrestling room: a swampy amalgamation of ringworm, pubes and sexual frustration.

I am clammy — too much caffeine, too little food, too little sleep, too much Gallo Family wine the night before, too many “kuhs” and “guhs,” too much dog shit smell. I try to hum a tune to block out the groans, but she starts to scream, and I wonder what elusive calculus, what great pattern of cosmic coincidences and timing, have brought me to this place in this exact moment, holding a plastic bag full of dog shit and listening to my neighbors bone.

For a moment I understand the plight of the lightning strike survivor, the hit-and-run victim, all the people who are forever altered by their presence in a certain place at a certain time. I am an expression of fate, a unit of destiny. I am proof that there is order in the universe.

Then it is over, the sex and the groaning, and I am just a man emptying a bag of shit into his neighbor’s yard. TC mark

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  • rgar

    Hahahaha! Yeah . . . This made my evening. Cheers.

  • Elizabeth

    I first laughed at the title, then I laughed even harder at the article.  Love it!

  • Anonymous

    You’ve actually managed to find an entertaining and appropriate venue in which to use “bone” as a verb.  My sincere congratulations–it’s not an easy feat.  Well done.

  • http://brianburke.tumblr.com/ brian burke

    cool punchline

  • Anonymous

    I laughed so hard at this. Neighbor sex and dog shit all at once. No choice but to take it like a man then let it all out with an awesome article.  

  • TO

    The title alone makes it a TC classic.

  • Anonymous

    Misty sounds like a babe.

  • RAH!

    Haha.  Truly classical!

  • http://twitter.com/Flarfer Dave P

    More like this, please. Outfuckingstanding.

  • Cameobabe

    See?  This is why I love Thought Catalogue – BEST yet!

  • MATTHEWMJG

    GROSS. SO SORRY FOR THAT … I BET YOU STILL CAN’T GET IT OUT OF YOUR HEAD HUH?

  • Thesoundofsummerx

    Dude I literally LITERALLY just had this happen to me yesterday and somehow I came across this article, barely noticing the picture in the upper hand corner of a page I got to by looks up lyrics to a Kanye West song… Your quote is amazing and I can not be more thankful for the way things are… ” I am an expression of fate, a unit of destiny. I am proof that there is order in the universe.”

  • Industry

    Wow.  This is very good.  TC -> More like this.

  • Dole

    your experience with Wiley and Misty sounds excruciatingly similar to many experiences I have had visiting the Thought Catalog website.

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