Not My Fault

Not My Fault

Who to blame? My ex-wife.  Undoubtedly.  To be fair the dog had a lot to do with it.  My lawyer has to man up.  The cops and the town my sister lived in completed the rout.

I was the only one who did nothing wrong. Innocent victim is how I think of myself.

I’ve always hated Tuesdays. On general principles.  Until the Tuesday the wife announced I had to go.  Without the dog.

Losing her was an inconvenience. The dog unthinkable. I called my lawyer. He hung up on me. Not my fault.  The dog has colitis.  The whole world is poop city.  My neighbor sued the dog for pooping on his lawn.  What could I do?  I called my lawyer.  He got the dog off.  Sent me a bill for $350.  I sent the bill to the vet who was supposed to cure him.  Sent the bill back with his bill for not curing the dog.  I sued him.

My lawyer sent me another bill for $500. I gave it to the dog who pooped on it. I called the vet. He hung up on me.

I started feeling like Job.

My wife told me to pack up and get out. Mortgage paying not being my thing, she figured the house was hers.  Said her lawyer agreed with her.  She needed the house to raise the dog.  Like having children.  Creepy.   I called my lawyer again.  He hung up on me.

Let her have the house. I wanted the dog.

She locked the dog in her bedroom and went to work.   Tried to fill up the car with the gas card.  No dice.  Went to the ATM.  No dice.  No use calling my lawyer.  It was his fault I was in this mess.  Decided to send him a bill for pain and suffering when I had time.

All packed and ready to go. What to do about the dog?  My dog.  When I married her, I adopted him.  More mine than hers.

I tried to open the door with a credit card like they did on TV. No dice.

Lucky for the dog, the bedroom window was open. All it took was lifting the screen to liberate the dog.  Lucky she was at work.  He kept howling as I dragged him down the hall and out the door.  Loaded him into the car and took off.

He pooped at the first stop sign.

Nerves probably. Joy, too.  It was going to be a great adventure.

Staying at my sister’s house.  Isn’t that what families are for?  She wanted to know how long.  As long as it takes.  Honestly what did she expect?

The first time he pooped on her Oriental. Little attack of nerves.  He’ll get over it.

He stayed outside after that. She wanted him to wear diapers in the house.  Not on your life.  Whoever heard of a man wearing diapers?  Even a dog. Identity crisis big time.  Squat to pee instead of lifting his leg.  What if he got PTSD from the assault on his manhood?  Couldn’t sue the VA.

I declared a poop-free zone in the basement and kept him down there. If it was good enough for me.

Things calmed down after a few weeks. Like I always knew they would.  I walked the dog and he pooped on her neighbor’s lawn.  I kept forgetting to bring a bag.  What’s the big deal?  He didn’t poop much at one time.  The rain washed it away.  Some of it dried up and blew away to another lawn. Turned out his lawn got to be the greenest one in the neighborhood.  Good fertilizer.  Which made the dog a green dog.  I explained about the environmental benefits of having a poopy dog.  My sister frowned.  Lack of environmental spirit I told her when the neighbor called to complain.  I even got him a license to make him legal.  Ten bucks.  What a rip off.

Six months later, we moved. New town, new apartment, new neighbors.  The dog was happier.  He only pooped indoors when he got pissed.  Like the time he was chewing on my good pair of shoes and I took them away.  He pooped.  I gave him an old pair.  He pooped.  He liked chewing on the new pair.  You could hardly see the teeth marks when I was wearing them.

I didn’t have the money to fix the speedometer. It wouldn’t go above 20.  That’s how the trouble started.  You could say that the speedometer was partly to blame.

We were barreling down the road to my apartment. Me and the dog.  I don’t normally speed.  I’m a very law abiding person.  It was the dog.  I wanted to get home before he pooped in the car.  Whenever he was getting ready to poop, he made gurgling noises and his left eye blinked.  I counted on a short grace period before the deluge.   He had been blinking and gurgling for several minutes before I noticed.  I forget the speedometer was broken.  One block away from the apartment.  Hang on doggie.

I heard the siren before I spotted the lights in my rear view mirror. The officer was very sympathetic after I rolled down the window and he smelled it.  Run a check on my license, standard practice.  I could go home and clean up the car.

They handcuffed me and put me in the back seat of the first police car. Everyone holstered their guns when I was safely locked in.  The other four police cars took off.

They didn’t handcuff the dog. He sat next to me.

A fugitive from justice. I was on my way to jail.  So was the dog.  More deserved in his case.

The desk sergeant looked at me and the dog. A lady detective came downstairs to question me.  They handcuffed me to a bench.  The dog sat next to me.  He wasn’t handcuffed.

I was ready to confess if they told me what I did. They didn’t know.  The computer had a bunch of numbers and letters by my name.  The dog wasn’t in the computer.

The dog was not a fugitive from justice.

The lady detective climbed on a stool and reached for a big book on the top shelf of the bookcase. She and the sergeant took turns turning the pages looking for the numbers by my name in the computer.

No dice.

Did I hear the faint stirrings of a gurgle? I looked at the dog.  He wasn’t blinking yet.  Only a matter of time.

They sat next to me and put the book in my lap. The three of us were looking through the book to find the numbers and letters of my crime.

The dog was beginning to gurgle louder.

We found it on the last page.

I’m not one to throw anyone under the bus. Particularly a defenseless dog.  It was right there in black and white.  The dog was the perp.  Me the innocent victim.

Remember that dog license I paid $10 for? A real rip off.  I moved to a different town and didn’t renew the dog’s license since the dog didn’t live there any more.

The town issued a warrant for my arrest. Pulled my driver’s license.

The dog got away scot-free.

A fugitive from justice driving with a suspended license. The night judge set my bail at $100.

I called my ex-wife. She hung up on me.

I called my lawyer. He hung up on me.

My sister was hysterical. I was the first criminal in the family.  Rot in jail.

The dog pooped on the bench.

They took off my handcuffs and gave me a rag to clean it up. The desk sergeant had me covered all the time.

The dog and I shared a cell.

Early next morning the ASPCA bailed out the dog.

The dog was gurgling again.

They knew what that meant. Told me to take the dog and get out pronto.

He pooped outside the door of the police station. If they hadn’t made us stay overnight, the dog wouldn’t have pooped. At least not there. Not my fault.

The judge was grumpy. He didn’t like me.  Said he’d rather talk to the dog.  Why was I taking up his time with bullshit?

I hope the dog didn’t hear that.

He fined me $50 for wasting his time.

The dog was acquitted.

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