Natural Born Shitter

"Crabby old ladies," Mom cried. "They're all terrible here at Brookdale. I hate 'em!" 

"They're not all crabby, Mom," I drily rejoined. "Some are dyspeptic. Others? Splenetic."

Someone had called the Brookdale Police that Mom's dog was a poopin' menace--mainly poopin' in the hallway, and consequently someone ran their walker through the poop, getting poop all over the wheels of their walker ha ha. 

"I blame society."

"Michael called and said if I get another complaint they're going to fine me!" Mom said. "Can you believe the gall of these people?"

"But wasn't Bailey the perp?"

"We don't know that. She's such a good dog. And if she did, it was because she was scared, out alone in the hall away from me. And she probably got yelled at by one of the crabby women here. If you attack my dog, you attack me! But I think I know what happened. Chris had been here, he left the door a little open, and Bailey got out and ran after him..."

"Probably wanting to be rescued. But go on."

"And then, the poor dear, she was in the halls and got lost probably, and I didn't see she was gone until a few minutes later and I went out and yelled for her, oh, I was so scared! And then she came running around from the corner, the poor darling."

"Probably a bit lighter, so she ran fast."

"And now I get this threat that they're going to fine me! I hate this place!"

"And what's this?"

"That's Bailey's new anxiety bed. She doesn't want to sleep in it yet, but maybe tonight..."

"Can't... breathe...."

"I don't think she needs any more anxiety, Mom..."

"She looks hungry. I better get her some dinner."

"Yes, she needs more ammo. And then we can let her out into the hallway. Free range it."

"That's not funny even to joke about. But I want you to know that I've been working on something. I've been writing something."

"Really? Are you writing your memoir? Remember, you can't write about being on the kindertransport, that's already been taken. (On sale now!) Or about fiat currency. (Banned worldwide!)"

"I'm writing an essay called THEY NEVER HAD A CHANCE."

"Uh... Let me guess, it's about the Nuggets this year."

"It's about you boys. You and Mark and Chris. You boys never had a chance."

"I don't know, Mom, that sounds faintly critical. I mean, it sounds like we grew up to be failures."

"No, no, no! I don't mean that at all!"

"Then what do you mean?"

"I just mean you had a hard time, with your father leaving when you were little boys, and then things were so hard for me as a single mom and how I had to raise you three boys by myself, with almost no help from that awful man, what was I thinking when I married him? I wish someone had told me he was going to be so awful. He's awful, Greg. I know he's your father, but he's awful. But I want you to love him."

"Hm. A lot to unpack. Speaking of which..."

"BAILEY!"

Bailey was squatting over her anxiety bed.

"That did the trick!"

"Oh, you bad dog! You BAD DOG! Will you please be good, for once?"

Bailey seemed to think about it. And then said: "Pass."

"Wow. She might be bad, but at least she's acquired human speech."

"Oh, but are you hungry, my darling precious? Greg, bring the bucket over here..."

Mom fastened a little bib on Bailey, dandling her as she hand-fed her strips of chicken, her greasy fingers getting licked.

"Oh, my glacious! Oh! Giggle. Oh...!"

"I'm Audi 5000." 

I ran out, and made sure the door was shut very, very securely.