I love going outside, so I go to the door and whine. My master rolls his eyes,
gets my leash, and clips my leash on my collar. I wag my tail. He opens what he calls his P.O.S. [piece of shit] door and then I’m out. I smell the different breeds of flowers, the scents of other dogs, the tree trunks, the dirt, everything. This is nirvana. I can explore my world, mark my territory, and just be myself. Then, I see another dog, so I bark at it (this is my territory) and try to bite it, but my master picks me up to stop me. I calm down and go pee on an oak tree, and we go home and I get some chicken, my favorite. Life is good. My master has a beer, I lap some water, and we watch tv. I’m part of his family.
Then, nighttime comes, so I go outside again, smell around, mark my territory, come in, get another treat, and go to sleep on my master’s lap, watching TV. He’s watching something he calls The Weather Channel. Life’s good, but the next day the weirdness starts.
I go to the door, ‘cause I need to go, go out, to go potty, but he won’t let me. I want to be good, but he won’t let me. He tells me he understands, but it ain’t safe. So, I whine and go to the door. My man puts me in a box with weird grain stuff (he calls litter) and tells me to go.
“Go. Go here.”
But, I’m supposed to go outside, ‘cause I’m a good dog. I’m a good dog.
So, I hate this grain stuff, ‘cause it’s rough and hurts my paws. The pieces are big and smell like nothing. So, I go by the door, which smells like mold, and pee there. I need to go out. So, my owner sighs and cleans it. I thought he’d yell at me, like he usually does if I go potty in the house, but he doesn’t. He just sighs and cleans it up with a paper towel and soap, but he doesn’t yell at me, which is weird. I was a bad dog.
So, I look outside and the branches on the trees are blowing back and forth, back and forth strong, all over the place. I wish I could mark my territory out there, but my master says no. I don’t know why not. I could still mark my territory out there. I wish my master would let me.
Then, my master turns on the tube. A lady on the TV says something called Hurricane Sandy is coming. I ain’t never heard of no hurricane and the lady says weird things like we should get all our medicine, food, water, first aid kits, and see if we need to go to an emergency shelter. Then my master tells me we can’t go to no shelter ‘cause they don’t take no dogs, so if it comes to our home, “We’re fucked.” We live in something my master calls a rip-off vacation, or an RV. Then, Night comes, I go to the door, and my master puts me back in the strange box with the grain. I go potty in the room where my master goes potty, because it smell like potty. He mumbles under his breath, throws away the throw rug, and puts me back in the strange box.
“Here. Go here, ok? Dumb dog.”
But the grain box doesn’t smell like grass or urine and it hurt my paws. Then, I go to bed in the bed where my master sleeps. It’s a big bed and we used to have a woman who’d pet me and cuddle with me, but my master and her got into a big fight. He says she wanted to sell the RV, so she could go back to school and make something of herself, but my man didn’t want to live with her parents, so she moved back with her folks, and she dumped him. I miss her sometimes. She’d help me with him when he got drunk and pet me when I was scared. She was kind, but we haven’t seen her for years
But now, I cuddle with my master, in our bed, and he puts the blanket over both us, and he whispers to me, “Maybe tomorrow you’ll get it”.
But when I wake up, I look out the window, and weird things are flying in the air, like cows, small trees, cars, weird things, and I’m scared. My master says he tied down the rip-off vacation, but we could still go flying any minute. I’m scared. I miss his girlfriend. But then, though, cause I’m scared, I gotta go potty. So, I go to the door and my master picks me up, and puts me on the grain, and, ‘cause I’m even more scared, I tinkle in the grain and my master says, “Finally!! Hallelujah!! I didn’t think you’d ever get it.”
So, he wants me to go on the grain. This is weird. But, I do. The next time I have to go, three hours later, I put my tail between my legs, go back to the gravel box, and go poop. It’s weird going inside, but I do and I think about it and I don’t want to go outside anymore, ‘cause of the hurricane and the cows flying, and my master praises me.
That night, I see a tree fall down from the wind. I’d never seen that before. The loud rain doesn’t stop for three days. I feel the ground beneath me shake like a rope toy. Then, the wind and the rain stop, and it’s over, but I don’t know if it’ll start again and if it will, when. My master scoops the grain from the box, with a broom and dust pan, and throws the clumps in the trash. Then, he tries to walk me outside, but I pull against him and my collar digs into my neck. But I won’t let him take me out.
“Come on, Stupid. The storm’s over. Go out. Go potty outside.”
But I don’t want to. I don’t want to go potty. I wish I never had to go potty again and if I did, I wish I could be safe. I wish. I wish I was safe. I wish his ex-girlfriend’d come back and keep me safe.