And most people see nature when they walk the dog

So, in a prior post, I concluded that the dog is responsible for my happiness. In seeming cosmic agreement, all our rain rusted the very heavy dog chain (meant for 200-pound dogs), which means Mr. Dog needs walked frequently for potty purposes.

There are plenty of places along the way for waste deposition, abandoned lots and "do not trespass" houses with the orange tags of the city labeling them as unsafe. The best spot is totally grass, where an old granary used to sit. This at the end of a gravel drive which, of course, is quite suitable for the dog. There are a few semi trailers at the end of the gravel drive, leftover from tearing the granary down.

In this very secluded spot, where I was just positive no feet tread on a regular basis, I walked over a muddy CD. Curious, I looked down.

"Transsexual Gangbang Volume 4. Three solid hours!"

Three solid hours for whoever so indiscriminately left it there. I don't even want to contemplate the neighborhood residents right now.

What it was doing where the dog does his necessities, I don't know. I don't even know if there's power supplying those old houses.

Weird. I didn't know what to do with it. I thought about crushing it with my heel, but I wore my slippers. I thought about pocketing it and bringing it home, but I could just see my husband waking up the same time I walked in the door, and me trying to put it in the trash where, even crushed and dirty, some of those CDs are very, very not rated G. Some body parts just look unique, you know? I left it there. If my son walks the dog in my stead (ha ha), he'll be going another direction until I figure out what to do with that CD.

Of course, in my mind, how did they find enough transsexuals for three hours, let alone four volumes?