Dog Shit Does Not Break The Fall

Just over a week ago Mark, Willie, and I, put up the Christmas tree. The final result was a beautiful display of ornaments and lights, twinkling, and glittering in our living room. It was one of Mark’s finest years for decorating. Unfortunately, yesterday we determined that Mark was allergic to it. Not just the tree, but the lovely live pine boughs that Mark had used to decorate various other rooms in the house. All day long on Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day, Mark slaved away in the kitchen making Puerto Rican pasteles, sliced baked potatoes with cheese and bacon on top, spinach gratin, delicious prime rib roast, and a red velvet cake. The problem was he couldn’t breathe because of the live pine in the house, and he had to stop every few minutes to huff on his nebulizer. That meant either the tree, or Mark would have to go. By a slim margin it was decided that it would be the tree.

So yesterday, on the 26th of December, Mark removed himself from the house (He went shopping), while I dismantled Christmas. To start, the decorative boughs from on top of the china cabinet went, then the bits of live pine from on top of the television cabinet, and finally the Christmas tree itself. Sounds easy, doesn't it? After removing the pine branches, I had to dispose of them. I gathered the large pile up in my arms, pushed my way past the ever present dogs, opened the back door, and started walking down towards the front of the dog run. That was when I stepped halfway off the sidewalk. My foot turned ninety degrees inward, my ankle made a popping noise, and with excruciating pain shooting up through my leg, I slammed down onto copious piles of dog shit. Dog shit of various ages, and freshness. As I lay there writhing in pain, and screaming at the top of my lungs, I did have the wits about me to not curse. After all, I was sure the neighbors could hear me, and all the kids are home from school and playing outside. Despite my bloody screams, nobody came to my aid.

Realizing nobody was going to help me, I dragged myself back into the house, took two Excedrin, and rested for a half hour before I continued with my next task. After stripping the tree of all ornaments, and lights, I undid what I had done the week before. I loosened the bolts holding the Christmas tree upright. It immediately flopped over, spilling the water I had put in the stand just before Mark decided it was to be taken down. There it lay, splayed across the living room floor, pine needles everywhere, and a flood of water moving towards the carpet. Now I cursed, I cursed good and loud. I used every foul, and dirty word I could conjure up. Then I dragged that damn thing out the door, and to the street, leaving a trail of pine needles and a few filthy words floating in the air behind me.