Mondays and Thursdays I show up at Abandoned Pet Rescue and walk some of the large dogs. I've been doing this for five and a half years and it's quite routine for me. Usually I take the same dogs every time. They get to know me, and I get to know them, so there aren't any surprises. I was four dogs into it, walking down the grassy area next to the railroad tracks with one of my favorites, Kobe. As I passed one of the other dog walkers I mentioned that I could hear my stomach gurgling. He made a little comment, and we both chuckled. About fifty feet further along, it gurgled again. Not a gentle little gurgle, but one that made me think of a volcano about to blow.
"Come on Kobe, we have to pick up the pace here."
Kobe looked up at me, then continued his slow mosey through the grass.
"No, really we have to go."
Kobe had no idea what I was saying, only that I was paying attention to him. He liked it. By this time it was clear that I was going to Al Roker right there if I wasn't careful. So I clenched my butt cheeks tight, turned Kobe around, and made a quick dash back to the shelter using tiny butt clenching steps. I made it back, put Kobe back into his kennel, and headed straight for the bathroom. It was locked, somebody was in there. For five very long minutes I waited for whoever was in there to come out. My butt clenching, unfortunately, was only good for four and a half minutes.
I don't believe in karma, or divine intervention, but it was somewhat of a coincidence considering what I wrote yesterday. I was sick, and I made at least five visits to the bathroom before Mark offered to drive me up to the CVS so I could get some Imodium. He takes such good care of me when I'm sick.