The Grovester shits about three times a day -- one or two "on the road," during his walks, and then another couple in the backyard. Until recently, it's been pretty easy to find the ones in the yard and bag 'em up. Usually, I'll see him all hunched over into that I'm-pinchin'-a-big'n, doggy question mark stance but sometimes I miss it and have to go a-huntin'.
In the past week, though, an assload of leaves have started falling into the yard -- brown, curly leaves. I think there must be a B.M. tree nearby 'cuz now everything looks like a fucking turd. Tonight, the Old Lady and I couldn't find his late-night leavings and we were trying to sniff the lil' smokies out.
That's when I came up with my idea for a dogshit-locating detective show. Each week, the private dick would show up at a different yard and try to hunt down the missing dumps.
Okay, it's a shitty idea, but it gave me an opportunity to come up with some half-assed, dogshit-related detective show puns, so indulge me.
Here are the potential show names, so far...
Turder She Wrote
The Rockford Piles (or as Mr. Z amended, The Rockfart Piles)
Hill Street Poos
Homicide: Turd on the Street
Nancy Poo (Miss O came up with that one)
and my favorite, Magnum P.U., starring Tom Smellit.
Holy shit, I think the fumes have gotten to me. I need to wash my hands and get some sleep.