Charlie Hatton About This
About Me
Email Me

Charlie Hatton
Brookline, MA

All Quotes


Howdy, friendly reading person!
I'm on a bit of a hiatus right now, but only to work on other projects -- one incredibly exciting example being the newly-released kids' science book series Things That Make You Go Yuck!
If you're a science and/or silliness fan, give it a gander! See you soon!

Doggy’s Got a Brand New Bag

Sometimes, it’s about the small victories. The little things, the minor wins, those brief moments when you can shake your fist in the air and crow, ‘Hoho, Universe — I finally got one!

Or so I’m told. It’s not like I would actually know. When it comes to little things, I’m 0-for-everything. Batting zero. Shutout city.

Every once in a while, it seems as though I could win. I get close. And then the door slams shut, and I’m put back in my place until the next horrific emasculating nightmare.

Take dog poop, for instance. I’ve been dealing with dog poop for a long time — just over twelve years now. That’s almost as long as I’ve been dealing with our dog.

(Like, very almost. There was that brief magical period when we had the dog, and we thought, ‘Hey, maybe this one just doesn’t poop at all. Could it be we dodged the big dog turd bullet altogether?

And then, two hours later, WHAM! One squat, and the honeymoon was over. Ain’t that always the way?)

For most of my poop-scooping experience, I’ve used bags. Clear open-top plastic bags meant for freezing food or keeping sandwiches fresh. Poor little buggers come off the shelf, thinking they’ll be stuffed full of Otter Pops or PB&Js. But no. It’s half-digested horse meat and three-day old rawhide passed through a mutt intestine. *bzzzzzzzzzzt!* Thanks for playing!

(At least I’m not the only one who never wins. Keep yer chin up, sammich bags!)

As of about three months ago, though — just about the time cold weather was setting in — the paradigm changed. My wife decided, bless her precious little heart, that the ‘old bags’ just weren’t cutting it any more. Suddenly, the plain one-gallon transparent jobbies winked out of vogue, like shoulder pads on sports jackets or movies with Renee Zellweger.

Instead, I was told, we had fresh new fashionable poo receptacles — little rolls of plastic bags in neon green and pink and orange, tucked into a little holder and designed precisely for the purpose of snatching steaming scat from besmirched sidewalks.

“Life does nothing but get harder and dumber and more impossibly aggravating as you get older. That’s just how it is.”

Fine, I said. I don’t need the big sales pitch. I’ve used a leaf for the job, when I had to. Hell, I’ve used a dollar bill. I’ve had frozen turd bags, rooms full of doo, and sacks of crap steeped like sun tea in the back of my Maxima. It’s not art, it’s not rocket science — and if you’re asking me to be fashionable while I’m collecting cuckoo canine kaka, then we’re all going to be sorely disappointed. Just give me the damned bag and open the door. I’ve got shit to scoop, lady. Bags is bags.

Or so I thought. Turns out, these bags are not bags. Not always.

No, sometimes these bags are sheets. Little rectangular sheets of plastic that come out of the little holder so tightly squeezed together that the sides don’t separate. You can — sometimes — twist the edges between your fingers to get the sides to open up, or pick at the rim of the bag for a purchase, but that’s about the only way to turn these neon-colored sheets back into the bags they were advertised to me.

And you know what makes them stick more? Cold. Did I mention we started using these in the winter? Yeah. Good times, sunshine. Good times.

Now, all of this was to be expected. Life does nothing but get harder and dumber and more impossibly aggravating as you get older. That’s just how it is. And I spent many a frozen fumble-fingered night standing over a fresh heap of mutt dung, fiddling with one of those stupid effing openless bags and cursing whoever turned my wife onto the godforsaken idea in the first place.

(Because I can’t curse her directly. She KNOWS.)

Until one night, I won. Accidentally, to be sure — but I really thought I’d won. I was fiddling and cursing and fumbly-fingering as before, when suddenly the top of the bag ripped. And in that little ragged plastic edge, the two sides. Magically. Came. Apart.

I felt like Columbus discovering some new land he thought was back in the other direction. Or the ‘Eureka! guy, with the bathtub thing. Or whats-his-name Dyson, when he first thought of putting his balls into a vacuum machine.

(Oh, you know what I mean. Keep yer dust trap on, sparky.)

So for a week, I won. The dog would skitter to the door for a walk, I’d grab a bag and a leash and lead her out, she’d crap her pooching little brains out, and I’d rip the bag. On purpose. Just rip it halfway to hell, open it up, scoop, dump, and be done. After an entire winter of losing, I’d finally won. I beat those bags. Victory was mine!

That lasted about a day. Soon enough, I found the flaw in my winsome little scheme. Namely, that in the dark in the middle of the night — which is prime pooping time, if you ask our persnickety-boweled mutt — there’s no way to tell one end of the bag from the other. So soon enough, I was faced with a pile of pup poop, pulled out a bag and ripped the living shit right out of the bottom.

As you may know, this maneuver does not produce a bag. No, sir. Instead, I stood there holding a new hot pink plastic headband — which is just peachy if a Jane Fonda movie revival were to suddenly break out. But it’s a pretty piss-poor tool for removing shit from a sidewalk. And not ‘winning’. Not by half.

So now I’m back to scrabbling at the corners of these ridiculous bags, freezing my Dyson balls off trying to find a millimeter of space between the sides of these horked-up pooping bags. I had a solution to the problem, for one brief shining moment. And then it blew up in my face.

Also, it dripped on my shoes. And onto my pants. And I washed my hands for three hours that night, but I could still smell the kibble. Yuck.

So now I’ve learned my lesson. ‘Winning’ isn’t everything. Or the only thing. Or anything. Those ‘small victories’ are for other people, in other places, with far more sanity attached to their choice of poop bags. Until I can train the dog to crap directly into a double-handled Hefty, I’m on my own. In the dark. With plastic neon ‘sheets’.

I should have known it would end like this. Universe, you got me again.

Permalink  |  No Comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

HomeAboutArchiveBestShopEmail © 2003-15 Charlie Hatton All Rights Reserved
Me on Film 'n' Stage:
  Drinkstorm Studios

Me on Science (silly):
  Secondhand SCIENCE

Me on Science (real):
  Meta Science News

Me on ZuG (RIP):
  Zolton's FB Pranks
  Zolton Does Amazon

Favorite Posts:
30 Facts: Alton Brown
A Commute Dreary
A Hallmark Moment
Blue's Clues Explained
Eight Your 5-Hole?
El Classo de Espanol
Good News for Goofballs
Grammar, Charlie-Style
Grammar, Revisitated
How I Feel About Hippos
How I Feel About Pinatas
How I Feel About Pirates
Life Is Like...
Life Is Also Like...
Smartass 101
Twelve Simple Rules
Unreal Reality Shows
V-Day for Dummies
Wheel of Misfortune
Zolton, Interview Demon

Me, Elsewhere

Standup Comedy Clips

Selected Clips:
  09/10/05: Com. Studio
  04/30/05: Goodfellaz
  04/09/05: Com. Studio
  01/28/05: Com. Studio
  12/11/04: Emerald Isle
  09/06/04: Connection

Boston Comedy Clubs

 My 100 Things Posts

Selected Things:
  #6: My Stitches
  #7: My Name
  #11: My Spelling Bee
  #35: My Spring Break
  #36: My Skydives
  #53: My Memory
  #55: My Quote
  #78: My Pencil
  #91: My Family
  #100: My Poor Knee

More Features:

List of Lists
33 Faces of Me
Punchline Fever
Simpsons Quotes
Quantum Terminology

...Bleeding Obvious
By Ken Levine
Defective Yeti
Divorced Dad of Two
Gallivanting Monkey
Junk Drawer
Life... Weirder
Little. Red. Boat.
Mighty Geek
Scott's Tip of the Day
Something Authorly
Unlikely Explanations

Full Archive

Category Archives:

(Stupid) Computers
A Doofus Is Me
Articles 'n' Zines
Audience Participation
Awkward Conversations
Bits About Blogging
Bitter Old Man Rants
Blasts from My Past
Cars 'n' Drivers
Dog Drivel
Foodstuff Fluff
Fun with Words!
Grooming Gaffes
Just Life
Loopy Lists
Making Fun of Jerks
Marketing Weenies
Married and a Moron
Miscellaneous Nonsense
Potty Talk / Yes, I'm a Pig
Sleep, and Lack Thereof
Tales from the Stage
Tasty Beverages
The Happy Homeowner
TV & Movies & Games, O My!
Vacations 'n' Holidays
Weird for the Sake of Weird
Whither the Weather
Wicked Pissah Bahstan
Wide World o' Sports
Work, Work, Work

Alas Smith and Jones
Berkeley Breathed
Bill Hicks
Dave Barry
Dexter's Laboratory
Douglas Adams
Evening at the Improv
Fawlty Towers
George Alec Effinger
Jake Johannsen
Married... With Children
Monty Python
Nick Bakay
Peter King
Ren and Stimpy
Rob Neyer
Sluggy Freelance
The Simpsons
The State

Plugs, Shameless
100 Best Humor Blogs | Healthy Moms Magazine



Feeds and More
Subscribe via FeedBurner


RSS 2.0
Site Hosting:
Solid Solutions

Powered by:

Title Banner Photo:
Shirley Harshenin

Creative Commons License
  This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons License

Performancing Metrics

Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

Valid XHTML 1.0

Valid CSS!

© 2003-15 Charlie Hatton
All Rights Reserved