Whenever I see someone walking a dog down the street
my face turns into a Tortellini and I start to feel like
I’m 9 again and about to protect an insecure kid
from being punched in the back by a future crack addict
bully on the playground.
I think this might have something to do with the fact that
my father, when he was alive, paid more attention to his dogs
than to me, and now whenever I see one with an owner
I get jealous and secretly think they should be walking and
petting me.
Add to this soft serve spiraling pile of disgust that they make
leashes for kids nowadays, and it shouldn’t be a canned
surprise that upon seeing a dog, or any pet, a part of me
gets ready to bark, and drag his backside across the carpet.
From the driveway nobody sets a foot inside, I lift my little
asshole, Tortellini-faced snout into the air and yell at the
world for not noticing that I’m here.