Big Brass Ones

His Holiness and I

The biped and I, in common with the Pope (and, presumably, even Cardinal Sin), occasionally have to spit in the woods.

I, myself, do not make a big production out of the matter (there is, sometimes, a fairly large production of matter, of course, what with my being a largish dog, but that is, if you will, another matter altogether). I just stop and assume the position wherever the spirit moves me (if spirit is quite the motive force I am looking for here).

His Holier-than-thou-ness, on the other hand (and, one assumes, the Pope), finds it necessary to drag privacy and availability of facilities and hygienic conditions and whatnot into his considerations. And if all his desiderata are not met, as they sometimes are not, he finds himself distressed.

So he is pleased that the cash-strapped Monterey County Parks Department has seen fit to install a porta-potty near the Mesa Pond in Garland Park--assuming, that is, that you can call something with two wheels and a trailer hitch installed. They have not provided a morning paper, but beggars, I am reliably informed, cannot be choosers.

And now, if you would all please bow your heads and join me in a benediction:

Futuantur si non oblectantur, Littermates.