My dog, Carter, underwent a large-scale regulatory failure a few days ago. I took him out on his morning walk, watched him poop twice, and then noticed a considerable amount of fecal residue still clinging to the fur encircling his anus. This residue is known as a “dingleberry” in medical circles, and can often be addressed using low-risk intervention techniques, such as using your doggie bag to grab the satellite bolus. However, echoing earlier pooptime imbalances in Carter’s history, this particular dingleberry mushed up upon direct contact, getting further enmeshed into his fur.
I don’t need to tell you what a mess this caused. Desperate to contain the crisis, I used the doggie bag to crudely pull the smear out of his hair, but there remained a substantial amount of the “deposit” that I, a longstanding customer of this dog, was not able to access. I pleaded with government agencies to let me withdraw this deposit, but was stonewalled at every turn. Thus, I found myself grabbing a discarded paper towel that someone had left in the gutter and wiping my dog’s sullied asscrack with it.
Ew.
Some might call this action a “bailout,” involving a paper towel that was not mine. A handout at the expense of the American dog-curber. But that accusation is not only false, but is a sinister elision of what REALLY caused this mess in the first place.
You see, we adopted Carter from a no-kill shelter located in Northern Virginia. When picking him up, I couldn’t help but notice that the shelter was staffed not only by men, but also by women. Many women, in fact. Not only that, but the shelter’s staff seemed racially diverse, almost as if the shelter’s owners had paid more attention to DEI initiatives than than they did the excretory capabilities of their potential adoptees. I’m not saying that 12 white male shelter workers would have prevented this mess, but the shelter may indeed have been distracted by a needless, self-imposed obligation to the fickle goddess that we all now know as “wokeism.” How else to explain why my dog is not himself a purebred dog? Carter is part shih tzu, part maltese, part terrier, and perhaps other breeds as well. One could say that "he" himself is a diversity hire, and guess whose hands end up dirty as a result of these initiatives?
That’s right. Mine.
The implications are chilling. Sure, I'm part-owner of a multi-million dollar enterprise, but I have heard of regular moms and pops who, like me, were ALSO not allowed to get at their respective pets' deposits in similar crises. What about those people? Are we going to just paint dog dingleberries as a problem exclusively among the well-to-do? How small-minded. How crass.
And that’s really as far as I can take this inquiry, sadly. You’ll notice how carefully I’ve phrased this post, so as not to offend the eager hordes in our unnaturally liberalized society. Truly, it is they who are the bloodhounds, tracking down the scent not of impending canine diarrhea, but the merest slip of the tongue. Well, I’m a big believer in individual accountability, both among dogs and their respective masters, and I think it’s perfectly fair to ask these questions about Carter—and his dingleberries—without being subject to their kangaroo court. Because ultimately, THEY are never held accountable themselves. THEY the not ones who suffer when they have to grab a baby wipe from the bathroom to probe their dog’s rotten sphincter for any dingleberry flakes they might have missed. THEY are not the ones who have to lay an old towel on top of the couch so that Carter doesn’t befoul it with little tiny shit flakes when he jumps up there. THEY are not the ones who have to watch him compulsively rub his anus on the carpet and ask him, “What are you doing, boy? Are you about to take a shit up in here?” No no, they never have to face the consequences for these initiatives of theirs. In fact, they prefer those side effects of wokeism go unseen.
Well you know what can’t be unseen? My dog’s shit-dyed asscrack.
