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Doggy Tales
by Nicky

I'm Nicodemus, a parolee from the Okmulgee Pound, where I was on death row for being a dog nobody wanted. I was rescued by my Food Guy a couple of years ago. Now, he takes me for frequent walks down a certain three-quarter mile stretch of country road in Oklahoma.

I'm part Beagle, part Bloodhound, and part Chicken. Cars and trucks scare the crap out of me. I'm not fond of Guns or Firecrackers, and Fly Swatters, Plastic Bags, and Balloons make me very nervous for some reason. I can track anything that moves, but I'm too slow to catch much.

On our walks, my Food Guy always takes the same route, and since that gets boring (I've already pee'd on every bush and rock there is on that road), I've taken up counting all of the trash humans leave behind when they travel down this road. I only count the metal cans, glass or plastic bottles, and plastic cups that are visible. There's usually something new to sniff out, and every walk is a great adventure..

My Food Guy says that's because there are slobs using my road. My trash count goes up or down each time, but mostly it goes up. The only time it goes down is after the county grader comes along and rearranges the rocks. That covers up some of the trash until it rains again.

I looked it up, and it all seems to have started back about 1680. We live near the old Taovayan Empire trading post called Fernandina, where the natives traded pelts for trinkets, tobacco, booze, and bullets, primarily with the French explorers.

A few years ago, some archeology hounds dug up a couple of old French skeletons in an ancient campsite a short distance west of Fernandina. Scattered about the skeletons were empty tobacco tins, and some broken French clay pipes melted together in a fire pit.

Following the trail of artifacts a bit further west, the archeologists uncovered an abandoned Peugeot "de Lux" trader's wagon with the remains of a Michelin wagon wheel still attached. It was overturned and wedged between two huge boulders along the side of the long since buried "Road to Fernandina". It contained the remains of 26 French muskets, powder, and shot, and a remarkably well preserved wooden case of 16 bottles of Dom Perignon champagne. Alas, the shock of the crash was too much for the fragile bottles inside the nearly petrified case.

The ancient path turned south, and the trail of trash followed it. An empty Seagram's whiskey bottle here, a Wild Turkey burbon bottle there. Several Evian water containers were unearthed, some still full, as though the traders didn't find them as invigorating as some of the other staples they had sampled along the way towards Fernandina.

This ancient path, built by the natives of the Taovayan Empire to accomodate commerce with French fur-traders, is what my Food Guy calls "Trader's Bend Road" where we now go walking.

Altogether, the archeologists gathered about eighty ancient artifacts, and I believe that was the lowest trash count in history. It's the lowest I've seen since I've been counting litter along this road, anyway.

For instance, last week, there were 159 cans, bottles, and plastic cups on this short strip of road. This week there were 193 items. And that doesn't count the Wal-Mart bags, McDonalds carry-out sacks, and other paper cups and stuff that I usually check out for leftover "French" fries.

Oh, I almost forgot, they also found two flint arrow heads, one embedded in the rib cage of each of the old French skeletons. Seems the natives were not fond of slobs littering their highways, either.

-Translated from Beaglese by the Food Guy
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