Pants, pants, PANTS!

I dog sit, a lot. I used to watch two male labs, Popper and Emmitt. Popper had a nasty habit of humping poor Emmitt (they were both males), especially on walks. Popper liked to display his manhood in front of the little old lady from across the street. Popper had this death grip method of humping poor Em that was nearly impossible to stop. Prying the dogs apart in front of the sweet old lady embarrassed me to no end.

One day after work I was walking the dogs down a main road in their neighborhood when Emmitt took a five pound shit right in the middle of a driveway. As I was picking it up with a plastic bag Emmitt weaseled out of the hippie version of a collar around his neck. Then next few minutes were spent chasing him around the middle of the street attempting to get the collar back on.

I looked up to see a car approaching. Still unsuccessful, frustrated, holding both leashes and a five pound bag of dogshit in my hand I stood over Emmitt with my knees angled into his middle. I wasn’t hurting him, I just needed him to stay still so I could get his collar on.

The car stopped in front of us (we were in the middle of the road) just as Popper decided to display his manly death grip hump method. The hump show this man saw was surely something he’ll never see again; me over Emmitt with Popper latched on from behind, humping the shit out of both of us.

My face turned beet red, I couldn’t get Popper off! The man in the car was laughing so hard I could see tears streaming down his face. He witnessed a solid fifteen seconds of hump action.

I. Was. Mortified.

I had never been so embarrassed in my life. Little did I know a few years later I’d split my pants while dancing in a Vegas club and the embarrassment of the dog hump episode would melt away, more on that story in a future installment.