Braided poop.

And that will be as far as that goes.  Then there was Belle's droppings which I, as a good mom, pick up.  First bag full.  Fine.  Toss in trash. Second bag, looser, grabbed what I could with bag and "oh fuck - there's a hole in the bag!"  Not happy and you sure wouldn't want to shake my hand!  But as they say "Shit Happens!" Go on with your life.  Except......on further inspection....there wasn't a hole in the bag.  Did you hear me?  No.  Hole.  In.  Bag.  That means the hole was in my head and I deserved to walk around with smelly mush all over hand 'till I got home.  I will practice how to use a bag to pick up dog crap by having The Hunter poop in the yard  (he already pees in it).
Had a wonderful time at my daughter's on the fourth of July.  Er,...no, wait.  That wasn't me.  I was at my daughter's alright but it was because her husband came to the ER where she works, while she was working.  He almost never goes to doctors, hospitals or dentists.  He had Pancreatitis.  He isn't a drinker but I guess it had something to do with his gallbladder.  I was surprised they only kept him one night. Then her car broke down(whie he was still in hospital) and....just imagine us watching fireworks from the grocery store parking lot, with 16 yr. old Cain under the truck trying to fix it and I was laying on the ground holding the flashlight etc.  And so it goes here in Pleasantville. I am not even going to get into it about The Hunter  I see my therapist tomorrow and she will help me decide if I should use a gun or one of his hunting knives.
See?  Right up here on my tail (and not in a good way) to tell me he's soaking his feet and I can come look at his toe for him and well, I don't even like to talk about it cuz feet and toes are kind of yuk.  Pretty yuk.  My own?  No problem.