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Bob was waiting patiently in the car, and he got all happy-looking when we opened the doors and slid in.
“Maybe Bob needs breakfast,” Lula said.
“Bob already had breakfast.”
“Let me put it another way. Maybe Lula needs breakfast.”
“You have anything special in mind?”
“I guess I could use one of those Egg McMuffins. And a vanilla shake. And breakfast fries.”
I put the Buick in gear and headed for the drive-through.
“
How's it going?” the kid at the window said. “You still looking for a job?”
“I'm thinking about it.”
We got three of everything and parked on the edge of the lot to eat and regroup. Bob ate his Egg McMuffin and breakfast fries in one chomp. He slurked his milkshake down and looked longingly out the window.
“Think Bob needs to stretch his legs,” Lula said.
I opened the door and let him out. “Don't go far.”
Bob jumped out and started walking around in circles, occasionally sniffing the pavement.
“What's he doing?” Lula wanted to know. “Why's he walking in circles? Why's he—Uh-oh, this don't look good. Looks to me like Bob's taking a big poop in the middle of the parking lot. Holy cow, look at that! That's a mountain of poop.”
Bob returned to the Buick and sat down, wagging his tail, smiling, waiting to be let back in.
I let him in, and Lula and I slumped down low in our seats.
“Do you think anyone saw?” I asked Lula.
“I think everyone saw.”
“Damn,” I said. “I don't have the pooper-scooper with me.”
“Pooper-scooper, hell. I wouldn't go near that with a full contamination suit and a front-loader.”
“I can't just leave it there.”
“Maybe you could run over it,” Lula said. “You know . . . flatten it out.”
I cranked the engine over, backed up, and pointed the Buick at the pile of poop.
“Better roll the windows up,” Lula said.
“Ready?”
Lula braced herself. “Ready.”
I stomped on the gas and took aim.
SQUISH!
We rolled the windows down and looked out.
