Everything is Totally Fucked

Zac Smith

I’m Not Here to Commit Any Crimes

The first family I found was camping in an RV near the woods.

“Woof woof,” I said to the little girl playing with a toy monster truck near the campfire.

“Doggie!” she said, and ran over.

Her mother stepped out of the camper with a metal spatula, looked at me, started yelling.

“Get the fuck away from my daughter!” she said.

I stepped back and held up my hands like a person does, which means: Everything's cool, I’m not here to commit any crimes.

“Sorry,” I said. “I'm a dog. I was just saying hello.”

“Doggie!” said the girl.

“That's right,” I said. I smiled, even though dogs don’t smile unless it’s hot out, and it wasn't that hot out. I was trying to look nice.

“You're not a dog,” said the mom, uncertainly.

The dad came out of the RV holding a big stick with a feather tied to the top of it with some twine. It looked like a fun camping craft activity. He looked nervous, unsure about his role in what was going on.

But if he were a dog, he would have barked at me and barred his teeth and I would have known to run off scared. Or, if I thought I could take him, I would bare my teeth and wrestle with him on the ground to prove it. I would grab him by the neck and start kicking at his stomach, trying to break the skin and pull out his intestines. I would bite his neck and face until he whimpered off and died. But we both just stood there looking at each other instead.

I asked them if they wanted to adopt a dog. I was talking about myself. I wanted them to adopt me. The dog.

“I think you should leave,” said the mom. That meant “no.”

“Okay,” I said.

The dad didn't say anything. He looked relieved.

“Bye, Doggie!” the little girl said. She waved goodbye. I turned and walked back into the woods.

“Bye,” I said.

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