I slip out of the house on Monday just as the sun’s coming up to avoid another encounter with Dad. I hid in my room all day yesterday. I didn’t even open the door to let Captain out. Instead I pulled the screen off of one of the small windows and pushed him up the window well to do his business—not sure why I never thought of that before. And as hungry as I might have been, I figured staying alive was better than eating. Well, I could have eaten from the spare bag of dog food in my room, but I wasn’t that hungry. So as early as it is this morning, even after hitting McDonald’s, I’ll get all the houses on my shit list done with time to spare.
I check my face in the rearview mirror. My eyebrow and eyelid are so swollen, I can barely open my right eye, which is a lovely shade of blackish purple. My lip isn’t as swollen as it was, but the two vertical cuts, one on the side of my upper lip and one dead center on the lower, look angry and disgusting. I’m not a pretty sight. There’s no way I can go to school like this. The poor guy at the drive-thru about had a heart attack when I paid, and it was still pretty dark out.
I pull myself out of the car with a stomachache from eating too much. I’m at the house with the three Great Danes—the one house that truly makes me regret this job. The dogs are pretty cool, though—after you get used to their size and realize they’re not going to eat you. But they shit like horses. I’m not kidding. One would be something, but three? It’s awful.
I don’t know the dogs’ names, but the largest of the three, a black-and-white version of Scooby-Doo, is my biggest fan. He comes loping over as soon as I enter the yard. He jumps up, lifting all paws off the ground, to lick at my face. The first time he did it, I saw my life flash before my eyes, but I’ve almost grown used to it. The other two, both tan, like to jump up and put their paws on my shoulders so they’re looking me right in the eye. If the black-and-white one did this, he’d be several inches taller than me. But they really are cool dogs. I kind of want one. As long as someone else cleans up the shit.
After they finally calm down, I get to work. One of the three had diarrhea. Fun stuff. Once I’ve finished the scooping, I use the hose to rinse off the scooper. The owner of the giant dogs, a tiny little old lady, pops her head out to call them in for breakfast and cringes at the sight of my face. As soon as the dogs are inside, she slams, then locks, the door, and then she’s immediately on the phone. That can’t be good.
I load my still dripping, but free of shit, tools into the trunk and head to the next address.
This is an easy one compared to the first. I’ve never seen the dog that lives here, but it’s relatively small. And it always uses the same corner of the yard to do its business. I’d like to know how the owner accomplished that. I’d love to teach Captain that trick.
After rinsing off my tools, I head back to my car to find Rick peeling the “Sh*t, Richie!” decal off the driver’s side.
He does not look happy.
“I’m running a legitimate business. I can’t have people who look up to no good letting themselves into respectable people’s yards.” He gestures at me with his magnetic decals.
I open my mouth to explain, but he raises his hand. “I don’t care. You’re done.” Then he comes over to snatch the tools from my hand. “I won’t be needing your services anymore.”
He slaps two twenties in my palm even though I’ve only earned $35 so far this morning. Does he expect me to give him change?
“You know you shovel shit, right?” I say as I pocket the cash.
He glares at me as he gets into his car. Then he revs his engine to emphasize how pissed he is. His window’s down, so I say, “I guess it doesn’t matter to you that my prick father is responsible for my beautiful face.” His expression turns to one of “Oh, shit” and I immediately wish I hadn’t said it. I don’t even know why I said it. It’s kind of a relief, but I’m also terrified. What if he calls the authorities? Dad might actually try to kill me, or I’d end up killing him. Either way, one of us would be dead and the other would be fucked for life.
Rick starts to say something but I cut him off.
“Don’t bother. You can take your shitty job.”
I get in my car and crank up my stereo so I’m not tempted to hear his apology. Then I throw it into gear and race up the street.
Well, shit. I really needed that money. As soon as my face heals, I’ll have to go looking for another second job. With hours that don’t conflict with my primary job or school. Right. Screw that Great Dane lady. I’m tempted to leave Captain’s shit in a flaming bag on her doorstep, but then I’m worried that one of the Great Danes will run at it and get burned in the process. They don’t strike me as particularly smart dogs.