By David P. Zach- Senior Mud Correspondent
Spring. Young men’s fancy turn to thoughts of love. Old men tell you how the flowers were more respectful in the fifties. Birds and bees get their freak on.
In parts of the Northern Hemisphere, Spring – and in particular March – is a very special month for our canine friends. They call it the Celebration of Pyupenphoot, from the Vietnamese ‘pyúnphat’, which loosely translated, menas “poop on your foot”.
Centuries ago, a hound in the northern region of the Roman Empire noticed that, as the snow melted, months’ worth of defications were appearing under the melting snow. In an ensuing battle, the Centurions faltered due to all the truly crappy ground they were fighting on, and the whole Legion was slaughtered. From this happy, humble beginning came the modern-day celebration of Pyupenphoot.
We talked to some dogs down at the local fire hydrant to see what their plans for the holiday were:
“During the winter I try to spell out my name with my craps. Come the melt in March I can see how accurate I was.” – Spike
“I try to aim for the flower beds. Then when the old hag starts digging her petunias I know she’s got her hands deep in grade-A duaschund doody.” – Banjo
“That sumbitch owner makes me shit outside in sub zero temperature for months?? He’s gonna need a pole vault to get to his driveway.” – Rocco
“How is this a thing to you people? What we do is normal. It’s nature’s way. But sitting on a plastic bowl inside your home, thirty feet from where you make pasta? Disgusting.” – Pierre
Even the First dogs get in on the game. Obama’s Portugese-Water-Dog Bo was known to drop a load or two by the tree where Joe Biden hid to smoke weed. And Nixon’s dog Checkers always looked forward to the White House Easter Egg Hunt for truly revolting reasons.
Sadly, global warming continues to affect all of the planet, including man’s best friend. By 2050 some believe that Pyupenphoot will only be celebrated in parts of Russia and Canada. What then? Local dog Rocco is philosophical: “What do I care? By then I’ll be running around on a farm upstate. Pups these days, they don’t respect the old traditions anyways. A generation is going, a generation is coming…”
Rocco then sighed wistfully, and licked his balls
