The Sonia Show

Writer. Mocker. Beer drinker. Old movie watcher. Mother. Goober.

Bag o’ Homer

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Yeah, so, since he is 9 years old, I forget that sometimes Homer can still get into trouble.

He used to be pretty wild. He would bolt out the front door every chance he got. In our house in Concord, Homer had been known to come into the kitchen from the backyard and take a dump. Lucky for him, Homer is really, really cute he would have been driven to the wilderness and left to fend for himself. Sure, Homer has always had his good side. He is super sweet to babies and kids. He loves to sit on your lap and snuggle. And, he is a wiener dog and, well, they are pretty awesome. I dare you to look at one and not smile a little. They are the comedians of the dog world.

So anyway, Homer’s behavior got much better when I packed him up and moved to San Francisco. He didn’t really try to make a run for it anymore. He no longer used our place as his own personal toilet. He is still a little barky sometimes, especially on walks in our neighborhood (i.e. his territory), but that’s a wiener dog thing. They bark. It’s what they do.

Since he had been such a good boy lately, imagine my surprise when I came home last night and found this …

I had forgotten to take out a brown grocery bag of trash that I had set out. The bag had some paper plates, juice boxes, etc., from when our house was invaded with kids on Saturday. Homer, obviously, hadn’t forgotten about it. He knocked it over, looking for food. Unfortunately for him, karma was not on his side and he got stuck in the bag. Also, unfortunately for Homer, instead of helping him get out of the bag, I decided I would rather film it, because I’m a jerk.

I have no idea how long Homer was stuck in the bag, but honestly, it wasn’t long enough. After he dragged trash throughout our house, I probably should have made him sleep with it on.


Author: The Sonia Show

I'm a writer/podcaster/mother/goober in San Francisco who likes to drink beer, shop, laugh and make other people laugh, watch old movies, feed my unhealthy obsession with pop culture, kick breast cancer's ass, go on adventures with my mighty, mighty good man David and my awesome autistic son, Calvin, wear orange and root for the San Francisco Giants, participate in general jackass-ery, talk about TV, eavesdrop on strangers' conversations, make nerdy “Star Wars” and “Simpsons” references, and post personal things about myself on the web for all to read, which makes me some sort of literary exhibitionist.

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