Gut Rumbles

June 01, 2009

Marking territory

Originally published November 9, 2003

When I was over at Mom's house today, my Uncle Virgil and Aunt Peggy came to visit. I was worn out from playing football with the boys, so I went to sit on the screen porch and talk with my family while the boys choke-slammed and killed each other. Virgil enjoyed the show. "They don't get tired, do they?" he observed.

No, they don't. But when the back yard became quiet a few minutes later, my ears pricked. I looked back there and couldn't see Quinton or Jack. "Where did those heathens go?" I asked.

"They went behind that oak tree over yonder," my grandmother answered.

I knew what they were doing. They were pissing in the bushes. I stuck my head out the door. ""Are you guys peeing in the bushes?" I yelled. "Yes, sir," was the reply, in perfect two-part harmony. "Okay," I said, and went back to sit on the porch.

"Ain't nothing wrong with peeing in the bushes," Virgil said. I agreed. Ain't a damned thing wrong with peeing in the bushes. I did it as a kid and I still do it today.

When Quinton came back on the porch for some chicken, Virgil asked him, "Boy, what were you doing back there behind that tree?"

"I was marking my territory," Quinton replied, with a big grin.

"Marking your territory? What happens if some other little boy goes back there and pees in those bushes today? There goes your territory."

"No, sir! I've been peeing in those bushes for six years now. That's MY territory."

I thought Virgil was going to choke with laughter.

Damn, but I like being around my family.

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