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food.”
    “Don’t be so heartless, asshole. We can’t leave him out there! Come here, we won’t hurt you.”
    The dog takes a few slow steps in our direction. I decide then and there that he is a smart and good dog for not charging into the arms of a human with a bucket of shit poised at the ready. I gently slop the waste down the outside of the windows and set the bucket down. This seems to be the signal the dog was waiting for and he pads over, snuffling up my pant leg and licking at my belt buckle.
    “I love you too,” I say, patting his broad, matted head. “Come with us, we’ve got yummies.”
    Everyone takes part in Shitgate ’09 with unmitigated eagerness after the dog arrives. What the hell is it about a happy mutt that makes humans forget their worries, their massive troubles, and soldier on? He’s done something to Phil, given him new life, new purpose and it’s the same with everyone else too. Holly never struck me as a dog person and I know Janette only had cats, but Dapper (that’s his name) has won them over. Sure he eats, he’s another mouth to feed and water and take out into the store for the bathroom, but he makes us all a little less cranky.
    And I’m sleeping again. Dapper sleeps with me, curled up on my feet, his cold nose pressing into my shin. Sometimes he licks my feet. I think he knows we could all use a bath. He doesn’t complain. He doesn’t tell me it’s hopeless, that we’re stuck here forever until the food runs outs, until the undead somehow find a way in. He just looks up at me with those huge, accepting eyes.
    He’s grateful and he’s gentle and he’s mine.
    COMMENTS
    Isaac says:
    September 25, 2009 at 8:28 pm
    Usually a new dog makes you lose sleep with all but whatever works I guess. The Dakotas are a wasteland but I’ll take quiet over those creatures any day. Rural life seems to be the way to go, hardly any creeps around here to kill, just the occasional neighbor that wanders over from the next farm. You might want to start boiling your water if sanitation is bad and if someone is ill keep them away from the rest of you. Glad you’re sleeping again, keep us updated.
    Allison says:
    September 25, 2009 at 9:51 pm
    Yeah, dog as cure for insomniac, who knezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …

September 26, 2009—The Dirty Girls Social Club
    “But I’ll look like a boy!”
    “You won’t, I promise, and besides, aren’t you sick of smelling like a boy?”
    “I don’t care,” Janette says, crossing her arms stubbornly. “You’re not touching my hair.… And I don’t smell.”
    “You do smell, dude. Trust me.” She’s not budging. “It’s not a fashion show, Janette.” Oh Jesus, I think my mother used to say the exact same thing to me in high school when I’d wander downstairs in a hideous black mesh T and neon pink high-tops.
    I don’t give a shit about Janette’s feelings right now. Something’s got to give and that means one thing: mandatory haircuts today.
    I’m not bothered by it. I’ve had short hair for a few years now. I used to rock that long, layered look with a few lowlights and then my mom and I decided to chop it all off for Locks of Love. This was before she got cancer; kind of ironic, I guess. Or is that Alanis Morissette “ironic”—as in, not really ironic but just coincidental? Anyway, we both found out at that point that we liked having short hair, so we just kept it. When Mom was diagnosed I shaved my head in solidarity. It’s grown in again but today we’ll chop it off.
    I used to joke that maybe the wig my mom got from Locks was made out of her own hair, or mine, or it was some Frankenwig hybrid of both of us. She never wore it much. She looked good with a Q-ball and I think owning it, embracing it, gave her strength.
    Anyway, Janette and her insecurities are irrelevant. I’m worried that we’ll get fleas or, worse, lice. Without a functioning shower it’s impossible to stay even moderately clean. I think this is the