"Everything in the bathroom was white. I sat on the toilet and looked at my thighs nostalgically. Soon they would be perpetually intertwined in his thighs, never alone, not even when they wanted to be. But it couldn't be helped. We had a good run, me and me. I imagined shooting an old dog, an old faithful doh, because that's what I was to myself. Go on, boy, get. I watched myself dutifully trot ahead. Then I lowered my rifle ad what actually happened was I began to have a bowel movement. It was unplanned, but once begun it was best to finish. I flushed and washed my hands and only by luck did I happen to glance back at the toilet. It was still there. One had to suppose it was the dog, shot, but refusing to die. This could get out of hand, I could flush and flush and Phillip would wonder what was going on and I'd have to say The dog won't die gracefully. ..."

The First Bad Man, Miranda July