Your first line of defense

Used to be that when the yokels needed some vittles for they ol' houn-dog Skeeter they'd head down to Walmart to pick up a bag of Old Roy and be done with it... But lately Petsmart is the place where the mullet and pearl-button-western-shirt-with-the-sleeves-cut-off-wearing set congregate. Is it the result of some agressive nascar-oriented marketing scheme? (Dale Earnhardt memorial pooper-scoopers, anyone?)

A couple of weeks ago we saw this couple who had maybe seven teeth between the two of them, with a passel of sticky-looking children and one exceedingly well-groomed cocker spaniel. One of the kids was crawling on the floor on all fours and the dad(?) said in that familiar too-loud-redneck-drawl, "If yer gonna act like a dawg, yer gonna have to stick yer nose in and start smellin' them other dawg's butts! You wanna smell butts?" To which the mother (who, by the way, had one of the most fantastic brassed-out bleach job with black roots fe-mullets I've ever seen) replied, "He already pisses the floor, he might as well be a damn dog!" Nice.