Small bag for small doody

I went to the zoo. I want an animal.
Even the squirrels on the footpath made me want an animal.
In the zoo, there were snakes. I could even own a snake! I want an animal as a pet.
There was a gorilla and all the people gathered round it, behind glass, and pounded.
They knocked. Mothers and fathers, their little children knocked on the glass, and the gorilla, provoked, jumped up and slammed his fists into the glass. It was like he was saying, If this glass wasn't here, I would smash you into the ground. I would pound on your chest until there was nothing to pound on. How would you like that? The crowd screamed. They liked what they saw. They liked how he pounded on the glass. He went away, and then the crowd dispersed. Then I stood at the glass and looked out at nothing, and wanted an animal as a pet, one that I wouldn't provoke. One who's poop I would scoop into a bag, or, if it was small enough, into a small bag.

But I've had this thought before. Many times, I've wanted an animal as a pet. Another dog. Two dogs. Three, even. This post is not a new feeling. It is an old feeling that I had to post about. You see, the zoo is also set-up in a large circle. You start at one point and end at the same point. If you went to the zoo everyday, you'd see the gorilla behind the glass. A crowd in front of it. Pounding, pounding, pounding, pounding, and pounding.