I walk the streets of Las Fuentecillas and adjacent to the Mint, admiring how servile men and women watch their dogs pissing or shitting and, in a reverent attitude, take their poop in plastic bags that they then throw away, to see if they reach the Arlanzón River, or in litter bins for public use.

Talking and walking, my dog ​​shitting, one woman said to another.

I stayed focused on one of them because I thought she was pretty and mystical. I followed her when the other woman said goodbye to her, saying:

“It seems that that gentleman who follows behind you looks at you with admiration and eyes of a fool of slime in love. You’ll tell me if he said anything to you.”

Yes, I followed this woman because her dog was neither too small nor too big and, as I say, it had something special that amazed me, or it smelled like rancid cheese.

In a small green garden very close to a children’s playground, this woman let her dog shit on her, a dog that seemed to me to be a Labrador, encouraging it to defecate as it pleased, because she told it:

“Atapuercano, shit to taste. Air out the shit, it’s not cooked.”

It seemed to me that her Atapuercano shit “chorizos” (pork sausages) from Cantimpalos, in Segovia, or from Sotillo de la Ribera, in Burgos, because its shit had the same luster and color.

But the good thing, the truly miraculous thing, was that, when the woman, who was wearing a short white dress with red polka dots, and no panties, when she bent down to pick up the dog’s “sausages,” thanks to her hands or the will of the God who believed, the “sausages” jumped from the ground to the gos’ ass, going straight to get into her arsehole; and that she used her hand again and again to pick them up and throw them in the plastic bag.

I heard her saying to herself, and it’s not a joke:

“Thank God they didn’t fall in the playground, and thanks to my divine hands.”

One of the “chorizos” (sausages), the last in line, got stuck halfway through. She grabbed it, pulled it out of her arsehole and, staring at me, threw it towards me, saying:

“It goes for your soul, voyeur.”

Thanks to the fact that I gave the “sausage” a quick jog, that if I didn’t swallow it because I was looking at the woman with my mouth open.

Asking about her at the neighborhood pharmacy, they told me that her name was Loreto, that she was the daughter of a certain Lucero de Vergas (Star of Cocks), a virtuous, pious, right-wing man.