The guru asked many questions about where Dines in Shit was from, and what his life was like. The discussions, always slow and quiet, moved in all directions from there, and in time always came around to the stoics -- Seneca, Cato, Aurelius.

"Consider now, my son, these two statements by Aurelius," said the guru. "'Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth,' and, 'Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present.'"

They were both quiet in contemplation. Then the guru spoke again: "Do these Romans seem anything like the humans who live in the house you came from?" Dines on Shit shook his head. The difference was stark. The guru asked if he remembered anything the house humans had said. "This Fatfuck, perhaps?"

"Yes," said Dines on Shit. "He said, 'I just pissed my pants. It's soaking into the couch. Don't tell momma. Get me another beer while you're in there.'"

The guru shook his head. "And these Shit-disdainers have the temerity to deride us as vulgar." He cleared his throat. "The humans of this place have cars and fast food. They are soft and weak. We can learn nothing from them. These Romans, now, they have something to say, if we would only listen."

The lessons continued day after day, week after week. The underlying themes were self-control and discipline, as well as controlling emotions and living a simpler life, both internally and externally. Dines on Shit became a believer. This is what he had been looking for, without even knowing it.

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There came a time when he felt he was ready for the next step. He wanted to unencumber his soul of a heavy and terrible burden. He wanted to walk the earth as a humble pilgrim seeking grace in simplicity. Things were clear now. He was ready to give up that which had been holding him back -- his wings. He would become a monk.

"Wings are gaudy and decadent," said the guru. "They are a symbol of excess."

"Like drinking," said Dines on Shit.

"Exactly so."

The procedure was surprisingly simple. The sect had access to some of the humans' anesthesia. It helped that Wants Shit was also ready to transform his life. Together they underwent the surgery. In a few short days they were up and around -- walking. Dines on Shit felt clear headed for the first time in ages. He walked until his legs were too exhausted to carry him. He sought out materials he could not climb vertically, and could not find any such. Everything took longer. Everything was slower. This was the desired effect. Removing clutter from life and slowing down was exactly what he wanted. He wished he could have understood this when Searches for Shit was alive. He had a fresh revelation: thinking about his cousin didn't hurt nearly as bad. He even smiled thinking about one of the times they taunted Badbreath.

"You're in a good mood. Anything special?"

"Hi, Wants Shit," said Dines on Shit. "I didn't hear you walk up. No, nothing special. It's time I was going home."

The guru was there, too. He smiled. "That sounds special to me," he said. "We'll miss you."

"Thank you for everything, sir," said Dines on Shit.

"A simple Takes no Shit (wait, he does) will do, my son."

"Yes, Takes no Shit (wait, he does)."