So, last night I was thinking that it was about time I got outside and got my fat middle aged butt some exercise. I get up fairly early anyway, so maybe I could take the dog for a walk before Toad leaves the house. It's not hot, so the threat of sweat is minimal. The neighborhood is safe, and there are lots of dog walkers out early.
Then I remembered that those dog walkers all carry around these little plastic bags. Sometimes, when I drive down the street, they give me the obligatory neighborhood wave with little baggie in hand - sort of a "dog poop salute" if you will. It seriously lessens the warm fuzzy feeling from the wave when it's done with a handful of dooky.
"I want to walk, but there is NO way I want to get that up close and personal with my dog's doings," I thought to myself. After all, these other walkers have little yippy dogs - probably much like cleaning a cat box. I have a Golden Retriever. That's more like mucking a horse stall - with a Wal-Mart bag..... I was pondering this quandry as I drifted off to sleep, wondering if my dog poop gag reflex was going to keep me from ever walking my beast.
And then, Karma. I was awakened by a bright light and a lumbering man exclaiming, "Well, THAT'S not good." Thankfully the man was Toad, who was up at 4 am to get ready for work. However, what he saw was my undoing. Dog poop. Everywhere. On the carpet. In my bedroom. At 4 freaking a.m.
I cursed loudly and repeatedly. Then I got out my Wal-Mart bag and got to work, one breath away from losing whatever was left of dinner.... Toad says of the dog, "Do you think he's sick?" "Yes," I say. "And I hope it's fatal." Cruel, I know, but it was a LOT of dog dooky. I decided I was done just in time to start waking the hellions up for school. Yippee.....
So, now the carpet needs to be cleaned; the dog should probably go to the vet; and I know I need a full sized garbage bag if I ever want to do my own neighborhood "Dog Poop Salute."
Ain't Karma a bitch?
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