My sly use of foreshadowing

It’s me again, on a Tuesday, just trying to shake things up a bit. Routines can get so boring. I am imposing another 500 words on you today, as you might have suspected I would based on yesterday’s post. But that’s not all.

After yesterday’s poop icon reference, I thought I might write about poop again. No, not my poop. Been there, done that, and I barely got a reaction from any of you. Rather, a post on dog poop is long overdue. Fecal matter is quite the obsession of any dog owner, from: “How many times has Rex pooped today?” to “Who left dog poop on my lawn?” It is the latter question we will delve into today.

I can assure you that, if you discover dog poop on your lawn one day, and you did not leave it there, it’s not my dog’s. When I walk my dog, I always have multiple poop bags on me, one for my own dog and extras for all the people I come across who “forgot” theirs.

Actually, that’s not entirely true. There was one time that I forgot bags altogether, only to realize it when my dog did her business. So I knocked on the door of the neighbour who owned that lawn and sheepishly asked her for a bag. In case you didn’t know, if you knock on a stranger’s door asking for a poop bag, that stranger will likely comply. This lovely older woman was back in a flash with what I needed.

Garden stake with dog pooping, "No!" written across body

I’m afraid my dog cannot read your sign.

On another occasion, as my dog pooped and I stood over her, bag in hand, this lawn’s owner was not as receptive. In fact, he opened his front door and screamed: “How would you feel if I pooped (that’s not the verb he used, by the way, but this blog is G-rated) on your lawn?” Had I had my wits about me, I would have calmly responded, as I picked up my dog’s poop: “Well, Mr. Neighbour, I’d hope you’d pick up after yourself.” My actual R-rated response cannot be repeated here.

Which brings us to the day that Jelly and I were having a lovely walk in the neighbourhood, stinky full poop bag in hand, when I was stopped by an elderly couple. They pointed to their property, which was several houses down, and asked me whether I knew whose dog had left poop on their lawn.

I realize you cat people may not be able to distinguish a chihuahua’s and a Great Dane’s poop. Yes, when I had more than one dog, I could usually identify whose poop was whose. Let’s just say each dog’s poop looks different. But I can assure you that I have not memorized the dog-poop defining characteristics of all neighbourhood canines. I am no fecal fetishist.

So I responded, in my most polite neighbourly voice, that I had absolutely no idea whose dog left that deposit on their lawn. (Perhaps, in light of my other neighbour’s poop tantrum, I should have also confirmed that the poop was not mine.) I would have hoped my nonverbal behaviour–that stinky poop bag I was holding between us–might have conveyed that it was not me, but I cannot say. Off Jelly and I trotted to the nearest garbage can, and then finished our walk in peace.

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