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••• Saturday, April 17, 2004

The Poop Scoop
I live in a pet poop-scooping community. Around here, bagging the boogy isn't just neighborly relations protocol, it's a way of life. And it's the law. At any schoolyard or public park, you'll find doody "free" bag dispensers. And throughout the city, along the streets, are signs warning dog owners of a $500.00 fine if caught flying the coop without scooping the poop.

Thursday I set out to walk The Cheddar (with bag in tow, of course). The weather was perfect. Neither hot or chilly. Sun was shining. I felt upbeat and energized.

I'm a city girl. It's in my blood. I love my little town because it offers some amenities of the city (for me that means sidewalks, sirens and 7-11's) but with suburban quality schools. And neither do I mind the city-sized traffic that runs the major road, just a half block from my house. ::I grew up in a house one block from the expressway. The sound of traffic has always made me feel oddly connected to the rest of the world. In fact, I still miss the whistle of a passing semi, on a hot summer night.::

But now I'm off topic, without purpose...

Anyway. On the return loop, Cheddar took a poop. A healthy sample, I must say. Poo usual, I picked it up with a plastic grocery bag. It looked just like the picture. ::I know, ew. But you can't say you didn't have warning::

We've had Cheddar for nearly five years, which means I've carried bag-o-poo-aplenty. But on a beautiful spring day, it somehow feels wrong to openly carry said cargo de caca. I mean, I'm walking down a busy street, on a beautiful day, with a hunky blonde, swinging dog shit in a white, opaque grocery bag. It's just wrong.

As I approach my home, a neighbor drives by, his hand raised in greeting. I don't live in the most friendly of neighborhoods, so I typically suck up to any gratuitous gesture of friendship neighborliness recognition. So as not to look the stuck-up that most of my neighbors are, I quickly responded with a wave in kind. My left hand held a leash attached to a ninety pound dog, so I could only raise my right hand, which held the poup de jour.

The quick motion of the wave impromptu, caused me to thwack my head with the bag of poo. And just as the crap hit the head, the neighbor and I make eye contact. At that very moment, I realized the neighbor was not waving to me, but was reaching for the garage door opener on the overhead visor.

Bagging it Up
Here's my challenge to all designers: Gimme a knit bag to hide the sh*it bag.

I'm stinkin' serious.

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# posted by Marcia @ 9:43 PM


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