|You're going to embarrass me again, aren't you?|
This last week of October -- the one right before the end of Daylight Savings Time -- is a particularly perilous time in the lives of early morning dog walkers.
Dark. Dark. Dark.
Compound the problem with a cloud cover laden with precipitation and lawns littered with fallen leaves and pine cone, shadowed and shimmering after waves of nocturnal rain showers, and you have a serious challenge on your hands.
Even with a flashlight, I have failed to locate Ben's morning offerings THREE consecutive days this week.
I am SO sorry, good neighbors. Please don't hate me. (Although I did rid the park of a couple errant pine cones Wednesday morning.)
Fortunately, Ben is a modest dog and tends to take care of his business, behind tree or shrug, in the most far-off, obscure spots he can find in the park. This tends to somewhat minimize the Public Land Mine issue, which I know is at the forefront of your mind. So we've got that going for us. Which is good.
Most responsible dog walkers I know pride themselves on picking up after their pooches, protecting the soccer cleats and running shoes of the world. I know I do. We are a near-hysterical lot when it comes to this, eyes constantly scanning our pups for any sign that "Bombs away!" is imminent.
Yep. I'm one of the Ninety-nine Percent-ers -- that is, the peeps who pick up dog poop 362 out of 365 days a year. (Disclaimer: Well within the most recent Bermtopian sampling error.) So there you have it. I'm one of The 99%.
Say it loud and proud.
If anything, I have become quite the little sanctimonious so-and-so when coming across someone else's failure to observe the Very Clearly Defined boundaries canine fecal etiquette, usually mentally condemning them to an eternity of shedding dogs for their oversight. Is that so bad?
But, this week, oh, how the mighty have fallen. And oh, how can this old girl hardly wait for Daylight Savings to end (did I really just saying that? slap me, please) so we get a little more light on The Subject each morning!
But I'm getting back on my game. I triumphed Thursday morning. Only by stalking and hovering over poor Ben like a demonic poop vampire. (Okay, so now THAT was indelicate.)
The dog was mortified. Me? Not so much.
Along with the soccer cleats and running shoes of the world.