We’re looking after a couple of dogs at the moment, and
it is a really lovely experience. There is something so wholesome somehow about
getting out in the fresh air and walking, man and beast, at one with nature and
your thoughts.
My least favourite part, as I am sure it is with all dog owners,
is the poop scooping bit. There is something intrinsically wrong with walking
along swinging a small bag of poo, and with two dogs it can be up to 3 bags of
poo. Grim.
However, one of the things I wasn’t prepared for was the
magical disappearing poo. I bend down to deal with one dog’s business and see
in the distance, the other dog going about his. I clock the tree it is near and
having bagged the first turd, I make a beeline for the spot, but the poo that I
know is there has vanished. I scour the area, where is it?
I put the dogs on their leads hoping they will lead me to
it, but no. I feel like a complete fool as I loiter under the trees with
one bag of poo in hand, searching the ground, while other dog walkers look
curiously at me, as I try to make out that I have not just misplaced a steaming
pile of crap. I think of the many times I have cursed dog owners as I have
cleaned the dog muck from my children’s shoes or buggy wheels.
“Where’s the poo?” I repeatedly mutter under my breath to
the mute dogs. I am a responsible dog owner I will find and scoop.
This is not the morning I imagined. If the children were
with me this ‘find the poo’ game would perhaps make slightly more sense.
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