Yesterday after I dealt with all of the more urgent tasks that followed the theft of my purse, I took my mother’s advice and went for a walk. Her reasoning was that once the thief had what he wanted out of my beautiful Made-in-Canada shoulder bag, the dirty rotten bastard probably discarded the rest. Which is probably exactly what happened.
While going for a walk seemed like a good idea, taking my dog along might not have been. He relishes any opportunity for a walk, but our goals were not compatible. His was to race ahead and then suddenly stop dead at some interesting scent or dog mail while trying to piss on all the things, or at least all the upright things.
I never have much tolerance for this because I think it’s rude to allow a dog to lift their leg on everything. The best way to prevent leg lifting during a walk is to move briskly but because I was studying the side of road for traces of my purse, moving briskly wasn’t happening. I allowed the stops for sniffing while encouraging my dog to keep them brief, but after one or two leg lifts I wasn’t having any more of that. We carried on our walk/search with me tugging his leash and sternly telling him “no” every time something upright caught his fancy. All of this while worrying about the one very important thing I had forgotten to bring along for our walk. The poop bag.
Putting a leash on my dog has exactly the same effect on him as that first cup of coffee does for us humans. Sometimes we don’t even make it to the road before the leash takes effect. The leash works so quickly for my dog, that I have accepted I will carry a bag of dog crap for at least 80% of every walk taken in a public place. Back of the pond does not count, in an area already full of deer turds and coyote scat, Louie’s contributions don’t matter. When we walk back there, the only thing I insist on is that he wait until we are there before he goes. Which is how I know dogs have their own version of the poo shuffle. If you aren’t familiar with the poo shuffle, think back to the last time one of your children was too busy playing to head for the bathroom in a timely manner or think of a penguin.
While I was searching for my leather and suede shoulder bag, I was watching the dog and praying his bowels were empty. Then he started to do the hunch. Panicking, I jerked his leash while saying “no!” in my sharpest voice, the one that rolls off The Asshats like water off a duck’s back. But the dog? He stopped mid-hunch, completely prepared to do the poo shuffle for as long as I expected him to. Rather than test his endurance, I accepted that I probably wasn’t going to find my bag and headed for home.
I can’t stop shitty things from happening but at I did stop poop from happening.