Pooper Scooper and the Hazards of Walking

This one is an oldie, but still a goodie for a laugh … even if it’s at my own stinky expense!

When I can talk myself into it, I put on my iPod and blast Springsteen and Tom Petty for the next two and a half miles while I speed walk on the horse trail in my neighborhood. I’ve never seen any horses, only people and pet owners who think the trail is a lavatory for their pets.  About a mile and a half into my walk, I saw a big clump of poop and I side-stepped to avoid it.  I twisted my ankle on a small hole in the ground and I fell face first. My face missed the other turd ahead but my hands landed splat on them.

A group of joggers saw me and one of them tried to help me up, but he recoiled when he saw my palms smeared with wet dog poop. I told him I was fine (the ankle didn’t hurt, just my pride) and they continued their jog.  My sensitive olfactory senses went on over-drive when I foolishly sniffed my palms, which looked like I’d dipped them in brown mashed potatoes. Why did I do that? Did I want to assess the stench level? These musing and other thoughts ran through my head.

I crossed the street to the nearest house so I could ask permission to use the water hose. I’m polite that way. I used my elbows to knock on the door, but when no one answered I assumed no one was home and I used the water hose and tried to be quick about it.

I was stooped on the ground rinsing my hands when I heard a tinkling noise. It was a Pomeranian on a leash with its owner trailing behind. The pooch tried to sniff me and I brushed it away with my elbows (maybe I shouldn’t have done that but what was I going to do use my hands, which were still half-poopy?). What are you doing she said. This is my private property and you’re trespassing she continued. I apologized and told her what happened to me. She didn’t care, and said you have a lot of nerve. I wasn’t stealing, but I did use her rotten hose without permission. Her uncharitable demeanor surprised me.

Upon closer examination of her pooch’s tush I saw speckles of brown clumps stuck on the cream-colored fur. Could this pooch be the culprit of my stinky mess?  This was one of those moments when the logic of 2 + 2 = 4 was difficult to prove. So I took another approach and reminded her that there were pooper scooper laws and I didn’t see her with a scooper or a plastic bag filled with turd. Bitsy doesn’t do her business outside she said. I pointed my foot to the anal evidence before me and said then what do you call that. Prove it she said. I will I said (but I knew I couldn’t).

I can prove that you committed front lawn invasion so please leave she said. What the hell was front lawn invasion? What was I going to steal plants? So I said I think Bitsy needs to see the vetsy because she’s got a leaky ass. I’m going to call the police she said. Go ahead I said. She went into the house and I realized that she could have a case against me. I was a hose water snatcher. So I left and I did something I haven’t done in a very long time. I ran non-stop until I got home. I don’t know where I got the energy for such a physical feat, but I did it.  I had the workout of my life, but walking that damned lavatory trail was hazardous. I think I need to buy a treadmill.

Stinkilly yours,

Lafemmeroar

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© 2011 Lafemmeroar