Doing Doo Diligence

Weezie and me, that is, Weezie and I—us, have been pretty good about getting our walk in most mornings. I wave at most of the vehicles that drive by not so much as being neighborly but as a thank you for not mowing us down on the way in and out of our neighborhood. 

We, that is, Weezie and me (see first sentence above) start off slow. Well, I start off slow and Weezie drags me along for the first few minutes. Her little legs and feet’s walking about 8 steps to my one. I figured my stride is about 2 feet long so that’s 2680 steps for me to walk a mile but that’s 21,000 times the Weeze has to put down her little 4 paws. I’m not sure because math sucks but it’s a lot and that’s that. 

Regardless, Weezie was a little more sluggish than usual this morning. She did a lot of extra sniffing starting out and just one minute into our stroll she decided to go potty (numero deuce). 

I unrolled one of those doggy poop bags from the leash and did my business to take care of her business. Pretty simple and efficient. 

Revelation! Today is trash pickup day and everyone has their dumpsters out. I could deliver the business into the next receptacle and everything would be fine. 

Opening the first lid I saw an empty trash container. The next one same way. Drats. 

The trash man had already gotten to this street. Actually, the entire subdivision. 

Our trash truck NEVER shows up before afternoon. EVER. 

Maybe it’s me but I couldn’t bring myself into dropping off Weezies business into a

Fresh emptied trash container that’s not mine. I’m not sure it’s ethical. 

I guess I could have knocked on someone’s door and asked if it was ok.

Uh, not an option. It would be akin to me asking them hey you mind if I pee in your yard?

So now we are half way into our 2 miles and I’m walking with a pocket full of dog doo, carrying it in the same hand as the leash holder. Fortunately both the holder and bag are green. 

And let’s face it, I could have been walking my late beloved hound of hounds Satchel, who required a back hoe to police up after, but fortunately Weezie is small and so is her poop. Yet, I didn’t want to continue walking holding a bag of doo. It’s not civilized. So, I carefully placed it in my non dominant hand (I’m a lefty) pocket. The consequences of this could be horrific so I did what I call doo diligence by moving phone and my pocketknife into the left pocket.

The next thing I must mention is I am notoriously bad about leaving items in my pockets. Namely, it’s always paper towels because I am old and old men use lots of paper towels. Something always needs to be wiped and you just never know when you’ll need one. Having a paper towel in each pocket is not a stretch for me, either. One time Sue Shugaluvs was folding a load of clothes and counted 11 paper towels that had made it thru the wash. So there might be something mentally wrong with me. (That’s rhetorical and requires no feedback). 

But back to the doo doo. I’m happy to report that everything ended up where it needed to be. Doo in the receptacle, with no runs, errors or ruptured baggies. And both the Weeze and me “got to sit down, taking a rest on the porch-Imagination sets in, pretty soon I’m singin’, Doo Doo Doo lookin out my back door…”

Or something remarkably similar to that.