Oh, Poo

Warning: This will not be a pleasant topic. Read with caution.

Any reader who is a dog owner, please listen closely. Before I begin, know that I do love dogs. I love animals in general, as a matter of fact. With that being said, I also know the laws of nature. I realize that when you have to go, you have to go, whether you be dog, cat, human, rat, fish, monkey, elephant, or worm. It's all a part of life. This part of life, however, does not belong on the bottom of my shoe. This is where I begin my post...

Pick up after your pet. Really, it's not terribly difficult. On your way out the door you take your dog, leash, keys, perhaps a flashlight, umbrella (weather-dependent), and maybe pepperspray (in which case, I suggest moving out of your neighborhood). Might I also suggest adding a plastic bag to the mix? Let me point out the pros here. 1) They easily compact and are immediately disposable. 2) Your dog will be less embarrassed. I realize this one is a stretch, but I don't know what kind of prissy animal you have. I don't judge. 3) Your neighbors will praise you for cleaning the streets (perhaps not outwardly, because unfortunately this is a thankless act, but, boy, is it noticed when it's not done!) instead of cursing you.

Recently, I've had a few run-ins with poo in the city and it has to end. It all began the first day my family came to visit. I brought them upstairs, gave them the grand tour of the new pad, sat down in the living room to chat and suddenly there was the smell. At first we didn't know what it was. Theories sprouted, cat pee (eww), throw up (gag), then what could it be? Finally we checked our shoes. Dad had been hit. The discovery sent us on a cleaning spree (only after raucous laughter and mockery), retracing the grand tour that his shoes had been on. It was not a big deal, only the first occurence; we survived.

The second attack came a few days later. I was proudly wearing my brand new, pristine, gleaming Asics. No sense beating around the bush, they're pretty. That particular evening it was raining and past sunset. Per usual, I was walking home. As I stepped in the first door to our building, I caught a whiff. Of course, there on the sole of my shoe, creeping dangerously close to the white material on the side, was the poo. Boo. Fortunately, I discovered it before I stepped into our apartment. It still didn't negate the fact that I was peeved. I decided to ere on the side of hilarity, though, and texted my dad, "I stepped in poo too. My crap's worse than yours." To which he simply, and rightly, replied, "HA!" But it got me thinking, why be so lazy, owners?!

The third time happened this past Tuesday. It was a mass disaster. We were playing frisbee in a field. Dogs frollicked in the background. We should have known. The game's grounds became a mine field. Everyone wound up with poopy shoes (one unfortunate player decided to go barefoot, this did not prove a wise decision...).

Long story short, please pick up after your pets. I don't consider my shoe to be a picker-upper and I know others agree. I'm pleading here, folks. Just do it.