Wait, Wait Don’t Poo…

My job on the afternoon walks with the dogs is to pick up poo!

On our trek around the neighborhood we have to be careful where we allow Blake and Skye to relieve themselves.

We prefer the waste grounds and empty lots…

They go for the neatly mowed ambience of the well trimmed garden.

It is up to us to keep them in check,

“Wait, wait,” we say as we drag them along to the adjacent vacant piece of land, “don’t poo…!”

Sometimes we succeed,


sometimes not!

Despite the valiant efforts of the Big Dog to cover his tracks by kicking up dirt and grass in the general direction of the load he’s just dropped…

Regardless of how good a job the dog owner does at bagging…

Invariably there is a certain amount of residue, stubbornly clinging to blades of grass…

…and sometimes my fingers…

The trick, when the latter happens, is to resist the temptation for the rest of the walk, to sneak a smell of the offending hand!

Personally if I had a manicured, unfenced yard, I would not want a dog squatting unceremoniously in my Petunias.

Knowing my luck the bottom of my flip  flop, or worse, the sole of my bare foot would pick up the remains.

I would have to put a sign up on my lawn…to deter the owners.

Or better still…

I would have to surround my garden with fencing, or a rope strung between iron posts or even a stand of privet.

How many pounds of poo have I picked up during these two months of daily walks and scoops I wonder?

Hubs calculated, one lucrative Saturday morning,

“About a pound,”  he guessed as he jiggled the four warm bags of waste in the palm of his hand.

Hmmm, I mused one early morning, I collect two bags, twice a day…

That’s a pound a day.

Sixty-one days makes 61 pounds of doo,

From approximately 60 lbs of dry dog food.

In one end, out the other!


“That’s a lot of doo,” I gasp out loud in the early morning mist,

and look over at the field of grazing cows who seem to be asking…


“You’re weighing poo?”

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