well, here it is...my second post about dog poop in under two months. (i'm starting to suspect that even though i just scored genius on the brain game, i may not be smart enough to walk my own dog.)
it's a great day here on the east coast...55 degrees and sunny--doesn't get much better for a saturday in february. K and i alighted on our morning walk and we decided on one of our alternate routes, which bypasses his favorite poop spot (i should know better, right?) and takes us past more houses than businesses.
wait, let me back up here...i always take two bags with me because once or twice he decided he needed to go more than once and i was left embarrassed with no pick-up mechanism. so, before we left i dutifully put two bags in my hoodie pocket.
ok, back to the walk. we're cruising right along and he decides it's time. i'm down, right? i have my bags...or do i? no, i don't! omg, where tf are they??? this is exactly what i ask him. he just flings his back legs in the air in response. omg. mortified. what do i do? RUN!!!
yep, kids. i left it. and i'm feeling horribly guilty. AND, ethel, don't think it hasn't already occurred to me that not only did i not clean up after my dog, but i sent two plastic bags into the great outdoors. i can only imagine where they are. they've probably killed 28 birds, a mouse, and suffocated the neighborhood cat.
i'm a bad person