…bag of dog shit.
Oh I’m sorry, what were you expecting? “I Stepped In A Bag of Gold Coins, And Now I’m Rich?” You know this ain’t that kind of blog.
I’m walking down the street and, ironically, get distracted by a lady walking a dog of her own. It was one of those dogs with coats. I’ll always be convinced dog coats are wrong for two reasons: 1) dogs already have coats, and 2) every dog wearing a dog coat looks like it’s miserable, like it knows it doesn’t need a coat. Anyway, that’s what was on my mind when I stepped right in it.
I was clueless to it, too. Didn’t see it coming. If my shoes could talk, I’m sure they would’ve alerted me frantically, sounding like Shia LeBouf in a Transformers movie. “Nononononono…..”
The fact that it was dog shit didn’t necessarily bother me. Well, it did. Leaving stray dog shit means I assume you’re an entitled prick who had a butler growing up. “Come now, Muffins. Let your waste lay. Alistar will be by later to tend to it.”
No, the shit itself wasn’t the most perplexing part. The weirdest part was that the shit was in a bag. Why would someone with enough tact to put the excrement in a bag lack that same level of tact in its disposal? Why even bother with the bag if you’re going to leave it on the street anyway? The bag is a promising start. Now finish it, baby. Be the Mariano Rivera of this particular case of dog shit disposal.
Then I started thinking of reasons why the owner didn’t find a garbage can. Did he or she search in vain for several minutes before settling on the compromise of, “Eh, I’m just going to leave it wherever. At least it’s in a bag.”
Can you imagine if the same person worked at a hospital and applied his or her dog shit cleaning principles to a job in the medical profession. “Eh. The doctor removed the appendix. Closing the patient up just seems like extra work for very little payoff.” “The colonoscopy is finished. Do we REALLY need to take the camera out of the guy’s ass?” “Eh, we delivered the baby. I think we’re done here. Might as well leave a bag of dog shit in the nursery and go about our day.”
I noticed the bag was actually from a grocery store down the street. Maybe it was the worst viral marketing campaign ever. “They’re going to be mad that they have shit on their shoe, sure…but they’ll be happy when they realize how much shit they COULD’VE had on their shoe without the protective bag from Bravo International Market! I’m telling you, this is going to work!”
I don’t know what the answer is, and I doubt I’ll ever know. My message is only this: look where you walk. You never know when you’ll run into the work of a dog owner who couldn’t close.