By Mrs. A. Doglover.
It was our regular and predictable routine. I picked up his lead and called his name. Dexter did his usual ‘I’m a crazy lunatic’ run down the hall, skidding to a halt at my feet, manically dancing the rumba as I clipped on his lead.
Out the front door, up the path and through the gate we charged. Heading down the street for our daily dose of exercise.
And just as we were really finding our stride, it happened.
Dexter came to an abrupt halt and donned the position that strikes fear into many a dog-walker’s heart. Trembling on his back legs like an old man, he released his business right then and there on the pavement; as he usually does, in front of the finely manicured lawn of number 86.
But never fear. I came prepared thanks to one of those plastic bag dispensers, in the shape of a small bone, permanently attached to Dexter’s lead.
If you remember to refill them.
“Oh shhhhhhh….,” was the obvious pun that tried to escape my mouth as I wiggled my finger inside the empty dispenser. Dexter looked up at me with an expression that clearly said, “Go on then. What are you waiting for? Clean it up.”
I looked at the empty dispenser.
I looked at Dexter’s doo.
“What do I do? What do I do?” I thought, clearly rendered stupid and only capable of yet another bad pun. Without moving my head, my eyes darted around the street. The coast was clear. I quickly tugged Dexter’s lead and we started to walk on. But then Dexter stopped abruptly again.
“What?” I hissed at him. “Don’t tell me there’s more?” I pleaded.
He sat down on the pavement and thumped his tail like an annoyed schoolteacher’s foot tapping the ground. “Ok. Ok,” I groaned and quickly tiptoed back to the scene of the crime, where I picked up a leaf and flicked Dexter’s doo off the pavement and onto the grass. What’s that saying about a job half done? In this case, it was clearly better than nothing. Be assured; I carried the guilt of that abandoned poo for quite some time.
But then Karma delivered a judicious blow a few days later, via the sole of my son’s shoe…smeared all over my lovely clean floors that had been mopped merely hours before.
And as I mopped up that dog poo from my floor, I felt the universe right itself as I paid for my dog-walking sins.
Confessions of a client is a new column on the vital pet's blog written by pet owners. If you have a funny pet owner confession to make, then please email your article of between 500-750 words (no judgement) for consideration to publish.