First, second, turd

Paul and I were accompanied on our walk today by Jasper the Wonderdog, who is the one constant of a slightly complicated visit by the Concordians. A was here, but left yesterday afternoon. H hasn’t been here, but will be this evening. And sweet B has sort of been here the whole time, but is out today charming the denizens of her grandmother’s workplace.

Getting suited up this morning, I felt in my jacket pockets to be sure I had a few of those plastic bags our paper-delivery person uses to keep the news dry. Jasper did his business early on. I handled it with my usual aplomb de merde, and being fortunate in our location, tossed the package into the Elementary School dumpster. Paul and I immediately got back to solving the world’s problems, and were surprised a few minutes later by Jasper making another stop for cause. I reached for another plastic bag, and came up…empty. Whatever I’d felt in there, it hadn’t been another bag. Even in the semi-countryside of our walk, I don’t like people who let their dogs leave samples, so I scrounged out a couple of old paper napkins and daintily transferred the gently steaming pile to a little hole I kicked in the not-quite-frozen turf behind a tree. Then I folded the paper as cleverly as an origami and carted it along until the next trash bin. My fault, for not checking carefully enough for multiple bags, but all set.

Mais non. As we turned the corner and headed down Main Street for home, Jasper decided his previous deposits were insufficient. On the lawn of a house one of my high school classmates used to live in, he assumed, for the third time, that weirdly furtive position, turning his head and looking over his shoulder.

I’d used the only bag I had. I’d used the scrunched up paper napkins I’d found. Now what? Paul dug deep and came up with an old paper towel. And I walked the rest of the way home with a handful of dogshit.

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