I pick up dog poop these days.
One of the keys is to have the poop baggie already opened and on your hand before the pooch finishes squaring up. You’d be amazed how tough it is to find that pile once she’s trotted away from it. Especially at night.
If you happen to be looking down during the trot-away, you have to go through the terrifying process of tiptoeing through a patch of grass that you know contains poop without accidentally doing something that will require 30 minutes, a stick, a hose, dry heaving, and ultimately a shower.
It’s a bit of a dance, really.
To clarify, this is not a new hobby I’ve picked up out of enjoyment or boredom, but because we moved into an apartment recently.
The good news of apartment life is being closer to friends, church, and work. It far outweighs the short list of bad news. But headlining the bad news column is a lack of fence, and a proliferation of green dog-poop baggies.
My daily poopscapades are a fresh, steaming reminder that I am not in control of life.
What is a reminder in your life that you are not in control?