POOP

I took this one the other night as River was frolicking just before bed. Good action shot, if I do say so myself.

River knows a bunch of different commands for when she needs to "do her business," so to speak. "Outside" is what it sounds like, as are "poop," "trash," and "home," while "potty" means doing number one. My roommie and I are likely the only dog owners in our complex that actually pick up after our dog when they've left a-something on the grass, and I find that when I get back inside, it's often my shoes, not River's paws, that need wiping off (and we have a towel hanging by the door for that purpose). I swear, I hate people sometimes, holy poop, clean up after your gorram dog!

So anyway, River and I went on a walk yesterday, intended to last about half an hour or so. It was a really nice day, after all- bright, crisp, the slightest hint of a breeze. Hell, there were even birds a-singing, for crying out loud. Couldn't not hang with my girl for a bit in the beauty of nature. And naturally, after only a few minutes, she started to take a dump on the grass between the sidewalk and the street.

"Good poop, River! Good poop!" I gave her a treat to occupy her as I picked up her little gift to the world, using an old grocery bag, and we moved on.

Now me, I like to go different ways every time we go for a real walk so neither of us gets bored with the surroundings, so I tried  a new neighborhood near one of the bigger streets to which ours connects. And wouldn't you know it... I got lost. Of course, right? But hey, I'm an independent woman, and I have a dog that'd prolly bite off the penis of any dude that tried assaulting me, so I changed the music I had going to something more badass-sounding (to a collection of Filter's greatest hits, if you must know), and the two of us soldiered on. Or, well, I soldiered on- River just continued to sniff and tug and esplore and OHMYGODTHAT'SABIRD!

Once we'd been gone for over an hour, I started to get a little worried. I mean, this was getting kind of ridiculous. I had purposely avoided cul de sacs and dead ends, but I couldn't find either my street or that one connecting to it.

Not only that, but nobody had their trash cans out, so I was carrying a grocery bag with a bunch of poop in it with me the whole time. So pleasant, let me tell you, nothing says "it should be spring right now" better than birds singing, the sun shining, and the stench of dog poop, fresh beside you. 

Just when I was about to start panicking, River planted herself in the grass of someone's front lawn.

"Damnit, River, not now!" I said, thinking she was about to lie down or something. She does this when she's tired and forced to be outside. But instead of lying down, she started taking another dump.

And this one was kind of a duzy. I mean, it was bigger than the first one. "'The Hell, River? Haven't I been carrying around your last load this whole time? How can a dog your size have that much poop in there?"

When she finished, she looked at me with those damn eyes and I felt like the worst person in the world. "Aw, I'm sorry, baby," I said, and I knelt beside her and gave her some fake bacon to occupy her as I tried to figure out what the crap (hah) to do, here.

Moral dilemma: Do I reopen the bag and pick this crap up, or do I skedattle before someone catches me? I looked at River, and she looked at me, and I looked at her, and she yawned, and I looked at her poop. And I sighed.

Damn my conscience.

After some maneuvering of the bag, I started to very carefully pick up her droppings, since, you know, there was already poop in there, and I sure as Hell didn't want to drop it and make a mess. As I was doing this, I heard a honk, and when I looked up, some dude was driving really slow and giving me a thumbs up, grinning.

"YES!" I shouted at him, "I'm a model citizen!"

"You GO, girl!" he shouted back, then sped away.

As if this random act of upstandedness gave me great karma, I almost immediately found my street, and River and I were home and in the door less than twenty minutes later. In all, the walk lasted an hour-and-a-half, including potty and poop breaks. Also the occasional attempt to lie down by River once I knew where I was going (of course). She was tiiiiiired.

So you think things would be great, right? I'd be on the good side of the poop gods, right?

Well, no. Apparently not. Because then, this morning, as I was picking up her morning load, she tugged unexpectedly on the leash, and the poop started to fall out of the bag. And I, being oh so genius, instinctively tried to catch it... with my hand. 

Yeah. 

Aw, shit.