Urghh! Aargh! Yukk! My daily chore, twice, sometimes three times a day. Who likes sticking their hand in a plastic bag and wrapping their hands around the warm, squidgy, fat slug-like links of doggy doo-doo? Seriously, despite owning a pooch for several years now, I still baulk at the thought and sensation of the activity. It may also be the smell as you go to close the bag and tie it, repelling the noxious vapours upwards to your own non-welcoming nostrils.
That said, and a thought has just crossed my mind. I never felt repulsed cleaning my kids' bottoms - at least I can't remember moaning about changing their nappies, even if they were overloaded green, diarrhoea, mushy filled ones. What were we feeding them?
What gets me is with a dog owner, why pick up (sometimes) in candy coloured plastic wrapping your dog's defecation, only to then leave it? Just leave it; by the side of the road, on a park bench, flung into the branches of a tree, nestled against the poo bin it was intended to be deposited into? The more I think about it, and unfortunately I do, the more it baffles me. Do these people not give a crap?
Once back in the 90s, a disgruntled member of staff actually sent me goose poo in the post. I was shocked at the time but I suppose it was quite funny really, they even went to the trouble of wrapping it in clingfilm, they even posted it first class, they obviously wanted me to receive it nice and fresh? I can just imagine the culprit, tangled in the rhododendron bushes, camouflaged in khaki, waiting very patiently by the lake, ready to pounce on any unsuspecting goose who squeezed a poop out. In my mind's eye they scrambled out of the greenery, rushed to the warm offending item, scooped it up, carefully concealed, then returned to their home, where they lovingly wrapped, packaged and sent with a beautifully crafted note, of 'a shit for a little shit'. I think it came with kisses too.
Just the other day I received another package, it arrived on my birthday, I love presents on my birthday. Except it wasn't quite the gift I was hoping for. The NHS want my excrement. Not all of it, you understand, just a sample. So, not only do I need to pick up turd for my dog, I've now got to grab a scoop for myself too. No-one tells you this crap. When did anyone say that as you get older, you are going to have to do this shite? Who on God's earth wants my faeces? They've provided the comprehensive instructions, the wrapping, the container, the scoop, the postage, they've thought of everything. It's fair to say the NHS Bowel Cancer Screening Programme really have got their shit together. Apparently, this service was available for people above the age of 60, now they're rolling it out for the over 50s. I hope you take it more seriously than I am?
