Picking up dog poop is very degrading. I think that when I see my neighbor scooping his dog’s poop. I feel degraded when I scoop up the poop in my yard, twice as much as what my neighbor has (Dave poop & Parker poop). What is that saying dog’s have? “Who is the real Master? You pick up MY poop.”
To add to this humiliation at being janitor to my canines, the other day my toddler sat in his Cozy Coupe and supervised me while I scooped. He made me feel like I was completing community service and he was my prison warden. I should have given him my cap gun so that he could take me down if I decided to make a run for it.
In a few weeks I am dog sitting a wonderful dog, except for one thing–HE POOPS! Just like my two existing dogs! So my backyard poo will go up…um, 33% maybe? I don’t know the math, but you get the idea. Hopefully my husband will have mowed the lawn by then, so long grass will no longer be my problem. By late-October, leaves will be my problem, falling and burying all the poo.
After the leaves, comes the snow.
Before I got a dog, I was like “I can’t wait to have a dog. It will be so worth having to pick up her poo.” And it was. With one dog.
Then my husband got a dog. I thought we would take turns scooping the poop. No such luck. I tried to make a deal, figuring that dog pick-up duty and balancing the checkbook were the two most despised jobs in our home. But no such luck. My husband won’t perform either of those tasks.
The fear of the dogs tracking poo into the house and my need (and my son’s) to freely walk in our backyard keep me diligent about keeping it picked up. Well…once a week anyway…
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