Anything Lime



The art of scooping

I’ve had Kya for four years. Of those years, I’ve never had a fenced-in backyard. Meaning that for those four years, I’ve had to walk my dog on a leash during her “working hours” and I’ve had to carefully pick up her “business” with my hand, which is protected only by a small plastic bag.

I’m going to be honest, I’m good at the scoop. I have perfected the art of the scoop. I am a scooping gold medalist. Tonight I was shamefully knocked off my pedestal when I made a fatal error – ending my nearly flawless scooping career.

There were times, I admit, that weren’t perfect, like when I would realize too late that the bag I’d selected for a particular job had a pinky-finger-sized hole in it. Perfect for my pinky finger to slide through. You can imagine how I would discover such a hole. Six times. There was one time in college when I was running late for class and I didn’t take the time to correctly position myself before the scoop, which is actually an important step on the path toward scooping enlightenment. So when I bent my leg to move in for the grab, my knee (in a pair of white capris, mind you) went cap-first into Kya’s back end, leaving a distasteful circular mark on my pants. Classy. Then there were the countless times I moved in too quickly, and Kya, in her after-poop fit of joy of spinning and kicking and twirling and smiling. I’ve gotten mouthfuls of dirt, grass, mulch, etc. But none of those times compares to the mistake I made tonight.

Kya and I had a nice long, relaxing evening snuggling on the couch. By long, I mean, we waited until after dark to take our evening walk. Not good for me with my irrational fear that every person I encounter is out to gut me and feed my intestines to their bastard children, but I left my ring inside anyway, just in case. A girl can never have too much peace of mind.

We headed out together into the dark of the night. It was nearing ten o’clock as she assumed the position. As she was completing what looked like a hearty pile, I crept down, bag in hand, to grab it. Here’s where I made the mistake: I was so concerned with FINDING the poo, that I did the obvious thing. Ok, Whitney, you can find it. Just look at where her butt is and then feel directly below it. This is easy. But was it? WAS IT? If this technique was going to work, I had to wait until the opportune time – when she was completely finished, but still in position, and before she turns to spin and kick and chuck dirt into my face. It was a risky plan, but it was my only chance at success out here in this unlit, pitch black park. Here goes.

Bag on hand, I moved in. Perfect. I located the poo immediately. Success. One handed, I grabbed the entire mess with one swift gesture. Perfect. Wait. What’s that? ON MY WRIST? Shit. Well, it seems I had NOT made my attempt at the opportune time. It seems Kya was not finished. I backed off, made sure she was REALLY done, and then went again for round two. This time, I had the whole bunch. I was grossed out, still crouched down, tying the bag into a knot and wondering how I would ever survive this.

Meanwhile, Kya began spinning and kicking dirt into my hair.

I never stood a chance.

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