Doggy December - Day 21 - Doo-doo don'ts
I like to think of myself as being pretty organised. Every single day this year I've had a poo-bag tied around the top of Milly's lead so that at no time would we be in danger of polluting any public place.
Except for today. I'd forgotten to replace the bag we needed yesterday. So of course, as per her primitive instincts, she immediately dropped her fragrant golden nuggets in the park the second we literally stepped off the footpath, and I didn't have any other item in my pocket or backpack that would double as a refuse receptacle.
Luckily the 'doggy doo' dispenser was only a few steps away, with two black plastic bag ends fluttering invitingly in the spring breeze.
"Might as well grab three or four or a dozen or so to keep on hand," I thought to myself, seeing Milly sunning herself contentedly, idly watching my fumblings.
"Bloody thing," I muttered under my breath. The stupid roll had fallen off the pin and was now sullenly slumped at the back of the iron cylinder, too far for even my ET-length fingers to squeeze in to reach and too securely locked.
I wandered over to the gum trees in search of a small stick to insert into the meagre slot, hoping that it would snag a bag and allow me to grab hold of one of the handles. Stinky-Bum-Bugger-Snot-Fart, the stupid twig snapped and fell inside the dispenser, clogging the recalcitrant roll even further.
Milly lost interest - she had more pressing things to occupy her attention, such as escaping the unfriendly swoops from the magpies with nearby nests and to contemplate whether it was worth aggravating the arthritis in her back legs to try chasing the cheeky Mynah birds. Of course it was.
Maybe a discarded Paddle pop stick would be not only thinner, but sturdier and able to flick some doggy doo straps close enough for my clutches. Alas, not so - too short. I threw the broken half at the box in an overly dramatic expression of annoyance.
"Oh, Hi. Yes, having a bit of trouble with getting out a doggy bag, heh heh. Gotta do my bit in keeping the park clean you know." Withered Old Witch - she's the one who lets her three legged Spaniel back out a Cheops Pyramid in front of our gate every sodding afternoon and here I am trying to apologise to her for breaking into a malevolent dispenser in order to pick up some fresh dog shit.....
Rummaging through the bottom of my bag found a pipe cleaner (thanks be to Sapphire's love of all things arty and crafty), a pair of nail scissors and an ancient biro. Fashioning a poking/pulling device triggered at one end by the scissors and with force at the other by a bic-pen lid, a black handle soon became free enough for me to tug through the slot.
'Yesssss!' I gave a triumphant, Lleyton-style fist pump of self congratulation. And then laughed. Laughed at the rage I'd thrown towards an inanimate object, only to pull out thirty six bags in retaliation a few minutes later. Bags that'll last Milly until March.
Speaking of which, she tried her best to be the hunter/gatherer of our small postal area, but only succeeded in getting a stray chook's bum feather in her teeth when we got home.
Thank god for that and all other small failures.