Nobody puts Baby in the corner. I for one don't want everyone to think I'm sitting in a dark room a la Glenn Close, flicking the light off and on, because that's only me part of the time. In general, like I said, I'm rolling along, checking the boxes.
So today I thought I'd share this box with you:
The puppy, in case you've not met him, is 160 pounds of happy. He's on a diet because even for a Bernese Mountain Dog, one-sixty is pushing some sort of limit. Plus, we are in Los Angeles, so you know, image is everything to him, and once he heard about the Beyonce and Jay-Z cleanse, he was like, Sign me up. We support his need to express himself and also I don't want anyone in my life to lose their ability to breathe when he gallops up to them and arranges himself on their lap.
Yep, he's one gigantic hunk of hairy love. A bull in a china shop with a big heart, droopy jowls, and huge paws.
And you know what they say about guys with big feet.
Big feet, gigantic...poop.
(Oh yes, I'm going there.)
I kid you not, on today's walk when he, uh...expressed himself, I heard a THUNK on the trail. Every single one is a double-bagger for me. I need space between me and the poop, or at least two layers of plastic. One just won't do. It takes some serious skill and speed to harvest this crop. I can only hold my breath for so long. Sometimes I need to use two hands. (That's four bags, for those of you who have lost count.)
Anyway, today after I knotted up the bags, I hung the package from the handy poop bag hook on the dispenser, which is attached to the leash. As we finished our stroll, the tethered bags hit my leg a couple times and I'm pretty sure I have a lavender-and-poop-scented charley horse.
Granted, wrangling his poop tends to be a lot less tricky than the up-the-back situation that infants manage to spring on us. CONFESSION: I threw the poop-up-the-back onesies away along with the diaper. I know children are precious but I didn't want that preciousness in my washing machine.
In summary, poop.