A while back I was walking my dogs in the neighborhood, which by itself is a hairy proposition. They like to pull really hard, so I wrap their leashes around my hands for extra leverage. One of my dogs, Ripley, is terrified by the sound of children (can you blame her?) and wants to take off running when she hears them.
On this fine day I had just scooped a rather generous amount of their poop when a group of kids started making a racket. Ripley, as usual, tried to run away at full speed. No big deal, I thought, until I realized her leash had wrapped around the poop bag I was carrying.
Before I could react, the bag popped – all over me.
I stood there in shock, not knowing what to do. I was a long way from home, and I didn’t have my cell phone on me so I couldn’t call my wife to come get me (“Hey honey, remember how you said you were having a shitty day…?”).
I had no choice but to walk through the neighborhood looking like the victim of a drive-by pudding attack. Luckily I didn’t run into anyone I knew, and nobody stopped me to point out I had something on my shirt (and my pants, and my shoes).
From that day on, I’ve been much more careful about how I hold their doggy droppings.