This week, I have been busy with a traditional springtime ritual: picking up all the dog poop that is re-appearing as fast as the snow drifts can melt. Every day, there are abundant new offerings to be scooped. A lot of new offerings. Do I have two dogs or 12?
I am admittedly OCD when it comes to keeping the dogs’ yard picked up. Even during the winter, I am out there every couple of days, scooping away.
Only this winter, I apparently skipped a couple of days. Or a couple of weeks. Or I possibly haven’t done it since the first big snowstorm buried us back in December. Or maybe the neighbors’ dogs are coming over and letting themselves into my dogs’ yard before crapping all over the place. (That is a blog entry all in itself. I’ll get back to that topic some time. I promise.)
In any event, the snow is disappearing and the poop is re-appearing and I am a scooping fiend. To make matters worse, it has rained every day this week and the newly exposed and thawed poop is in immediate danger of melting into (play horror music here) poop soup. So I am scooping with a vengeance to stay ahead of the elements. Wiping off paws before the Belgians come back in the house is bad enough when all I’m wiping off is mud.
Last night I was making my yard rounds with my scooper and bucket when I looked up to see the Farmer pulling up in front of the house with the big manure spreader hooked behind the tractor. Um . . . thanks, honey, even though that’s a little bit of overkill. He waved and drove on by. Guess it wasn’t for me after all, although it would have saved me making multiple trips out to the field to dump my little bucket.
Today, I am thankful next week’s forecast shows three days in a row without rain.