Today’s walk with Luna was the usual exercise in theatrical balancing. In one hand, there is Doodle’s lead. In the other, is a bag of poop. In between, I’m nudging her snout away from something horrible on the road that she’s keen to scoff. Since dog is a confirmed road pooper, I’m usually also signalling to traffic to ensure safe passage, so one can imagine the travelling circus.
During today’s walk, I was holding Doodle’s bag of poop and was swapping it between hands as I conducted the usual dance with passing trucks and impatient motorists. With my gloves perched between my knees to allow my fingers to refresh the poop clapper device in ready for the next doggy evacuation, Doodle took a lunge at a bird that was hopping along nearby and I managed to catch the bag of poop between the lead and my arm and it split open, warm and moist contents running down my arm and onto my leg. “ Trucking Barney Rubble!” was as close as I can type to the words I screamed, looking upwards in disbelief. Lifting aloft her lead with one hand in a damage limiting effort so that it didn’t get all poopy, seconds later, Doodle dog was tugging wildy, paws scrabbling for traction and keen to impress upon a young bloke dog that was trotting by. In an instant, I went from being a blokey man-around-town walking his dog, to a mincing, poop-covered Damien Hirst mobile art exhibit. Someone Up There is surely taking the piss.
In the afternoon, things were quiet within Doodle Towers. Lunch beckoned and I followed the trail of socks and underwear pilfered from the laundry basket by Doodle to the kitchen where dog was licking the remnants of one of the phones. Such a day was worthy of a good lunch so I cobbled together a sandwich, garnished with a few grapes and a wee dod o’ chocolate. Dog was munching on something, I cared not what at this stage, so I retreated to my keyboard and a spirit-lightening ham and cheese sarnie. Mid bite, the post came and it was a race getting to it before Doodle as she’s partial to a spot of subscription magazine with a side order of utility bill, and, although I made it in good time, there was no Doodle. She had other things going on and was tucking into my sandwich. I was left with the grapes and chocolate which was a good thing as these are bad for dogs. Still, it made me hop with rage.
As time whizzed on, I was still smarting at my day, the type that causes pursed lips and tightened arm muscles with looking and pointing to the sky and asking ‘why me?’ I felt better after I stole dog’s lunch from under her snout and was about to shit on her bed but thought better of it. I’m a good person. I know this because I have a release certificate from Edinburgh Royal Asylum.
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