“I’ll get a stick!” I announced, to Sam.
But from where?
There’s never a stick around when you need one. I scanned the tarmac, discovering a used KFC box, an abandoned arm (from what looked like a Power Ranger) and assorted leaves at various stages of decomposition. There were no sticks, I was stuck with poo on the wheel of the pram.
Not for the first time.
I’ve discovered that dog poo is my absolute nemesis. Every move I make, every step I take, I’ll be treading in it (or rolling a pram wheel through it).
Don’t get me wrong, I love dogs. I’m very much a ‘dog person’. If I ever get reincarnated I’ll happily come back as a hound of some variety. Their ‘doings’, on the other hand, are as repulsive as it’s possible to be. Most of us share this opinion – don’t we? The only thing I find more repulsive than dogs’ mess are the people who don’t clean up after their pets. I just can’t understand how this happens. How does someone walk away from dog mess and think that’s OK?
It’s getting worse. Every day I take Sam on (at least) 3 long pram-based walks, in an effort to get him to sleep or give his mum time to snooze. I know this is nothing unusual, thousands of fathers up and down the country are doing the same thing, so I’m not looking for a medal. My frustration is these trips have become mini-assault courses through which I must weave, dodge and leap my way in order to avoid the little ‘gifts’ left by previous passers-by of the canine persuasion. It’s exhausting and I’m exhausted to start with. Lapses of concentration inevitably occur and I find myself with an unwanted fragrant passenger on the pram.
“Does the baby need changing?” my other half will ask, sniffing the air on my return.
“P.P.I.!” I’ll reply.
For the uninitiated, I’m talking about a ‘Poo. Pram. Interaction.’ This is usually followed by boiling the kettle, for hot water to wash the wheels – not my favourite activity.
I’d like to say that I do this in good grace, but I don’t. I stand in the front yard moaning to anyone who’ll listen to my predicament. I wonder aloud how hard it would be to collect the mess in a bag and put it in a bin. ‘Not very’ is the inevitable answer. Although bags aren’t completely the answer. There’s a new breed of dog walkers who collect the detritus in a bag, then leave the bag on the pavement. Either way, it’s someone else’s problem.
My plan would be to introduce spot fines. Dog walkers would be stopped on searched and those not carrying bags for their pet’s doings would be fined.
Perhaps. I do have another solution, anyone not picking up after their animal would be made to stand in the town square. Don’t worry, I’m not thinking of bringing back the stocks. My thought is they would have buckets of hot, soapy water and be available to scrub my pram wheels. Sounds fair to me.
I’m sure this has ruffled some feathers. To those of you I’ve annoyed, don’t worry I don’t have any power to enforce my anti-poo ideas.
In the meantime if you see a bearded man, with a pram, looking for a stick. It’ll be me, refusing to find poetry in motions.
The Out of Depth Dad.