I sling my old camera bag, containing yesterday’s bread plastic, over my shoulder and off we go on our walkies.
For some reason my husband decided that it is my job to carry the dog-poop bag.
From the moment we leave home, my upper lip and my brow moves closer to each other. My face just goes into a permanent screwed up mode.
I will only relax when the dog poops somewhere where I can cover it with sand, but no chance.
Since I started carrying the plastic bag, she seems to think it is her duty to poop on the best cut lawn in the most public place.
The dreaded moment arrives for me to unzip the little bag. Slip my hand into the bread plastic like a glove and pick up the warm soft substance from the lawn then carry the bag between my forefinger and thumb while my whole face goes into a screwed up spasm involving even my lower jaw.
There is only one waste paper basket on our walk – at the play park; so that is where it has to go. I see many people throw their plastic dog poop bags into the storm water drains. It will possibly wash up in the river or the beach, if it does not block the drains.
My husband said that I am a nurse, I should be used to carry poop, but this is different. I ‘gril tot in my klein toontjie’
I guess I am just not a good poop carrier yet, nurse or te not!