Oh Crap!

I serendipitously happened upon some found time on a brisk yet clear day. I tossed aside grey patent kitten heels and donned my beat up running shoes. Lark and I were going for a long jaunt to take advantage of the crisp air and blue skies. I was set free from the confines of a conference room and wanted to breathe the richness of fresh air. I wanted to enjoy the day unencumbered by tweets or music or phone calls. I simply wanted to take my dog for a walk. I was thrilled to walk long and leisurely, letting Lark stop and sniff the pee drippings at every fire hydrant. He’s such a cliche. It’s a luxury to have found time, and I wanted to milk it.

Off we went. Just my puppy and I.

I was downright giddy for the long stroll we were embarking on. It’s a rare treat for us both. Lark sniffed. He meandered. He peed. He stopped for snoozles from passersby. We walked with our faces stretched up to sky, exhilarated by this new found freedom of playing hooky. Lark had a lilt in his step, and I swear he was smiling. A fine day indeed.

And then he had to poop.

Lark squatted and did his thing on a small patch of grass about six or so blocks from our house and off the beaten route we normally take. I let him finish, making no eye contact to give him his due privacy, and pulled out the trusty plastic bag. He’s the poopingest dog I’ve ever known so I don’t leave the house without three bags. He was ready to trot off and tilted his head ever so slightly in that holy cuteness way that dogs do. I stuck my hand into the plastic bag to clean up the poop as I do eleventy hundred times a day. Lark eats random things so it’s not unusual for him to poop out whole LEGO bricks or tiny Playmobil swords (ouch!). It’s almost a game for us to see what his digestive system kicks out. On this day there was nothing strange, and his poop revealed no long lost toys. In went my hand to grab the poop. It wasn’t a solid clump so I had to grab a little more to catch it all. In fact, I noted that poor Lark had a rather squishy, runny BM. I was feeling sorry for him and wondered if some gingerale and crackers might help. I’m a mother, that’s just where my head goes when an ailing belly enters the scene.

And then it happened.

SQUISH.

The effing plastic bag had a hole in it!

My hand was now coated in runny dog excrement. I had nothing but two more plastic bags to wipe my hands on, and the only patch of grass was already covered in poop. I was quite literally single-handedly trying to clean up myself the best I could while keeping my dog from running out in traffic. I involuntarily growled, “Shit!” and laughed at the irony of it. It was funny for a nanosecond until I realized I had poop all. over. my. hand. Poop was smeared on my palm and crusted into the prongs of my engagement ring. It was already deep under my finger nails, and it looked as if I were going to leave poop fingerprints on the pavement. I was on the verge of dry heaving.

And I was six blocks from home.

Our long walk was cut short. You should have seen me trying to finagle the keys with one hand. No amount of scrubbing can make something like this better.

Serendipity laughed her ass off at me that day.

So did Lark.