© 2013 Aaron Atkinson

Bag No. 2

You can almost set your watch to it. Every night when we walk the dogs, Lola walks for about 200 yards and then she stops to go poop. Like any good dog owners, we wait for her to do her business and then Laura scoops it up and ties it tightly in a plastic bag.

The other day we’d just completed this ritual when a man with a dog passed us on the sidewalk. Indie and Lola were interested in making a new friend and they both excitedly ran to the ends of their leashes. In doing so they got all tangled up and so did Laura and I, and as the dogs tugged on her leashes, we were all wrapped up in such a way that the bag of poop swung like a pendulum as it repeatedly struck me in the torso.

Displeased with being repeatedly smacked by a bag of warm dog poop, I scolded Lola and Indie and Laura and implored them stop. But the pups were too distracted by their new friend, and Laura was too busy laughing hysterically to do anything about it.

So in the end all I could do was grimace and bear it as the bag slap-slap-slapped against me as Laura kept on laughing.

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