Last summer, my seven-year-old daughter, Norah, found some dog poop in the front yard. She told me about it, and in the time it took me to walk to the backyard for a shovel, my three-year-old, Aspen, had grabbed the poop and smeared it on her older sister. I did not teach her to do that. I want to get this across right now, because I’m not taking credit (or blame) for my child’s poop handling skills. She figured that out all on her own.
Needless to say, Norah ran into the house crying, Aspen chasing her, me following the two with a shovel like some sort of gravedigger, not sure exactly what happened during the five seconds I was in the backyard, but confident it had something to do with dog poop.
It all came to light quickly, however, when Aspen turned to me with her poop hands, and as I dropped the shovel so I could keep this little turd-handler from touching me too, she fell and cut her knee.
Suddenly I was faced with a decision. Leave her on the ground and forget that I have a daughter. Or pick her up and comfort her, all while most likely getting dog poop on me.
Right here would be a good time to pause and let you know that I didn’t have a dog at this time. According to my doorbell camera, some unknown ass-hat allowed their large wet-nosed Labrador to place a steaming shit on my yard while I was at work the day before, and then they walked away without picking it up because they obviously want to see the world burn.
Or they are just a lazy dick-taco monster who should have dog poop put in their mouth. You pick.
The bottom line is, I wouldn’t have been placed in this situation were it not for some inconsiderate cock waffle of a human who couldn’t manage to pick up their dog’s crap. We all have felt the wrath of someone like you.
Every person who has ever been to a park and stepped in a slippery mass of dog shit, cursed, and wiped it on the grass, all the while realizing that literally two feet from the turd was a box of dog poop bags and a garbage can, hates you. Every person who has ever worked in his or her front yard flowerbed and found a dog turd despises you. Every person who has ever ridden a bike on the sidewalk and received a shit shower from riding through a dog turd wants to see you in jail.
Look, I get it accidents happen. Sometimes poop comes when you least except it — I have three kids, so believe me, I know — but if your canine happens to take a massive crapper and you find yourself sans bags to clean that shit up, just go home and come back right away with a bag. Problem solved. Better yet, wrap a poop bag around their leash and you’ll never have to worry.
But if you are a person who can’t be responsible enough to pick up your dog’s shit, you’re an asshole. Period.
And if you don’t want to hear it from me, I want you to think of my sweet eight-year-old daughter crying in the bathroom as she scrubbed dog poop off her arm in the bathroom. I mean, honestly, did you realize that the moment you were too lazy to pick up the dog poop you left in my yard it would be a catalyst resulting in dog poop assault? No, you didn’t because that simple action shows me that you cannot think more than one step ahead, you soul-less douchebag.
Because of you, I was faced with a decision to leave my dog-poop-handed little girl on the ground and forget that I have a daughter. Or pick her up and comfort her, all while most likely getting dog poop on me. And honestly, is there a type of poop that is worse than dog poop? No, I think not. It’s the worst brand of poop.
Picking up that scuffed-kneed little girl with dog poop on her hands felt like when Jabba The Hut asked Princess Leia for a kiss. I honestly paused for a moment, wondered if this whole parenting gig was really for me.
And all of this was your fault.
But don’t worry: I cleaned her hands and her cut, all while she was screaming and I was crying on the inside. I sat her on my lap, while trying desperately not to get poop on me, but failing miserably.
No one gave me an award. But I know I did the right thing. I cleaned up your mess.
You are welcome, dickhead.