Enough about me... let's talk more about me

11.19.2003 The Day I Stepped in Dog Shit

It has to have been about twenty maybe twenty-five years ago that I last stepped in dog shit. And that was just by chance because I wasn't looking -- my guard was down. Actually, I spotted the darkened patch with the corner of my eye and thanks to my ninja type reflexes and a swift knee-jerk reaction, I was able to save my whole shoe by sacrificing just the corner of it where my pinky toe was.

Like I was saying, this was a while ago, back when there were no Clean Poop laws. I've been able to retain my ninja like skills for a while after the famous law was passed, but without the practice, the skill just faded. (You know what they say -- if you don't use it you lose it).

Please note that this does not have any direct correlation about how I feel about dogs themselves. I'm actually a former dog owner myself. The thing is that we all have to do number two sometime. It's what you do with the matter afterwards - or in this case, what you don't do with the matter.

Well, everything has been simpler since the passing of the Clean Poop law and I have to admit, I've really been enjoying a higher quality of life.

All until the other day.

We've been house-sitting for my parents lately and some of the additional chores include me taking out the garbage. We've also decided to do a little spring cleaning for them as well (Yes, we know it's winter).

Anyhow, it was getting really late and I was busy pulling bag after bag of stuff to be thrown away to the curb. Wandering into and out of the house, my eyes just haven't had a chance to adjust to the darkness.

When it as all over, Elizabeth and I congratulated ourselves for the good job that we've done, and started driving home. We had the windows rolled down a little to help cool us off, but whenever we slowed down or stopped at a light, the car started to fill with a somewhat familiar sulfuric scent (Well, somewhat familiar, somewhat not really).

We did the proverbial couple's fart check. It wasn't her. It wasn't me. Sure? Yes, it wasn't her. It wasn't me.

There wasn't much of a mild segue between the reality setting in and the shock I was starting to feel. I think I went through all the stages of acceptance. First, I couldn't believe it was dog shit. Then, I was angry it was dog shit. Oh please, don't let it be dog shit. Freakin' A! Is it really dog shit?! My shoes, oh, my shoes, please don't let it be dog shit...

Finally, I came to my senses and realized I just had to do something about this.

Instinctively, I started looking for a patch of grass. We drove by lawn after lawn looking for the perfect patch, and suddenly, it appeared -- a luscious patch of grass so neatly manicured, yet rugged enough to help skim the toughest of stains. I pulled the car and kept the headlights shining on it, and quickly ran out.

I lifted up each of my shoes to find out that one of them was totally encased in a gritty mold. I wish it were the situation where only a portion of the shoe had a small stain, but it wasn't. To top things off, I was wearing these rugged walking / hiking shoes – ones where the soles were thick and had deep rubber threads, like truck tires. And the threads, oh the threads -- they were deeply encased from heel to toe in this pungent smelly stuff.

Quickly, I started scraping and sliding my shoe on the grass – over and over again. I would then lift my foot again and stare at it shining in the headlight. Nope. It was stubborn. Once again I tried scraping and sliding.

I looked up at Elizabeth who just stared at me questionably wondering if it was working. She then started to laugh. I didn't really understand why. She continued to laugh, putting her hand over her mouth and motioning to me to get back into the car quickly.

I fearfully turned around and saw two people walking towards my direction who looked inquisitive and sort of angry at the same time -- obviously, the inhabitants of the house we're in front of.


I'm a rational man. I have a good explanation for all of this. We're all good, peaceful people here.

I stood my ground and waited. This lasted for about two seconds before I ran for the car and stomped on the accelerator with my shitty shoe. Yeah, we were outtathere.

Of all the shitty luck.

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...One thing is that no matter how old I am, I probably will not like being called sir or mister, for they have always seemed too far out of reach...




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