Lucky Dog was staying with me for a couple days, so when I got home we went for a quick walk and more moon gazing. Lucky Dog spent a little too long getting stretched out and holding for 5 in Downward-Facing Dog, so we didn't see much. We had a nice, lazy stroll through the neighborhood, we were the only ones up. Not even squirrels. She had been sleeping all night and was starting to perk up pretty quick, so we headed back before both of us would be up for the day. I looked down at her, she blinked and started thumping her tail, then flopped down the rest of the way. Good dog.
We seemed to have finally, nonchalantly, transitioned from snow to rain, but the last few days we've had good luck. I figured a walk around the lake was in order, and a dog is a good excuse to just go amble. Plus they're great conversation starters, especially dogs like Lucky Dog.
As soon as we hit the end of the driveway, Lucky Dog stopped, situated herself, and started hunching. Trying to keep a good attitude, I scooped up the pile through a grocery bag, reversed it, and threw the knotted-up parcel in the trash can thinking “cool, now I don't have to carry a steaming bag of pooh around the lake.”
Lucky Dog's toenails need a trim, they set down a rhythm on the pavement like she was playing a beat up old washboard, panting out a little “Hambone” with a waggling tongue. She set the pace, and I just followed along. We went whichever way, following the breeze. Her nose knows, I figured.
About half way around the lake we ran into a young woman propped up against a tree next to her bike. Lucky Dog walked right up to her and sat down. “Atta girl...” I thought.
“Nice dog.” the woman said, grinning.
I started to explain that she wasn't mine, that she was just bunking with me for a few days while my co-worker was out of town, but instead I decided to act like I'd had her for years. While the two got acquainted I told stories about how before I got her, Lucky Dog had survived being caught out in a blizzard and a flesh eating skin disease. I said at one point she made it through a timber rattler bite she got while disarming a bomb at the bottom of a well where some little girl had fallen.
“Yeah, lucky.” she said.
This was great, Lucky Dog was workin' like a charm, but just as the conversation was kinda warming up, Lucky Dog left and started walking around a few paces down. Nose to the ground, she did a couple circles and started hunching again. I tried to not draw attention to Lucky Dog, but as it turns out I didn't have to. The head-forward-tail-up position her hunch creates was aerodynamically perfect to route the northeasterly breeze down her back, over the mounting pile of scat, and into this gal's nose. She held her hand up to try to block it out, but what could I do? I had already used my bag, and normally it's me that takes a shit (figuratively speaking) while talking to strange women.
“D'yaaaaaaah you're doing this at the worst possible time!” I thought, but it was too late.
Luckily a mismatched couple with a little bug-eyed rat dog came along, they were good enough to give me one of their little store bought bags which frankly, wasn't enough to get the job done. You've heard that phrase “like 10 pounds of shit in a 5 pound bag”? Yeah, it was like that.
“You're seeing me at my best here.” I said to the woman.
By the time I had raised up she was on her bike and riding away, leaving me to hear this guy's toothless stories about how his bug-eyed rat dog had saved him from a St. Bernard attack.
A St. Bernard. Pbbt. Yeah right, what bullshit.
We got the hell outta there, tout suite.
"You're pretty rough on my savoir faire there, Lucky Dog."
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