Q: What’s Worse Than Dog Poop? A: Old Dog Poop

Every spring, we all have certain things we fervently look forward to. It could be the continued sublimation of those stubborn piles of snow, the longer light in the evening sky or the exuberant sight of the croci poking out of the ground.

Personally, I’m pretty happy with just staying above zero during the day and not seeing a final kick in the pants from Old Man Winter.

But, sadly, the melting snow affords us all the opportunity to see how flippin’ lazy we all are.

Seriously, how hard is it to pick up a piece of dog poop?

I’m going to use the bulk “we” for simplicity’s sake. I have no doubt that there are some wonderful, thoughtful dog owners out there, but as every spring will demonstrate, there are just as many people who don’t give a crap about poop.

If you dare, take a walk around the back trails of Riverdale and you’ll get my drift. If I pretend hard enough, I can imagine I’m Frodo gingerly stepping his way around the swamps to Mordor … but that still doesn’t make it all that pleasant an experience.

(You use your geeky allusions and I’ll stick to mine. You should be used to that by now.)

Indeed, doggy land mines are as far as the eye can see and as much as my olfactory senses can take. Even one of my favourite tobogganing hills becomes too filled with debris to use.

Though I’ll admit, it adds a bit more adrenaline to the experience as I have to dodge, James Bond-like, through these newly uncovered coprolites, but there’s only so many Krazy Karpets I’m willing to sanitize afterwards.

Perhaps I’m not looking at the big picture here. When glaciers recently receded in an area around Haines Junction, the glaciers gave up a bounty of really old caribou droppings. Scientists were all a flutter at the discoveries they could make about life in those ancient times.

Maybe we’re just offering future generations of laser archaeologists (indeed, the future will have a lot of lasers in it … I hope) the chance to study us as a people through our dogs’ crap.

And dogs themselves, while apparently having such incredible senses of smell, do on a disgusting occasion eat “droppings” they might come across. Do they know something we don’t?

Now, I’m not trying to ascribe any nobility to myself or point any fingers. I don’t own a pooch, but I can admit to letting a few I’ve been acquainted with to go do their thing in the woods. I can even admit to my own laziness as the melting snow in my yard released a couple of bags of trash I left outside in the fall.

I also will freely admit I’m not going to be rushing out onto the trails to perform some de-mining. I don’t like touching dog poop as much as you do.

I just decided to write this knowing that our culture greases its collective wheels nicely with a healthy dose of guilt.

So the next time you take Rex out for a romp, take a long look at the newly arising turd time capsules and maybe next time you won’t shrink at hauling along a plastic bag.

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