Dog mess sends me barking mad
THE Whodunnit (or should that be Poodunnit?) dog poo mystery comes to haunt me this week.
I got the entire house cleaned professionally. A treat, as the grime has been getting on top of me.
I’m usually on red alert whenever the kids walk dirt through our home. I’m like a ninja with a mop. But this time round I’m the culprit. I do the school run all excited that the house is smelling like a hotel, only for my joy to turn to disgust.
I’m flying around the house until this foul stink knocks me for six.
I recoil and look down, there are brown stains everywhere, I’ve walked dog poo through the spotless house.
‘Oh Lord’, I think, ‘where is it?’ I look down, it’s all over my new trail runners (they have crevices on the soles, perfect for trapping lingering excrement).
I usually put my footwear straight into the shoe box, but as I’m prepping for the Ecotrail Wicklow, I’m on a mission to break in said shoes.
I want to cry, I’ve traipsed poo everywhere – the stairs, the living room, my
actual bedroom smells like dog dirt.
I attempt to remain calm, nobody died, after all. I get down on my hands and knees and scrub. I get rid of it and breathe. A few hours later, my six-year-old comes in from school crying, saying her shoes stink. ‘Oh dear God, no’, I panic. I clean the dog poo off her beautiful mermaid shoes.
Thankfully, Erin did not walk the demon poo through the gaff.
But the frustration takes hold. I get the marigolds on, grab a poo bag and dustpan and march around the estate like Mrs Mop.
I find poo on the green opposite our house. It looks like it’s been there a while, so that’s not the offender. Then I find more recent droppings scattered around the pathways. It’s everywhere. I pick it all up and dispose of it. The first neighbour I meet has a terrier cross, she asks me what I’m at.
“I’m on the hunt for poo,” I say, faking cheer.
She responds: “Well anytime mine poos I pick it straight up, maybe it’s that big dog round the corner.”
Another owner is on the case too, telling me she’s been picking up another dog’s poo outside her home.
We never find out ‘whodunnit’, so I’ve had to let ‘poogate’ go.
It’s not the dog’s fault, if he has to go, he has to go, but where are all the pooper scoopers?
My kids are begging me for a dog but hey, I think I’ll kick that can down the road a bit, for now anyway.