Pooper Scooper: another love story

I am a Mom. I am a mom to two children, yes, but also to a very vocal, always shedding, somewhat defiant German Shepard. As expected in this job, I scoop poo. Lots of it, really. As a southern woman (don’t you roll your eyes at me, FLORIDA is a SOUTHERN STATE even if it doesn’t get the respect of other southern states) I hesitate to write about such unpleasantries but it is a fact of life for dog owners (or parents, really) to deal with cleaning up after our pets (or hairy kids; tomay-to / tomah-to).

I have spent many years of hauling such unmentionables off of the yard and into plastic bags that I launched over the front fence and into the garbage cans (and in my less than stellar moments, directly over the back fence and into the underbrush alongside the canal behind our house). Lazy? Yes. Practical when toddling babies made their way through the yard? Also yes. To do this, I have used a heavy and unwieldly old shovel (who I have nicknamed “Reg” in my mind) to help me do my dirty work.

Sometimes, gross as is it to discuss, it takes more than one pass to clean up and I have certainly ripped a few divots into the yard when my patience is light and my shoveling is heavy handed. My husband has also worked the clean-up crew, though I outnumber him in sheer hours home and therefore usually beat him to the task. Just the other day I bemoaned the chore (another hallmark of my southern womanness) saying to no one in particular (aside from my guardian angel, or split personality, I suppose) how I “really ought to break down and buy an more suitable instrument for the mission, no matter the cost”. You can imagine my surprise when my husband called out to me, mere moments later that such a thing had been ordered and would be shipped to our door in two days or less. I halfheartedly protested, saying I could find an alternative that I was sure would be cheaper, but at the mention of suspending the order, I faltered.

You see, I would have done EXACTLY that and he knew it. I would have found the smallest or simplest or cheapest (and sometimes all three) of pooper scoopers. Then I would have agonized over if I really NEEDED it in the first place (spoiler alert: I didn’t). Then I would have skipped purchasing it and talked wistfully of how much easier my life would be if I had. (I can be a real peach).My husband however, cut out the meddlesome middleman (that would be me) and with a quick search and a few clicks made the task so much easier. I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t elated when the package arrived and more so if I feigned interest in using it right away. Without bending down and sheathing a hand to retrieve it, or hauling a splintering wood handled shovel to heft it away – this one chore got a whole lot easier.

This in its essence is a love story as so many stories turn out to be. Sometimes you need to step in and take care of someone who insists they don’t need it and sometimes you need to step down and let someone do that for you. Either way, I think we all can agree, that these kinds of steps are most easily made when you know full well that there’s nothing you might step in…which is why if you have a dog, you are going to want a pooper scooper.


One thought on “Pooper Scooper: another love story

  1. I absolutely adore this entire story, you and your husband, the fact that you call yourself a Southerner- that part had me laughing out loud with your Caps-Locked! (Born and raised in south Fla and I’m a southern belle through and through!) I love reading your stories. They remind me that you do exist! You know… the quintessential, down-home, American family… straight outta Mayberry-type families. We need more of that in this world today 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

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