|It's hardly Louis Vuitton is it?|
There are ALWAYS poop bags.
These are actually nappy bags. We abandoned the dog-poop bags (in Opaque Racing Black) when we realised that it was two quid for 50 dog bags or 99p for 250 from Semi-Chem.
Granted the nappy bags are peach-coloured and peach-scented and semi-opaque which is pretty gross, but I am £1.00 up on the deal so I can cope with hints of dog shit shapes through the plastic.
Anyhoo, the most peculiar thing has been happening....
*conspiratorial stage whisper*
THE BAGS HAVE BEEN DISAPPEARING
YES, DISAPPEARING! *dan-dan-daaaaah* <- mystery fanfare jingle
Y'see, here's the thing. There is a wheely bin at the beginning of the wood and also one right at the other end. So when out walking Usain Bolt and he takes a wee dump, I have to quickly reckon up where I am in relation to a bin.
If I have almost a mile to walk to the far away bin, I simply bag the offending articles and leave the bag on the path....and on the way BACK (ie only a quarter of a mile away from the bin at the beginning of the wood) I pick it up and sling it in the bin as we go home. Makes sense to me AND to other dog-walkers who do this all over the town.
But the bags have been disappearing.
At first I put it down to an enthusiastic, but ultimately mentally-disturbed, crow who has mistaken the rabbity-eared peach bag for...I dunno.... a curry carry out bag?
But yesterday TWO poop bags were gone. No crow, bonkers or otherwise, would be interested in the contents of TWO of Nero's bags.
Today we only did one poop in the wood (well HE did, I'm using the Royal We. Or Royal WEE *sniggers*) and I duly bagged the bundle and splotted the bag down in the middle of the path (leave it off to the side and you'll walk right past it, believe me).
We walked half way through the woods. I sat down on the little bench that allows me to gaze over the entire bay. The water lies like a grey slate, cold and distant as foam etches white ridges to the waves. Spears of sunlight unexpectedly pierce the equally grey sky and I see why we have such a high suicide rate in this cold, miserable season. *explains* I've been reading a lot of Peter May. A LOT.
While I'm writing The Best Murder Mystery EVER inside my head, Nero gets his head scratched and I sit and talk to myself. It's very peaceful and probably the crows think *I'M* a bit insanc. They might be right. I was singing a wee song from Carousel today:
Anyway. I have a wee sing to myself and eventually we toddle back along the path. I round a corner and a man is walking towards us with his headphones on......and swinging a peach-coloured nappy bag by his side.
So what? you might say....
HE HAD NO DOG.
Reader, it was on the tip of my tongue to tap him on the arm and say 'excuse me, is that my bag of shite you've STOLEN there?' But you'll be pleased to hear that I bit back my angry tirade and stomped on, wondering whether my poop bag had indeed disappeared again.
And YES it was gone.
I can only think that the poor man believes these bags to be orphans, left alone in the centre of the path by some careless poop-bagging-and-abandoning harridan for fellow dog-walkers and joggers to admire and possibly stamp to death.
He probably thinks that he's doing a civic service by disposing of the bag in the bin. The bin which is a MILE away, let's not forget
If I see him again tomorrow, I'll need to explain what we dog walkers do to cut down on the time spent swinging a whiffy bag around....
...or maybe not
*laughs evilly and strokes her white cat*