Two Dogs, Two Bags

Preston and I live across the street from a large fancy people church, and on the loop where we walk the dogs, we pass both the front and the back. Normally, this isn't a problem - in fact, most of the time, I really love living next to this church. It makes me feel very safe to live sandwiched in between a church and a school, the building itself is absolutely gorgeous, we can hear church bells all the time, and in the spring there is a fantastic cherry tree out front that makes me feel like a fairy princess (not EVEN a little bit kidding). So yes. Most of the time, I love living next to this church. Most of the time, with the one exception being Sunday morning.

I always take the morning walk (what's that you say? Best wife EVER?), and since I usually sleep in on Sunday, that walk happens anytime between eight and eleven. Yet somehow, no matter when I walk the dogs on Sunday mornings during that three hour span, church is ALWAYS letting out. I don't know if this church has thirty-six five minute services, or what, but between eight and eleven, there are always people walking to and from their cars, which are normally parked all along our dog-walking circuit. Which is AWESOME.

This constant stream of Very Fancy people on our walk was especially annoying when Ness was a puppy and drew the ENTIRE WORLD to her via a magnetic force of puppy breath and velvety blonde ears. Upon seeing Ness trotting down the street, people would approach me ask, "May I pet your puppy?" To which I would smile apologetically and say, "She's still being trained," while really thinking, "HELL NO. Your dress/suit probably costs more than my kidney, and chances are high to higher that this deceptively cute puppy is going to jump up on your dress/suit with her very muddy paws and her surprisingly sharp claws, so NO. NO NO NO NO NO. But thanks for asking!"

Now that Ness is fully grown, however, and no longer invokes cooing wherever she goes, things have gotten easier. She's trained enough that whenever we pass a fancy person church goer on our walk, we go to the edge of the sidewalk, where she sits down calmly and waits for a treat. Sometimes the people who pass us flatter my vanity by telling me how beautiful my dogs are, or - swoon - how well-trained they are. THESE people are awesome, and fill me with rainbows.

This morning, however, we passed no such people. To be fair, I wasn't in a great mood to begin with. A long week of trips to and from IKEA and Home Depot looms before us, we still haven't unpacked from being away from three weeks, school starts for both of us WAY too soon, and, oh right! It is ONE THOUSAND AND EIGHT degrees outside. So there I am, unshowered and still in my workout clothes, bringing a whole new level of meaning to the phrase "pit stains," when it becomes clear that Very Fancy People are about to pass us. I struggle to get both dogs, both (full) poop bags, and my bag with treats and keys to the grass beside the sidewalk, and the woman who passes me says, in a supremely unhelpful way, "You've certainly got your hands full!" THANK YOU, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS. When I didn't reply, because honestly, what was I SUPPOSED to reply, she repeated herself, a bit more loudly this time: "You've certainly got your hands full!" Barely able to contain myself, I smiled and through gritted teeth, said, "Yes I am aware of that," before pulling the dogs up beside me and walking away.

We were almost past the church and hark! home again, when I saw that one man stood on the sidewalk between us and freedom. Callie and Ness obeyed my command to sit and waited patiently as the man approached. He looked at me and chuckling, said, "Two dogs, two bags. I know what those are for!" This time, I REALLY didn't know what to say, so I just smiled weakly and walked away, but...REALLY?? Are we going there?

I mean, I don't need a reminder that my hands are full when I'm walking the dogs, but I DEFINITELY don't need a reminder that only a very thin plastic sheath separates my dogs' poop from my hands, shorts, legs, etc. Also, Preston and I talk about the dogs' poop a lot (for example, I woke up this morning to a note on my dresser that said, "Walked the dogs last night. No poops."), but HELLO I don't talk about it with the rest of the world. Except for, you know, the internet. But that's completely different.