Coming back along the beach the dogs were doing really well. It was a beautiful day. Not too hot. Parents and kids were all watching and smiling at the line of dogs in their blue coats, all being good. Bingo was second to last in line, doing better now but still not quite right. Then someone spotted it--something on the white sand. What is that? Poop, someone said. Where did it come from? Bingo, said the person at the rear.
Bingo? But we had not slowed down one bit. Bingo was on a tight leash, ahead of me but not far enough ahead that I could see anything pop out his rear end. Of course, I had forgotten the plastic poop bags. I forgot because I forget things and because Cheryl was not there (she's had a cold) and because she is normally is there and normally would have remembered the bags. Fortunately, a guy nearby had a plastic bag and I was able to clean it up pretty quickly.
It was a very small poop and a surprise poop, at least for me, because he had a giant poop at home before leaving for class and because I'd given him a chance to busy, busy (poop) just before the walk.
And now I feel bad that his crossing in front of me on the walk may have been a signal to poop. And I should have remembered to put some poop bags in my pocket. As Cheryl likes to say, bad daddy, bad daddy.