Digital Analogue

Not for the squeamish

Today I was walking my dog, and as dogs do when out on a walk, he found a spot and started to poo.

It seemed to be taking longer than usual, and then he moved a little but was still in that funny stance, and I walked around to look---the last bit was stuck to him and not going anywhere. Yuck.

Lacking a better response, I put on the plastic bag with which I normally just clean up after him, and try to knock it out, thinking it just needed a little jostle or something. It wouldn't release, and of course Nutmeg was Not Very Happy about all this, and kept scurrying away as I tried to swipe at his butt with a plastic bag. I couldn't hold him, of course, because my one hand held the leash and the other was busy with the bag.

Finally I managed to grab onto the turd and pulled at it. There was the faintest little snapping feeling, Nutmeg (poor dog!) yelped higher and louder than I've ever heard him before, and having solved the problem I realised what it was: at some point he had licked up a strand of my hair, which had proceeded to embed itself half in the shit he'd shat and half not. Oops!

The net result was a slightly discomfited dog, a slightly grossed-out owner, and a slightly late Operating Systems class. The things we do for our dogs.

"So, if you're a sparrow with a whale... fist 'er." --Dan Savage