Last night, I did one of the grossest things. I'm not sure I should share it. It is sure to alter your opinion of me. Before I share it, just look at this adorable face and think of super soft floppy ears:
At about 8:30pm, Ransom and I headed out for a run. It was hot. It was humid. And I had to spray myself down with jungle-strength bug spray to prevent getting eaten alive by the swarms of mosquitoes. I carried along a bag, knowing that Ransom would poop shortly into the run (read: treadmill story).
Sure enough, he did his duty and after securing it in the plastic bag, I left it on the side of the road to pick it up on my way back home. That is so much easier than carrying smelly feces in a bag that flops back and forth as you run.
When we got to our turn around spot, I notice that a dog is barking at us through a window of its house. As I try to turn around I see Ransom squatting again. I say, "nooooo" but it is too late. I look back at the house with the barking dog and see a person standing in the window, watching and waiting. I obviously have no bag. He is obviously waiting for me to leave the poop in his yard so he can run after me or shout at me. I panic; I can't think of an alternate solution. So, I bend over and pick up the poop with my bare hands.
Luckily for me, it was completely solid; and, because it was the second poop, it was smaller in quantity. When I reached an area of weeds, I threw it awayand Ransom and I resumed our run. It was difficult, though, since I quaranteened my hand from the rest of my body and, more awkwardly, Ransom's leash.
If I wouldn't have panicked, I could have simply explained to the man that I would come back and pick it up. Or I could have just taken my chances and made a run for it. But, instead I picked up the poop with my bare hands.
If that dog wasn't so stinkin' cute...