As he developed teeth and walking ability, the sheet was removed but we all exercised due diligence in the living room. Until the day that my brother came home from school and walked across the rug.
"Don't move! Stay right there," said my mother urgently as if he were just about to stand on a landmine disguised by cream wool.
She leapt across to him and undid his shoes and pointed out the foul-smelling trail of dog's mess that he'd walked in and unwittingly brought into the house.
That is less likely to happen these days because dog-owners are generally more responsible than they were back then. These days, our Granddog, Ted, has only to hear the rustle of a plastic poo-bag and he knows that a walk is in the offing. There are two dog bins on the walk and most people observe the niceties.
Round here, it's a different ball game. I've started to notice on my local walks that there is a proliferation of poo-bags suspended from bushes, or hanging from fences. At first I fondly imagined that these would be duly collected on the return journey, but the tattered remains of plastic bags give testimony to lack of follow-through of my fellow residents. I read yesterday that ours is not the only area to suffer in this way. It seems everywhere you go, you see trees and bushes festooned with dog-poo offerings. It has been suggested that the age old method of stick and flick would be a better way of disposing of dogs' mess.
More dog-bins are required. Or else a blooming big fan to sort out all the miscreants who give dog-walkers a bad name.
No comments:
Post a Comment