Kevin Page: Hang-ups over nature's call

Kevin Page

I have a dog named George.

Every day at 5pm he drags me to the park. I take his lead, a ball and plastic bags, just in case there is a need to answer a call of nature. From him. Not me.

I learned early in George's four years that carrying just one bag is not enough. It has been an embarrassing lesson.

George would often tend to answer his first "call" in the wide open spaces of the park. As a proud and organised owner, I would step forward, purpose-built plastic bag in hand, and deftly swoop up the offending material, leaving barely a trace of its presence.

But then George would undo all the good work.

Yes, I probably should have let it go and maybe waited till I saw her walking by next time and had a friendly word. But I didn't.

Many times on the walk back home past other suburban houses, George would receive a second call and promptly deliver on someone's front lawn, more often than not when the owner was in the garden or looking out the window.

Upon such occasions and without a second bag handy, I have been forced to do a MacGyver and come up with something out of nothing to clean up and remove the mess.

Wide leaves, empty chip packet in the gutter, handkerchief ... all have been pressed into action at some stage.

So then I learned the value of taking more than one bag. Problem solved.

Anyway.

The other day, I am working away in my home office when a fellow dog owner from our neighbourhood went past. I've seen her around over the years. She lives in the white house with the red roof two streets over.

I had assumed she was a good dog owner. Certainly one who would understand the "two-bag" law.

But as her dog answered a call of nature on my front lawn and she simply walked off with no attempt to clean up whatsoever, I figured maybe that was not the case. Besides I was peeved.

I was sure she had seen me in my office window so she knew I was home.

Reluctant to have to sort the mess myself I grabbed a bag and bolted outside planning to give it to her.

"Excuse me," I yelled down the road, waving the bag as she made her getaway. "You left something behind".

She ignored me and kept walking.

Pondering my next move I trudged back to my lawn and scooped up the pile of mess.
Now, dear reader, you may or may not feel the following action was entirely appropriate. Yes, I probably should have let it go and maybe waited till I saw her walking by next time and had a friendly word. But I didn't.

There's been a bit of "#hit and run" around our way lately so with the bag still warm in my hand and her indifference equally warm in my mind, I jumped into my car and drove the short distance to her house.

There I wrote a quick, unsigned, indignant note ("I think you left this behind") on a piece of paper and put it with the bag at the foot of her letterbox.

Wrong or right? Not sure. The jury in my head is still out.

I was still pondering the issue three days later when I came across a fellow dog walker at the park and relayed the tale, cringing a little in adolescent embarrassment as I mentioned my "delivery" to the white house with the red roof.

"Do you mean the lady with the brown dog from a couple of streets over?," he queried.
"Yes," I replied uneasily as a smile began to spread across his face.

"Well it's a good job you didn't sign the note," he said. "She moved further up the road to a smaller place about six weeks ago."