It’s no secret that Minnesota has experienced a hellaciously long winter. Before moving to Smalltown, I aways assumed April–the official month of Spring Break–to be 30 warm days of sunshine, flowers and pastel accessories.
Then I experienced April in ‘Sota — a desolate span of weeks marked by below freezing temperatures, significant snow accumulation, and loads of those obnoxious Canadian Geese.
And I’ve yet to see a single pair of capri pants!
Needless to say, I was thrilled to return from a weekend in New York and discover that nearly all the snow in Smalltown had melted away.
Until I took Jolie outside for a bathroom break, that is.
Apparently, Scott has chosen to go the entire winter season without picking up a single piece of dog feces. For five long months, Jolie’s turds have been safely concealed under an ever-growing blanket of Minnesota snow. Yet now that the final signs of winter are vanishing? Let’s just say that 300+ dog turds in a ten foot radius of dying grass sticks out like…well…300+ dog turds in a ten foot radius of dying grass.
Katrina is not happy about this.
My diligence in regards to cleaning up after Jolie most likely stems from spending three years in Seattle — a place where failing to scoop the poop is frowned upon almost as much as drinking Folgers coffee or not driving a hybrid. No matter where I go, I make certain I’m always equipped with one of Jolie’s scented, designer poop bags. It’s a strategy that’s never failed me– I’ve definitely learned these miniature pink bags are multifunctional–even lifesaving in certain situations.
So, while I’ve spent the last several months cleaning up Jolie’s droppings no matter how frigid the weather, Scott’s been using the plethora of snow to hide his DIY-fertilizer project. As soon as the great spring thaw revealed his transgression, I knew it was time to confront him.
Me: Scott? Have you seriously gone the entire winter without picking up any of Jolie’s poop?
Me: What the heck, Scott?! That’s against our apartment’s policy. We’re going to get in trouble!
Scott: Pfft! No. They can’t prove it was us.
Me: Can’t prove it was you. I’ve been doing my part to keep the grass clean this entire time!
Scott: Wow. You deserve a medal or something.
Me: This isn’t funny.
Scott: Yes it is! You need to lighten up. Plus…how do you know all of it is Jolie’s poop? It could be from some of the other small dogs that live here.
Me: Don’t be ridiculous. In a line up of 100 dog turds, I’d be able to pick out Jolie’s in a heartbeat. So would you, and you know it. Her’s look like little brown Cheetos…none of the other dogs have poop that even slightly resembles it.
Scott: Are you bragging about the uniqueness of Jolie’s poop?
Me: No! I’m just saying, I can totally tell that all of the offending poop is our responsibility. Every single dropping looks like a freeze-dried brown Cheetoh that’s been left to petrify in the freezing cold for several months.
Scott: If we’re getting technical, her poop is slightly bigger than an actual Cheetoh. It’s more like the ones they print on the packaging that are ‘enlarged to show texture’.
Me: I cannot believe you just said that.
Me: So…are you going to help me pick it up, or not?
Scott: Of course not! But not because I’m lazy. Everyone knows manure is the best fertilizer, and I don’t want to get in the way of Mother Nature’s natural composting. It goes against everything I stand for.
While he has a point, something tells me our landlord wouldn’t be able to see the logic in his argument. And so, I’ve taken it upon myself to become the lone pooper-scooper of the Taylor household. I figure if I can collect ten pieces of fossilized chihuahua feces with each bathroom break, the area should be free and clear by the end of the month.
Unfortunately, this week has set back my progress a bit. You see, despite being the middle of April, it still looks like this outside.
While I could be upset that the mall was closed due to a Winter storm warning on the week that is supposed to be Spring-Freaking-Break, I’m choosing to instead focus my mental energy on the more positive aspects of this prolonged winter.
Namely, the fact that the poop is once again hidden, and my painstaking scooping has been delayed for at least another week.
See? Always a sliver lining.
Editor’s Note: I realize this post may have made Scott sound like an absentee dog dad, which is absolutely not the case. He’s just really into natural composting methods. Truth be told, he’s the one who puts on latex gloves and decompresses Jolie’s glands in the bathtub while I blissfully lounge on the couch eating vegetarian Corn Dogs and watching Project Runway.
If you never want to visit this blog again after reading that last sentence, I would totally understand.