Hazmat Suit does Double Doody

Chuckle #446 | March 30th, 2011
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As spring draws tantalizingly near, families are gearing up for their favorite fertility rites and rituals. For many of us, one of those annual rituals will probably include a classic “Egg Hunt”. But before mom and dad can fill the yard with chocolate eggs and bunnies, they must first hunt for something else: petrified poop.

“Spring Cleaning” takes on a whole new meaning for dog owners.

I admit that I often neglect my winter “doody” duties. Who doesn’t? Especially this past winter when two feet of snow made it difficult to convince even the dog to “go” outdoors, forget about picking up after him. As a result, my current excrement status is somewhat less than hygienic. (That’s the polite version.)

In a better economy I might have been willing to pass this job off on the professionals. Instead, I bought a cheap hazmat suit, a construction grade garbage bag (intended for demolition debris) and spent half a day in the yard removing dog doo. And that’s only because my husband put his foot down.

And that foot happened to land in something squishy.

Once I de-dooed the lawn however, I was free to contemplate more enjoyable spring pastimes. As a child I’ve always enjoyed hunting for Easter eggs. But even as a 6 year old, with my brain churning with confusion over the slim connection between jelly beans and Jesus, I was smart enough not to question my good fortune.

“Why do you ply me with truly unhealthy amounts of candy on Easter?” is not a question an intelligent young Christian child asks her parents if she hopes to receive her full quota of Cadbury eggs. In this case I was more than willing to let my parents off the hook.

One does not “grill” the goose that lays the chocolate egg.

Egg hunts may be, as some claim, an insidious Vatican youth marketing strategy, but you can’t deny that they are a lot of fun. The thrill of the childhood egg hunt is unforgettable. I think this explains why, at some level of consciousness, I also enjoy hunting for poops.

Have you ever tried to find 300 partially decomposed poops? It’s a challenge. By comparison, festively colored plastic eggs are relatively easy to spot. Unless your dog has recently eaten a Beanie Baby, poops are not.

Don’t pooh-pooh my archeological fascination with fossilized canine BMs. Thousands of years from now, if and when my yard becomes a famous dig site (like Pompeii but hopefully without the death and devastation), scientists will be able to tell a lot about my family’s life from our collection of petrified dung. Like the fact that my family most likely owned a dog. And that we did not regularly clean-up after said dog. And that this particular dog had an unfortunate penchant for buttons and Barbie feet.

Not exactly the Dead Sea Scrolls, but interesting nonetheless. Of course I also think that owl pellet dissection is cool. And worm composting. Did you know that an earthworm can produce its own weight in castings every day?

Now imagine if your dog did that.
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