If you own a canine companion, you know what I’m talking about.
For those without four-legged friends, the principle of Dog Doo Karma dictates that all humans shall clean up their furry friends’ canine landmines. Do so, and your shoes and soul shall remain poo free.
Fail to do so, and the universe will make sure you get what’s coming to you.
Pythagoras and I have the utmost respect for Dog Doo Karma, and travel everywhere with little doodie baggies tucked in our pockets. Even if we don’t have a dog with us. Even if we’re dressed in formal attire or swimwear, you can pat us down and find baggies.
But we had a momentary, regrettable lapse last week. We were visiting the Oregon Coast near Warrenton, and as we trudged along a desolate stretch of beach hunting for sand dollars, our dog hunched up performed her duty.
I looked one direction, then the other. Not a soul for miles and miles.
“Maybe we should leave it,” Pythagoras said. “The tide’s coming in, it’ll be gone in a few minutes.”
I hesitated. Did we dare tempt Dog Doo Karma?
But we were planning a long hike, and the thought of toting a smelly baggie for several hours didn’t hold much appeal.
“I’ll just make sure no one will step in it,” I said. I found an empty crab shell and used it as a makeshift scooper to fling the business out to sea. The seagulls were delighted. The dog was angry she wasn’t allowed to fetch it.
We looked around. No one had witnessed the sin.
We continued our walk, with the dog racing ahead and Pythagoras lagging behind in search of sand dollars. Maybe an hour passed. I had almost forgotten the incident when I heard a colorful string of curses behind me.
I knew without turning around what had happened.
Well, not exactly what had happened.
To protect your delicate sensibilities, I shall refer to the substance in question as peanut butter.
“First I stepped in this huge pile of @#$% peanut butter,” Pythagoras snarled as he did a one-legged dance to get his sandal off. “Then I lifted my @#$% foot and a big chunk of peanut butter fell off onto my other sandal. Now I’ve got peanut butter all over my toes and under my foot and—”
I tried very hard to be supportive. Apparently “supportive” does not include falling down in the sand laughing hysterically as your spouse drags one foot through the water and scrapes the other with a stick while the dog dances around waiting for the stick to be thrown.
Finally, Pythagoras got cleaned up. Our mood was somber as we continued down the beach.
“So the Dog Doo Karma got us,” I said.
Pythagoras glared at me. “Us?”
“I feel your pain,” I told him solemnly.
“I could sense that from your maniacal laughter.”
So do you believe in Dog Doo Karma? What about other closely related beliefs like Shopping Cart Karma and Last Square of Toilet Paper Karma?
Please share in the comments. I’ll be busy burning my husband’s sandals.
|Poor Pythagoras tends to his poo-covered sandals while the dog assists.|