excrement is no fun.

If you’re looking for someone to watch your dog/cat/rodent/baby, I am most certainly not the person to ask. While I have a fondness for small, fuzzy, cute things (even though touching most fur makes me feel soiled), I have a tremendous problem with feces.

I have an unfortunate tendency to start gagging and dry heaving at the mere sight of poop, and if I happen to smell it, well, I will probably vomit on you, your dog, your baby, and/or anything else in the immediate vicinity.

I had a job selling paintings door-to-door a couple summers ago (it was far, far worse than you can imagine), and I somehow got roped into watching my boss’s dog for a weekend while she strutted off someplace fantastic. Her dog was big and black and smelled like rotten weeds.

It was also friendly, which seems like a good thing but in reality just means it will try to lick you and jump on you and, if you’re really unlucky, will knock you down because you weigh the same, and you will find yourself fighting for your life to get back on your feet while the dog leaps at you with its slobbery mouth and rancid pup-peroni breath.

Dani came over in the afternoon while I was watching the monstrosity, and we took it for a walk. This dog, like all dogs, liked to walk and sniff and also liked to go to the bathroom on everything we passed. This was fine – until – the dog paused and sniffed the sidewalk. And then, not bothering to defecate on the grass where I wouldn’t have to deal with it, oh no, the wretched dog squatted on the sidewalk and proceeded to empty its bowels on not one but two sidewalk squares.

I froze.

In the name of preparedness, I’d brought a plastic baggie along, but I’d been hoping to never take it out of my pocket. Now, not only did I have to pick up poop off the sidewalk, but I had to put the baggie on my hand inside out and PICK UP the poop through the bag. That is virtually the same as if I were to pick the poop off the sidewalk with my bare hands.

True to form, as I leaned over (trying to simultaneously both a) keep the dog away from me while still holding its leash and b) keep the dog from trying to eat its own excrement, as it seemed wont to do), I began dry heaving over the sidewalk, trying desperately to finish my task while Dani watched on in horror, embarrassment and possibly, amusement. She ended up grabbing the leash and taking the dog away while I collected myself, then the three of us walked back to my boss’s house: Dani, the prancing dog, and myself, holding the poo filled bag as far from me as possible.

Never again.

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