I could have started a dog poop scooping business for people with too much disposable income to take care of their own disposal problems.
I like the scare tactic used in the article:
The Humane Society says that 40 percent of all households have at least one pooping pooch, each of which answers nature’s call outside 14 times a week. Do that math, and you realize that backyards, parks and grassy medians would be simply awash in excrement if it weren’t for someone picking up the presents.
We need a Global War on Dog Crap! We need an Agency! A cabinet post! Global warming isn't half the problem global worming is.
When I shared quarters with three or four dogs, two or three of which were very large (we had occasional large boarders, but only one small resident dog), I discovered that the little spade that made up half of our poop-scooping apparatus could be used to hit chip shots over the backyard fence. What had been a chore became a sport. With three property lines to choose from, I could spread the barrage.
One neighboring home was owned by a couple of men who never seemed to use their back yard. They seldom mowed. But that could present a difficult lie if most of the dogs' output was up at the other end of the yard. At best it was a par 2. But dog bombs don't hold together as well as real golf balls. It was best to make it in a single shot.
The neighbors on the other side had kids, so I didn't send anything their way. They had enough problems.
The neighbor over the back line had a Yorkshire terrier. I wondered how he might have reacted to the Russian Wolfhound products landing out of the blue. I couldn't ask, of course.
I was always meant to live at the edge of civilization, if not farther out than that. No one scoops after the bear, moose, deer, raccoons, foxes, groundhogs, squirrels, coyotes, bobcats, feral cats, rabbits and all the other little poopers out there in the woods. In a way, this symbolizes the frontier spirit. Keep moving on to where you don't have to worry about where your dog dumps.
If only I'd thought entremanurially about it, I might never have left the cocoon of city life.