Soiled Again

I'm out with Jasmine when my neighbor asks about Jasmine's Halti collar. I'm answering his questions and we're discussing the problems he's having with his dog as Jasmine's sniffing around and has this giant, messy poop. I've already dropped my key on the ground and am juggling her and the key and the poop is unwieldy and I'm still talking and telling him about the training over at PetSmart and suddenly he's losing interest fast. I'm chalking that up to the fact that he hasn't gotten any training for his puppy yet, sarcastically thinking why start now when his dog is just over a year old and dragging his son around. Maybe they can't afford it or whatever, but their dog desperately needs training and exercise, but I'm trying to give just the slightest of nudges because I want something positive to come from this conversation and help that dog get what he needs, not try to solve the problem solely by creating another Hannibal Lecter lookalike in the neighborhood. So he takes off and I'm walking with Jasmine in the freezing cold (It finally snowed today.) and I'm thinking about this morning when another neighbor had her goddamned puppy loose in the courtyard while she stood at the top of the stairs. This dog is COMPLETELY untrained- the one who latches his sharp little puppy teeth on the first article of clothing in sight, only now he's almost Jasmine's size. Once again, this woman has to come down and collect her dog without a word of apology. At least the neighbor I was talking to keeps his untrained puppy monster on a leash and is looking for ways to address what he knows is a problem, unlike Ms. Has No Idea What She's Doing.

So I'm all distracted, thinking about this, and on the way back home I happen to look down and realize that I am wearing streaks of Jasmine's unhappy poo. I understand why he had a sudden lack of interest in our conversation, because I started out as Knowledgeable Dog Owner and (literally) painted myself into Crazy Dog Lady who doesn't even notice that she's wearing dog shit. (Well hey, it's COLD outside. If it was July, I might have noticed sooner.) I'm immediately outraged that he didn't tell me, and intend to comment on the diarhhlemma the next time I see him so that he'll know that he doesn't have to avoid me because I am normally coordinated enough not to smear poop on myself. I'd like to think I would be kind enough to point this sort of thing out to someone, but who knows- I might be stunned into blinking a lot with raised eyebrows and waiting for my first opportunity to escape and cackle to myself.

Sigh.