The Walk of Shit

I walked to work this morning and spent a good portion of that walk cursing dogs and their owners. "Fucking dogs" I said as I simultaneously avoided ice slicks and huge piles of thawing dog shit. I'll admit that the ice had nothing to do with the dogs, but the combination of the two made walking feel like a bad, smelly video game. It's been warm lately and the snow's been melting away, leaving behind it evidence of dog owners who can't be bothered to clean up after their beasts. I can understand their reluctance. Dog shit is gross. It's at least as gross as human shit. For this reason alone, I would never own a dog. Man's best friend or not, I'm not cleaning up after anyone else but myself (okay, I'll change my nephew's diaper when necessary but once he turns two, it's all up to him). However, since you have decided to own a dog. Since you have frequently elaborated on how much joy and happiness and unconditional affection this animal has brought into your life. Since you have spent countless hours picking out cute little jackets and chew toys for your animal's enjoyment. Then you must get your delicate hand in a fucking plastic bag and pick up after your best friend. The citizens of Toronto the not-so-clean thank you in advance for your cooperation.