A Poo-purseful Walk

Due to my current unemployed status, Flounder and I have been taking lots of walks lately.  It's nice that we live in wooded area with paved trails and even a trail along the cliffside overlooking the ocean. We have a regular house, with a small yard where Flounder is let out to relieve himself as he needs.  He's never been a dog who has to go outside constantly, twice a day and he's good.  Lately, however, that has not been good enough.

It's a couple minute walk to get our mail so I usually take Flounder on this daily trip over to the communal box.  I grab the mailbox key and his leash as he does his happy dance.  Just the slightest suggestion that we might be going outside excites Flounder.  Then he gives me the look, the one that says "grab a bag lady, maybe two even" and I hunt around for a plastic poo picker upper bag.  Why has my daily "get a little exercise and nature" stroll turned into turd duty?  Yes, I said doody, snicker. . .  Is it the suggestion of other dogs that turns his bowels a churning?  Almost every trailhead of this HOA has the bag boxes & a garbage can.  I think Flounder is beginning to recognize what that squatting dog picture means he just doesn't realize it's for pet owners convenience, not a requirement. Think of it as a Suggested Speed Sign as you go around a corner, not a Stop Sign you have to obey.

So off we go . . . am I looking at birds and squirrels scampering, or listening to the roar of the ocean and the clang of the whistle buoy?  No, I'm eyeing a bulging rectum wondering when it's going to drop and I hope we'll be near a garbage can when it does.  When it finally does, I turn that baggy inside out, stick my hand in and grab those warm gooshy poo-goobers.  Ahh, the joys of being a dog owner.  Who's really in charge here . . . .