All of those inconsiderate winter moments of dog owners strolling their charges up and down the Horse’s trails are coming to light. Every canine bowel movement of the past six months or so is revealing itself in all its brown, stinky glory.
As Afghanistan is to land mines, the Horse is to dog turds. They’re everywhere, lurking just under the surface of the melting snow, creeping out like freak show groundhogs to slather themselves across the base of your boot.
Y’know, though, I wouldn’t mind them so much if dog owners would take the moment just after doggie defecation to at least boot the
steaming nugget trailside. Then I wouldn’t have to spend walks with
Cole navigating patches of pooh on the trail, moving his sled so
cautiously around the brown spots as to avoid dragging his unsuspecting
mitten through them.
But we all know dog owners think Everybody Else in the World loves
to admire their pet’s bowel movements. So of course they leave them
centre stage with a deliberate intent to at least have them trodden on,
if not smeared across a tot’s snowsuit. How can one really admire
post-digestion Science Diet if it’s not ground into the threads of
one’s favourite jacket?
Besides, who wants to enjoy the trail, the trees, the view down the valley and the fresh wind on your hair when you could instead spend your walk focused on the trail ahead, always cautious of an errant footfall? Wouldn’t a walk after work be just so boring if there wasn’t the thrill of the Triple D awaiting you on the trail?