If you’re a fan of colourful ways of describing dog mess and bodily functions, then you might enjoy this.  If not, then you might struggle.

Earlier this week, as we left the house on the morning School Run, I found that someone had let their dog diarrhea on the pavement just outside my house. I mean, it wasn’t directly outside…  It was along the road a bit, at the entrance to the church.  But still, there it was.

That particular pavement is a major – and I mean major – bit of pavement round here.  It’s the route not just to the assorted Schools, but also various Nurseries, the Metro, and… you know… work.  For some people.  A man with a mind for conspiracy theories might think that light tan puddle of shit had been left there strategically.  And on purpose.

Everyone who reached that particular bit of path had to take evasive action.  Those with quick enough reactions that is…  I’m pretty sure there were already tire tracks in it.


I used to quite like dogs as a kid.  I even owned one – a small deformed Shsh Tzu we inherited when (his owner) the old guy next door died.  When I used to take that guy (the dog, that is) for walks,  frankly, I’d let him shit wherever he liked.  More or less.  It was the early 90’s, and a less informed time.

Don’t get me wrong, there was a token effort to guide him off the path and out of the way a bit first.  But, point being, the culture of picking up your dog’s leavings just wasn’t as prevalent.  It’s worth remembering that – at the time – pubs also closed for lunch.  And you could smoke in ’em.  And everyone smoked!  Also nobody had a smart phone, and the internet didn’t really exist.  Furthermore, we still used CDs, and cassettes even….  VHS was king! And so on.

It was a different time.


But that was then.  This is NOW.  In these enlightened days, every dog owner knows that you Pick Up Your Crap. Throughout the land, smelly, overflowing bins are devoted to storing those little black bin bags everyone decided to start using.  It’s the acceptable thing to do.

Mind, on that subject, people seem to have exchanged the ‘Let your dog take a dump wherever’ practice, for simply slinging a shitty bag into a hedge instead.  We went on a family day out to this little Farm thing called ‘The Rising Sun farm’ a couple of years back.  Alongside being cold, wet, muddy and incredibly bleak, the barren hedgerow on the lead up to the farm was festooned with poo bags.  It looked like a macabre road side memorial, only the family had requested shit instead of flowers.  And it ran on for about 60ft.


Growing up, I’m sure everyone will have trod in dog turd at some point.  Despite the bagging culture, you still get the odd unexpected stool in your way.  It’s something you might tut at, and try to avoid – perhaps even hopscotch over from time to time.  It’s an annoyance, but what can you do?

As a parent, my attitude has changed.  I fucking hate it.  And I kind of hate dogs too.  Why?  Because – either by murdering your toddler out of jealousy or instinct, or by getting excreta in the grooves of your child’s snow boots – they pose a threat.

And…  And….  Dog shit can make you and your family go blind.  It’s a fact.

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s wet wiping crap out of kids shoes.  It goes on forever, and the sense of injustice burns me with a white hot rage.  Why couldn’t that cunt of an owner just have picked it up, eh??  The cunt.

Same applies to washing turd off of bicycle wheels, and scooters, and worst of all – buggies.  It feels like someone has attacked you and your brood, or daubed hateful slurs on your walls.  There you are, scrubbing away diseased, eye threatening filth, and just screaming “WHHHYYY???” to an unjust, non-existent God.

That’s a colourful exaggeration, granted, but it illustrates my point.


It’s not just the inconsiderate owners  – who I imagine to be pikeys – that I don’t like.  It’s ALL owners, including YOU. Probably.  If you’ve got a dog.  Or a cat.

You see, even when you pick up your shizzle like you’re supposed to, there’s still a residue.  This is normally fine, or at least acceptable, apart from when it isn’t.  For example in the leafy, grassy bit on the lead up to a local first school. It clags to stuff, and kids run through it.

Back in the Summer, on one of the last occasions when Son 2 would allow himself to be carried on my shoulders – without back-heeling me in the face, or clawing at my eyelids – he managed to pick up a little passenger.  I had a load of leaves stuck to my arm off his right shoe. On investigation, it turned out that the thatch of leaves were stuck to my exposed arm with shit.

I was enraged.  And fearful of going blind.

Even a trace amount can cause problems.


Anyway, back to the present.  Someone had left a plop of doggie skitters all over the road.  With no time to do anything about it, we simply swerved (and wheeled) around the mess and moved on.

Still… It continued to taint my day.  On the way back from the school run, and the shops, I like to let Son 2 off the hook a little, and have a bit of a run down towards our house.  There’s practically no risk of him being run over, and it’s a nice little bit of independence for him – and a break from all the handholding and that.

However, on that day, I had to consider the additional threat of that diarrhea.

“No you can’t go on your run, son.  You might run through some feces.”

“NNNNNNNNN’GH!” he complained.

So I ran with him, and had to lift him out of the way at the last second.  That happened 3 or 4 times that day, and on the second School Run.

Never mind, I thought.  It’ll have washed or been fully trodden away by tomorrow.


We left the house on the morning of the day after, and were immediately confronted with ‘A Scene’.  One of the other Mums in my clan was stood outside my gate with her little girl (a classmate of Son 1), their path apparently blocked.

“What’s up?”, I asked.  It turned out that some bloke was busy warning her that there was dog shite on the path, which he was disgusted with.  That again, I thought.  When I rounded the corner however, I soon saw what all the fuss was about.

Joining yesterday’s, slightly worn away splatter of crap – in more or less the same spot – was a fresh pile of yellow shit.  BIG pile too…  There was really no way through, unless you were prepared to slalom in between it.

On witnessing this, I joined the man and my fellow mum in mutual indignation.

I’m not having this, I thought.


When Son 2 and I got home, I set about destroying the stool sample outside.  It was, I felt, my civic duty.

I’m not prepared to pick up the waste products of other people – unless I made ’em – or animals – unless I own ’em. That is, unless it’s absolutely necessary, e.g.  Cat shit on the lawn, that’s all clumped into the grass.  Nobody else is going to pick that up for you.

With a shitty pavement, my policy is to simply wash it away.  Worked in the past, when I poured boiling water on some poo residue until it sailed off down the road.

In this case, I was simply up against too great a quantity.

I ordered Son 2 to stay where he was; took a full kettle’s worth outside and splashed it onto the bulk of the dog mess. The main body.

The crap just sort of… smashed up.  If anything, it now covered a greater area, albeit with smaller pieces.


More or less the same happened with the second attempt.  With the stuff that did wash away, I attempted to guide the flood of poo water toward the road.  This was only a partial success.

At this point I regretted my decision to not just pick it up with an inside out bag.  Additionally, passers by were giving me odd glances.

I decided to give up for a bit, and go to the shops again.


Just before the afternoon School Run, I had another go at dislodging the pile.  This time, I added some cold, used soapy dishwater (conveyed via a pan), plus two lots of boiling water.

It just about did the job.  Maybe as much as 85%, bar a few of the more stubborn lumps.  At the very least, it cleared a space – though most of it pooled into the rear tires of next door’s car.  A lot of it had retained its shape and form, despite being a bit more frothy.

Collateral damage, I thought.   No sense beating yourself up over it.

When I looked down, I discovered that several small pieces of stool had flecked onto my shoes.  Again, I was annoyed.


After giving my trainers a thorough and comprehensive wet wiping – and washing my hands – Son 2 and I went off to collect Son 1 (and his shiny new, over-sized bike).

Despite the splatter damage, I was satisfied that I’d done my part.  I could now relax a little, and allow Son 2 his run down the road with reasonable confidence that he wouldn’t get poo on him.  Son 1 was advised to watch where he was cycling though, as there were still “bits”.

Son 2 ran ahead, paused by the gate, and then – for reasons that were never explained – lay down on the path.  When I got there, I chastised him for doing this, and then helped him up.

It was then I realised that he’d stuck his glove into a big lump of pavement phlegm which someone had kindly left there.

Once again, I became enraged.


The glove was eventually washed at 60 degrees, for heavy soiling.  I threw some sheets in too (despite them being less soiled).


So… What do I expect from the world?  To NOT spit in the road?  To invent dogs and cats and people who DON’T shit on the ground?

Well, yes to option one.

With the second one, I don’t know.  Perhaps a device can be made that straddles the anus?  A laser even, or some form of plasma something, eventually.  We used to have Tomorrow’s World to give us hope…  But now what?

Nothing, that’s what.  Nothing, and excrement related blindness.  And worms.  And terrorism.

Anyway.  Thanks for reading.

Lots of love,



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