Just a few minutes ago, I got back from walking the dog with my son.
As we headed out the door, I suggested, optimistically, vehicle traffic would be down since most residents were likely watching the Habs game.
We walked a few blocks to discover a couple of kids, undoubtedly eager Raptor fans, shooting a basketball into their roadside hoop in the darkness by the light of a streetlamp. Naturally, that’s the spot Spike decided to stop and drop!
Why not choose a spot that was spectator-free?
Whatever. Perhaps I’m projecting my own inhibitions.
He circled briefly and, ingloriously, proceeded to do the doo he had to do.
I pulled a bag out of my pocket as he finished, but before I could stoop to de-poop the road surface, we saw headlights coming over the hill toward us.
What are the odds Spike had to stop here? What are the odds a car had to approach at the exact moment Spike finished? What, pray tell, are the odds the car rolls directly over the dog’s mess? We were about to find out.
As soon as the car passed, I bent down to find the poop had been pressed flat into the pavement.
Through the inverted bag, I diligently tried to clutch and grab at something, but there was nothing! I wasn’t about to stand there and scratch matter free with my fingernails, so we simply walked away.
As we left the freshly-stained spot, my son remarked, “That’s probably either really good luck, or really bad luck”.
To the young basketball players and all who walk by that spot tomorrow shaking their heads, disgusted by some delinquent dog owner, I can only insist I am a responsible citizen who did all he could against all odds.