One of the biggest hazards in the dog walking business is the poop bag, but not in the way you might expect.
Last night I left a full poop bag in my car, baking for 12 hours in the intense heat that a car reaches in October when you throw in out-of-control climate change.
Why did I do that? Why didn't I throw it out, like a sane person would do?
Good questions.
You see, sometimes clients don't have accessible green bins. Sure, I could leave the bag on their porch, or right at the front door, or maybe on their bed, in hopes of encouraging them to bring out their bin.
But I have scruples. Ethics. Morals. When it comes to matters of excrement, be it canine or human.
So I throw it in my car, right where I can see it so I don't forget it's there. Of course I have every intention of grabbing it when I see a garbage can or when I get home. I'm not stupid.
Sometimes I forget, okay? I'm preoccupied with important stuff, like opening a cold beer after a long, hot day. In October. During out-of-control climate change.
Consequently, this morning my car smelled like the instrument you would use to give a dog a colonoscopy. Or, like I was trapped in the bowels of a dog that is just finishing the digestion of a dead skunk. Or, like I was a fetus gestating inside the rectum of a Great Dane.
To top it off, I was supposed to pick someone up this morning. Someone important enough that I couldn't invite them into this riding rectum with me.
So I had to switch to my wife's car, while my car screamed in agony until the smell was gone.
So don't talk to me about your risky job.
Come for a drive with me. By the way, I work for Uber too.
