Banjo and the shit.

Banjo and a bag of his own shit.  Cute.

My sister got a pet dog there a few weeks ago.  She lives just around the corner from me so when she was away for her husband's birthday last weekend she asked me to look after him for the night.  I call him Banjo.  He's a real cutie pie.  Anyways, it's the night of the minding so meself and husband walk round to her house to keep the poor, old thing company.  Husband gets distracted by their telly and sits down to watch some crap while I bring the dog for a walk.  We're walking around the green area down the end of our estate, it's surrounded by bushes and shrubs and all that malarkey.  The dog loves it.  He sniffs everything and loves having a good old gander about. So we come to one particular exciting set of brambles. Banjo sniffs at them, he is loving them. He sticks his little snout in and has a root around. There's something in there he wants.  Now, it's pitch black so I can't see a thing, only Banjo looking cute rooting around in the bushes. Then he starts to roll around onto his back.  He looks up at me; on his back with his little paws like a bunny rabbit. Little cutie! He rolls around a bit more before I get bored and yank him away with his lead. After a while we head back to the house. I let Banjo off the lead as he runs in the door and up to Kieran who is dying to give him an oul hug and a pet.  "Aw, Banjo, you're so cute, c'mere Banjo, you cutie little bundle of cuteness." He's hugging and kissing him and giving him a good rub on his little belly.  Then Banjo comes back over to me and I'm about to pet him when husband sniffs the air, then sniffs his hand, then sniffs the dog.  "What's that smell?" I sniff the air, then sniff my hands, then sniff the dog. "Ugh, Jesus! He's covered in shit!" The dog is covered in shit.  It's all over his back, his face, his collar, everywhere. "Ya dirty fecker!" I yell.  How'd it happen though?  I think back to Banjo rambling around in those brambles, looking so cute.  He wasn't being a sweet little dog, he was being a dirty old mongrel, rolling around in some other dog's shite! Needless to say we had to give him a good old scrub. The dirty git.

Never shit on your own doorstep...

...so they say.  Should have told the dogs round our way though, they seem to have missed that memo.  But then again they ain't shitttin' on their own doorsteps, they're shitting on mine!
So, I was home for the weekend, a short two day visit and as we left the house yesterday morning we were met with a great, big, steaming pile of dog shit just outside our door. Right there; like it had rang the doorbell and was waiting patiently for us to answer. I say steaming but it was actually quite cold, freezing in fact. Husband told me that after he nominated himself to pick it up with a plastic bag from JC's. Still, it didn't stop me from checking to see if the culprit was knocking about. I searched high and low, throwing more than a few filthy glances at anyone carrying a lead or indeed, a dog. But what was the use? According to my husband's detective work the dog and it's owner were long gone. We were left feeling astounded, appalled and frustrated. As we strolled up the road together we tried to be optimistic and, initially, made excuses for the voiceless offender: "Maybe their dog had escaped?", "Perhaps the owner had walked on ahead and didn't notice his dog's dirty deed?", "Perhaps it wasn't a dog but a giant cat?" Leaving the estate we passed a grass verge and the sight of another abandoned dog dump unleashed our underlying rage. We discussed what we would do if we found out where the cheeky fecker lived; "Shit on his doorstep, the bastard!", "Shove it through his letterbox'", "Make him eat it", "Kick his head in."  You get the idea. In the end I decided to write a passive-aggressive blog about it. That'll show 'em!