The slow ocean waves of Del Mar were soothing the four of us into a lovely afternoon pre-coffee stupification yesterday when Clay turned to our friends Joe and Michelle; "You guys have been our inspiration in remaining a pet-free household. We haven't caved."
There was a time when Tim desperately wanted a dog, and we went so far as to research what breed our allergy-prone household could manage, but the sticker-shock of some sort of Boxer (I've since put the exact name of it out of my mind) put a kabash on that project. Additionally, while we had a dog living with us for a bit, Tim experienced first hand that there are responsibilities that will nag your conscience if not tended to, and anyone who knows Tim understands that his conscience works in overdrive as it is.
I was hanging some laundry over the railings of my bedroom balcony for the San Diego sunshine to dry one Saturday morning, after we'd had the cute little Scnhoodle (hypoallergenic Schnauser-poodle) staying with us for some weeks, when I spotted Tim down on the back lawn below, clad in his jamies and his rust-colored terry cloth robe; hair in full bed-head disarray. He had the kitchen tongs in one hand and a gallon-sized ziplock baggie in another.
No.
Oh, but yes.
I already knew the answer, but I ventured the question anyway, "Tim? What are you doing?" He looked up and said, "Uh, I thought I should pick up some of Coco's you-know-what's since there seem to be kind of a lot of them at the moment." And he waved the ziplock baggie up at me to demonstrate the boon of harvest he already had.
ACK! My KITCHEN TONGS!
We reviewed that the particular procedure of picking up doggie poopies should use lesser valued *tools* and receptacles, and that both items were to go immediately into the outside trash. Tim, a soul reluctant to waste a single thing said, "Are you sure I couldn't just wash the tongs in really hot water?"
Nope. My brain will not accept that. Even after purchasing a shiny new pair of tongs, I still can't look at them without thinking of Tim's alternate, though thoughtful usage for them.
To clarify, no one had been falling down on the job of poop picking-up; our friends were away at the time and we just hadn't assigned it to anyone. Because nobody at our house is all that keen on poop.
3 comments:
Hilarious. I remember when you told me this. Despite having a dog myself, I would throw out any utensil that came into contact with her poop as well. I just couldn't get over that mentally.
Love the new look, btw. Trying to find a template myself. Might have to have you walk me through it.
Brings back a memory I had hoped to erase (apparently unsuccessful). In 6th grade, a friend used an old spatula for the same purpose. He later found his father flipping burgers with it...
And HA from you! Even with new tongs, the memory still haunts you... Into eternity, it will...
Ah, reminds me of the science experiment in my kitchen, long, long ago in a galaxy called Fieldsboro. I walked in with an armful of groceries only to find my dear husband dissecting a snake with my daughter (5 year old Rachael :) ) ON MY kitchen table, ON MY cutting board, using MY sewing scissors and pins. Apparently, Jeff had put the dead ex-pet in tin foil in the freezer (UNBENOWNST TO ME)for such a time as I would be absent. I introduced him to the concept of germ theory, and the beauty of Clorox that day.
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