Dog Poop and Gold Stars

I told my family we would get a dog when they invented dogs that did not poop.  But then, we got a dog that poops.  I told them if we got a dog I’d do most of the care and feeding for her, but I would not be doing poop pick-up, except on walks, if no one else was there.  I set my boundaries firmly, clearly, with love.  

And when I announced I wasn’t doing backyard poop patrol, I thought it was understood that they would be doing it.  Like, obviously, right?  

Wrong.  A few weeks in I noticed poop patrol wasn’t happening as frequently as I would have it, seemingly only on request, and then grudgingly.  Our small, but potentially charming, backyard had the bouquet of a ill-maintained dog park.

I bought a cute little poop-scoop apparatus and showed it to Ax - he tried it, but it was a fail, more gross than the traditional bag method.  I suggested to Mike we make a “Poop Patrol” job wheel or schedule.  He told me he “didn’t think that was necessary,” because he was happy to be the poop pick-up person whenever he noticed it. 

I knew the “whenever Mike notices it” system was not designed to achieve the poop-free yard results I wanted, but I agreed because secretly I feared that if I pushed the matter I would get a “if you want it done that way do it yourself,” type message.

Today our pup Brownie marched into the house with poop on her paws from the sub-optimally patrolled yard.  As I witnessed the poop paw prints on my clean dining room floor after having STEPPED in said poop in the dining room I immediately reached for my MINDFULNESS technique of choice - breathe in, breathe out.  Label the emotion: Fury.  And what came out of my mouth, to Mike, oblivious yet nearby, was, “Honey could you please hand me a paper towel?”

I shit you not.

While breathing, I wiped my foot off, put on shoes, got outside, got to poop-bagging (with telephonic support from my girlfriend who kept me distracted with tales of her own de-cluttering challenges and triumphs).  I decided to be grateful to have a dog, to have a yard, to have the ability to take care of my home, and the ability to have a nice day despite. 

And I de-pooped the whole yard while my initial fury turned into something like surrender.  Something like equanimity.  I thought, “Let this be the worst thing that befalls me.”

I came inside.  I thanked my husband for cleaning the dog’s paws and did not mention that now there were wet paw poop-mud tracks all around.  I didn’t have to.  I was actually okay, grateful even.  

I cleaned the floor.  I washed my hands.  Then I ate my oatmeal.  I’m giving myself a gold star today and it’s not even 9am.  I’m gonna keep going.  

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