Thursday, March 12, 2015
What a bag of dog shit.
It's absolutely true that dogs and dog owners start to resemble each other as they age. (I know, because I read it on the internet.) Yesterday Cheesman canyon gave me an excellent example of a woman who is starting to resemble her dogs droppings.
I've seen her before. She must have a travel routine that puts her and her yippy little dog in the Cheesman trail parking lot just as Fifi has to dump a load. Unless she can't read, this Forest Service Trail is clearly marked with the following rules:
I'd just enjoyed a great, exhausting, humiliating, but invigorating day in this glorious canyon that I shared with a dozen other Colorado Troutbums and their friends.
All had meticulously keep the trail spotless. Yesterday, an insecure Hansel had left a trail of orange peel pieces along the trail, but I managed to scarf them up. (Hansel, there's no sub-rule that says bio-degradables are ok to leave behind. Next you'll be bringing down your compost.)
But as I approached the parking lot, I found that FiFi's bag of dog shit had been left neatly along the trail for me just off the parking lot.
What could this mean? Is FiFi's owner, let's call her Babs (for Bag of Blue Shit), saying to me:
"Well, John, I cleaned up after my dog. I've not thrown it into the vault toilet. I've put a little rock on it so that it doesn't blow away. Now I'm counting on you, John, to take it home with you since my car is much to nice to transport this little blue bag of dog shit."
I did bring it home. And I'd like to return it to you Babs. Some day, Babs, we will meet again. Better bring a big, big, blue bag because I've got an awful lot of shit to deliver to you about how you are treating the Colorado outdoors. You are a bag of dog shit.