Good with words

Fear... distractions.... the efforts of a self-employed writer to pay the mortgage.... all that jazz.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

A Poo Story

I am working on a Sunday, so naturally my thoughts are wandering. So I thought I would share the latest poo escapade, In Which Anna Gets Poo in Her Hair.

Steve and I have fortnightly stand-offs over who is to scoop up the poo in the garden. There is an awful lot, for a small puppy, and we both hate doing it. Actually, Steve has only ever scooped one poo, so he has barely even given it a chance. But I hate it. Still, I always lose. I can never bear the pooey garden for very long, so every so often I go out for a mammoth poo-scooping session.

So there I was, scooping poo.

I was tapping the shovel on a flowerpot to make the poo slide in, then going back to the lawn for the next shovel-full. But this one poo was quite obstinate and wouldn't run down off the shovel, being quite sticky. (Something so sticky, by the way, isn't easy to get off things such as shovels or hair.) It needed quite a bit more tapping before it would slide down into the pot.

Then it happened!

Oh yes. A big glob of poo flew into the air. And simultaneously there was a cold spot on the back of my head.

Please don't let that be poo. Please don't let it be poo. Please don't let it be poo. And guess what it was? Yep. In my hair.


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