Don't Let Good Manners Go to the Dogs

A wise man once said, “Anything worth doing is worth doing well”. I take this to mean that whatever you endeavor to achieve, you must give it 100% effort in order to attain success. This can apply to all walks of life: the relationships we share, the career path we choose, our participation in art, music, sports, volunteer work and just about everything else we do.

It also applies to disposing of your dog’s poop properly.

The other day, I was walking with a friend through our town’s newly developed athletic fields. This is a wonderful, quiet, and safe place to walk without fear of being clipped by passing vehicles or tripping over a thousand tiny liquor bottles tossed carelessly onto the side of the road. Previously, my only concern about walking at the new fields was the dogs bounding around off leash and the piles of doggie waste that owners often neglected to clean up. Thankfully, our town posted signs reminding dog owners that their animals need to be on a leash at all times and that the animal waste must be cleaned and removed.

Since the posting of these signs I’ve noticed less unleashed dogs in the park and less doggie doo on the paths. But the other day, while walking with my friend, I spied a bright blue plastic bag sitting on the grass at the edge of the parking lot. Three guesses as to what that bag contained (and the first two don’t count).

It amazes me that someone would take the time and effort to bag their animal’s waste, yet neglect to take that bag home with them to bring the cleanup and disposal process full circle. Yes, the plastic bag prevents some unlucky soul (or sole) from stepping in the stool, but it also prevents it from decomposing further and becoming one with the soil.

I can think of three possible scenarios as to how this came to pass. The first is that the owner’s animal had to relieve itself early on in the walk. Not wanting to carry a steaming bag of poo around for an hour, the dog owner left the bag near their car and then promptly forgot about it when the time came to leave. This occurred while walking with another friend and her dog earlier this month. She left the bag on the side of the path so that she wouldn’t have to carry it around with her for the rest of the walk. The difference?  She went back and got it when it was time to leave.

The second scenario: This person bagged the waste but didn’t want to soil his or her car with the smell of poop on the ride home. Given that the park has no trash barrels, did this person think someone else would be generous enough to pick up a strange animal’s droppings and dispose of them at their own home? Talk about depending on the kindness of strangers!

The third scenario: This person thought that bagging up their animal’s waste fulfilled their responsibility; end of story. Home from my walk, I posted a photo of the offending blue bag on Facebook, accompanied by one of my classic snarky comments about whomever left the bag behind. Within minutes I had several posts from friends talking about finding similar blue bags in their neighborhoods as well.  So either this is a dog that really gets around, or we’ve got a town full of animal lovers who just don’t understand the concept of cleaning up after your dog.

I almost don’t blame them. Back when I had a dog, in the freewheeling 70’s, people didn’t clean up their animal’s poop. If your dog did its business on someone’s lawn, you avoided eye contact, yanked the leash and got the heck out of there. A man in our neighborhood posted a lawn sign that said, “Please curb your dog at home; I’m too old and tired to clean up the mess”. My friends and I thought this was ridiculous, to the point where we used to try to get our dogs to poop on his lawn on purpose. 35 years later, I’m a homeowner myself who knows that it’s no fun stepping in, sliding on or mowing over animal waste. I know it’s too little, too late but I send my apologies to my long-ago neighbor.

But I digress. Its 2012 which means you must clean up after your animal. No one really enjoys carrying around a plastic bag of dooky, or driving around with it in the car, or tossing it into the garbage can in their garage. But if you’re going to own a dog, this is more than just the law or the right thing to do.

It’s your duty.  (Sorry… couldn’t resist!)

Against Pats, did Tebow have a Prayer?

And so, in the alternate reality that is the NFL playoffs, Goliath did thus smite David.  Or at least that’s how it felt watching the Patriots crush Tim Tebow and the Denver Broncos last Saturday evening.

I found it ironic that the subject matter of my church’s service the next morning was the story of David and Goliath. According to Jay Glazer of FOX, on Saturday morning Tim Tebow delivered a speech to his teammates, urging the team to play the role of David, against the Goliaths known as the Patriots. For those unfamiliar with the story (or that think Goliath was a talking dog that provided a moral compass for his owner, Davey), David was a young Hebrew shepherd who volunteered to fight mano a mano against a nine foot giant representing the Philistine army. Armed only with his faith in God and a few river stones, David fells Goliath in triumph.

Much has been made of Tebow’s propensity to pray openly during games and to share his faith via face paint touting the Bible passage John 3:16. 43% of Americans surveyed said they believed that some kind of divine intervention was at work during those games in which the Denver Broncos were able to pull out a win in the fourth quarter.  I find it heartening that those people surveyed believe in a divine being, but disturbing to think that they believe that God has no better way to spend his time than to influence a professional football game.

I admire Tim Tebow. As a Christian, I admire anyone who feels that comfortable crediting God with his talents and abilities and is unafraid to use his public position to share that faith. I don’t consider it any different than watching baseball players point their fingers heavenward after hitting a home run, or listening to an actor thank God for a role that yielded an Oscar. As comfortable as I am with my own faith, I find Tim Tebow’s willingness to pray openly in front of thousands of fans and millions of viewers inspiring.

To many, football itself is a religion; Americans worship at the altars of Tom Brady and Aaron Rodgers each Sunday. They say prayers for touchdowns and interceptions. They follow their own rituals to insure positive outcomes, such as wearing a lucky hat or a favorite jersey, or banning all outsiders from their own personal man-cave, lest that person bring about a negative outcome for their team.  

Instead of putting their faith in the Lord, fans put their faith in the hands of Bill Belichick.  And yet, Tebow gets grief for injecting some real religion into the mix.

Tebow has been both lauded and criticized for his public expressions of faith.  He’s been parodied on Saturday Night Live and impersonated by Jimmy Fallon (and if you have not yet seen Fallon’s “Tebowie”, do yourself a favor and Google it).  I think it’s a stretch to compare Tebow to David, future King of Israel and position Tom Brady and the Patriots as a band of Philistines.  If divine intervention was indeed present at previous Broncos games, what happened Saturday night? A friend of mine posted her hypothesis on Facebook; that Jesus might have been busy shopping at Patriot Place while the Broncos got their butts handed to them by the Patriots. 

Personally I think another friend’s assessment was a bit more accurate:

“God answers all prayers…but sometimes the answer is no.”

Let's Hear it for Global Warming!!

It’s January 7^th as I type this. One son is collecting discarded Christmas trees for his Cub Scout pack’s fundraiser and the other is helping me put away our own holiday decorations.    It’s also 60 degrees.  What’s wrong with this picture?

As far as I’m concerned…nothing!

Okay, it is a bit disconcerting to decide whether to wear regular pants or capris just two weeks post-Christmas. My scout was scrambling over three foot snowdrifts during last year’s tree pick up. This winter has been so mild my forsythia bush has been confused into producing flowers. And my sons are whining about the lack of snow.

So far, this year’s winter is the antithesis of last year’s. I can count on one hand the number of days that my children needed a heavy coat. My sons were dying for a white Christmas, and since we were lucky enough to spend the holiday in Central New York, the got their wish. But did satisfy them?  The minute we drove out of the “snow zone”, they complained because everywhere else was still green. Last week I noticed a dusting of flakes, so I yelled, “Come quick, it’s snowing!” Later that day, the temperature rose and the snow disappeared, much to my sons’ disappointment.

It’s been several decades, but I still remember how much snow means to a child.  That magical feeling when you turn your face to the sky, open your mouth and let the snowflakes flutter onto your tongue; lying on your back swishing your arms and legs back and forth creating snow angels: lying in wait for your father or your brother, armed with a perfectly packed snowball; flying down the hill on your sled, wind chilling your cheeks till they turn red. And of course, the best reason of all: snow days.

We had all that in abundance last year, especially the snow days.  We were starting to border on the ridiculous due to all the heavy snowstorms of winter 2011.  Is it any wonder that I’m thanking God and Mother Nature for giving us a break in winter 2012? (So far)

Lest you think I’m a Grinch, let me assure you that I enjoy the occasional snowstorm as well. I too love to see the trees and the ground shrouded in white for short periods of time. But as an adult, the snow loses some of its magic when you have to lift hundreds of heavy shovelfuls of it just to clear your driveway. The berm that forms down at the bottom (or “the widow maker” as I like to call it) created by the snowplow, is enough to make any man or woman weep in anguish just when there seems to be light at the end of the shoveling tunnel. Last year my husband had to shovel off our roof several times which left a six-foot mountain of snow on my deck that didn’t melt until May. 

Snowstorms also mean that my worry factor increases as my children ride the bus to and from school and my husband drives back and forth to work in Rhode Island.  I’m completely paranoid about driving in the snow, so instead I hunker down like a member of the Donner party and make plans to hole up till spring.

So honestly, I’m okay with a little global warming this year if it means being able to wear a light jacket in January and crank my windows open for a couple of hours to get some fresh air in my house. I’m happy not to sacrifice my mailbox to the almighty plow. I’m glad to save a few bucks on my heating bill. 

But all good things must come to an end. I haven’t lulled myself into thinking its smooth sailing from here until April. Just the fact that I’m writing about this wonderful snow-free winter guarantees that we’ll soon get walloped with a massive blizzard. 

So when you head out to fire up your snow blowers and haul out your ice melt, just remember you have me to thank.