Some things arrive with fanfare or gore or a cacophony of crashing, honking noises. Fortunately, dog poo is not one of these things. It arrived as quietly as it was made, at the end of a just-before-bed walk, ending in a tidy little pile of stink to the right of the house and just shy of the neighbor’s unruly corner bush.
And with that, all fears of midnight scrambles to reach the door or painful veterinarian proctologists with girthy gelled and surgical gloved fingers were put to rest.
And so the man, the lady, the two children and Betty rested. All night and quite happily, by the way.
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