Good morning to you, too.

Nothing starts the day off right like stepping in a huge, soft pile of dog crap as you walk up to your workplace and then spending the first fifteen minutes of your morning trying to pick it all out of the crevices of your boot's sole.

Really, some people should not be allowed to have dogs. They should, in fact, have their dogs forcibly removed from their possession. Then they, these squeamish owners too grand to be bothered with stooping and removing waste like a dirty, common person, ought to be dragged outside, stripped naked, tied up, and smeared with dog shit, covered with it, absolutely encrusted with the warm reeking stickiness of it.

I say this as a dog owner, for crying out loud. It doesn't take a very high IQ to remember to tuck a bag into your pocket before you take the dog for a walk. In fact, leaving untouched a pile of your dog's excrement ought to be the signal that your IQ is too low for you to be trusted with a dog's care.

Sometimes you forget to grab a plastic bag on your way out the door. Or you realize the bag has a hole in it. Or you had a bag, used it appropriately, and then your dog decided to crap again before you got home. These things happen. I've been the unlucky one, unsuccessfully trying to run home to the yard with Chloe before she could drop her log. We were only a block away when she couldn't hold it anymore, poor thing, and I sympathize with the feeling of urgency. So I let her go--not that I could have stopped her by then--and we walked on home.

Know what I did then? I grabbed a bag and went back to pick up the steaming pile of dog shit. Wow, what a genius I must be.

Seriously, scoop the poop. I am not above temporarily befouling my hand in order to pick up your dog's hot mess and fling it at the back of your self-important little head.