The Dog Walker

I saw her again this morning, when I got up for my old man’s early morning ‘comfort break’.
Eschewing the pocket-sprung luxury of her Slumberland mattress, she was up and out as dawn was breaking. Walking at slightly faster than relaxed pace, her right arm was extended forward at forty-five degrees as she attempted to counter the insistent pull of the mutt on the end of the string. The dog’s questing nose was urgently seeking the perfect spot for relief, preferably just off-centre of the public footpath.

When the desired area was located it made a couple of small circles before settling down in the time-honoured canine ‘starting-blocks’ position and proceeding to ‘do-its-business’.
Having tried to ignore this procedure and to pretend ‘this is nothing to do with me’ the dog walker is guiltily aware that she might be observed, even at this hour.
She proceeds to gather up the freshly hot excreta in an elegant, slim, painted-nail hand, thinly-gloved in a diaphanous polythene bag. I hope, for her sake this is not of the child-safe, perforated variety! She deposits this in what I believe is known as a bum-bag, which is secured round her waist, but at the front, under her nose!

This brings to mind an occasion a few years ago when I had been on a mid-morning ‘constitutional’. As I walked towards home I saw, about thirty yards ahead, a young woman whom I recognised. She was on the opposite side of the road, heading in the same direction as I and with a medium-sized dog closely controlled by a leather strap in her left hand. She half-turned to her right to check for traffic prior to crossing to her home. On doing so she caught sight of me and gaily brandished, from her upstretched right hand, a small, but significantly weighted polythene bag!
‘morning Karen!