Another story about poo.

You’re walking, your long adult legs eating up the distance, and she’s jogging alongside you as fast as she can, holding your hand, making little noises of pain and urgency. You tell her to hold on, the house is just around the corner, we’ll be at the toilet soon, just hold on a little longer, but she can’t so you bend down and she climbs on your back but a few steps and you learn your knees are too sore for that. She can’t hold it anymore and it’s been so long since she’s had an accident, you can’t bring yourself to do that to her, so you take her across the road to the empty plot of land that doesn’t seem to belong to anyone and she squats in the knee high grass and in seconds she’s done a poo right there on the suburban street next to your own. You pull up her pants and now what do you do? You didn’t have time to dig a hole and the poo is just sitting there on the grass. It looks like a paw print doesn’t it mama, she says. You look around but there’s nothing to bury it with. It’s the shape of a paw print look that bit is mama that bit right there. Maybe you could cover it up with something? Look mama she says again it looks just like a paw print and this time you remember to say yes, yes, it really does, and then you kick some grass over it but it’s still a very visible turd. Don’t worry, you tell her. Anyone who comes along will just think it’s dog poo. And then you walk away.