A Peculiar Reversal of Preference

I will continue to talk about the Booger because Baby Chicken refuses to communicate with me and the Wife is now working. Actually, on that front, the Wife has informed me that Baby Chicken has begun her morse code relationship with her stomach. It is an exciting time, if you're into that sort of prenatal relationship stuff.

So, yes, back to the Booger, who, for the most part, has resumed her customary lifestyle of slothfulness. However, without a fenced backyard to sleep/sniff in (and bark out of), we've had to get used to walking her more regularly. There is a series of trails within yards of here that creates a web throughout some undeveloped hills and valleys, and we've come to enjoy these trails for the vistas and the plantlife and the distant coyote howls and the aggressive mountain bikers and, of course, the copious amounts of deer droppings.

But, for all the wonderful sights and sounds and smells (?), the Booger will not poo on these trails. In fact, she will now only offer her canine blessings to the most well-manicured lawns in the neighborhood. Scrub grass, dirt, or other weed patches are no place for her distinguished poo. The curious thing is that back in Durham, the Booger hated going on the lawn. It's as if switching coasts flipped a switch in her head.

And so, every morning and evening, I find myself holding up our blue doggie bags in clear view of anyone who might be looking out their window or walking out to their car while the Booger pops a squat, just to make clear my intention of picking up after her.