Having just past the closest public garbage can about a half-mile back, I estimated that the next opportunity to drop the bag would be at the park, almost 1.5 miles away. Luckily, Wednesday was garbage day, and there were a few empty cans at the end of the townhouse driveways at 7:40 on this warm Thursday evening.
Seizing the opportunity, I took a quick left turn towards the closest big plastic green receptacle with the top flipped open, determined to make what turned out to be a very obvious deposit into the bottom of a surprisingly clean bin. As I approached the drop zone I noticed that on the other side of the cul de sac there were a few townhouse owners outside relaxing on chairs; a sight that might have drawn a yell from a 1980's horn bus declaring "Porch People on the Left!" Or perhaps even the rhetorical question "Are you the Mayor?".
Moving quickly, I flung the poop pouch into the bin, and with my payload dropped I veered back on course to continue my run with Claymore (now a few ounces lighter) leading the way. I heard a bit of a ruckus coming from the general area of "Mayor's" office. "Hey!", then muffled yelling, "Jag-Off!", more inaudible yelling....then I was up the hill and resuming my 9:30 minute per mile pace. I stared to focus back on my breathing and did a quick check of my running form to make sure I was maximizing my effort.
Once over the hill and heading towards the next left turn, I was taken by surprise when a SUV pulled up very close along side of me, slowing down to match my stride. A bald headed man with a red face looked at me and said "Hey", and then that I noticed in his left hand, arm extended out his window, was my neatly tied bag with Clay's poop inside. Showing a shit-eating-smirk of satisfaction on his face, the guy yelled "That is not your garbage can!", and he extended his arm further out the window to pass me the poop. This guy had acted fast, dumpster diving in someone else's garbage for the bag, getting into his car, speeding up the hill and finally positioning his vehicle to triumphantly return "Claymore's Mine" to me. With a laugh and matching grin on my face, "Thanks" was all I could muster as I reach for and collected the crap; my mid-run lungs being taxed enough to stunt me from creating full sentences. In hindsight, I would have loved to run a few blocks with him holding the bag before retrieving it, or done the flea flicker back into his car, or even stopped for a few moments to mock the Golden-Brown Retriever Man, but to my credit, somehow my cooler head prevailed.
I will admit that having a "Neighborhood Watch" type confrontation suddenly happen to you does bring out a flood of emotions. Conceding that it is rude to leave a bagged dump in someone else's bin, I don't think that the risk of chasing someone down on the street and confronting them is worth the price of having poop-free garbage can. I'd be interested to hear your comments...
What would YOU Doodie?
