He who picks up a dog's poop after them is someone's bitch.
How's that for a thesis statement?
I was fortunate, at an early age, to have had considerable international exposure. Where I'm from, somewhere in Murang'a, [or is that Mulang'a?] is a very poor place. I'm talking about where-will-my-next-meal-come-from, mud-hut-straw-thatch poor. It follows that there were a lot of missionaries, priests and such all around us.
This one particular family of Americans liked my Dad a lot, being a schoolteacher and active in church and all that jazz. Though they had a house in Nairobi, the missionary family was over at our crib a lot, our home being their base of operations while they did their stuff around the area and beyond. His kids, about my age, would help around the farm, drink our water and eat our food which was, now that I think about it, remarkable. I've never known any other 'Merican or Euro to trust 'our food' so completely. They didn't even get queasy and swear off meat when watching animals being slaughtered for food! All in all, they were great people. I was sorry to see them go back, when I was like 12.
Of course, needless to say, they were responsible for a lot of our first brushes with American culture: They were responsible for my first hot dog, Archie comic books, M&Ms, Legos, and countless other things. When they departed, they left us their queen-sized bed and a bunch of other things. My eldest siblings were making money then, so they helped my Dad purchase the missionaries' Nissan Bluebird station wagon [1800cc!], which I thought was the sh*t. The greatest gift they could ever have given me though, and they did, were their 3 dogs.
[I'd always been surrounded by dogs since I was a baby, but we hadn't had dogs for like a year before we got those three, all because a bunch of thugs came over one night, [F*ck you, you pieces of sh*t] killed my 2 dogs and smashed the house up. Thank you for not touching my Moms tho. (Story for another day.)]
One was a Labrador mix twice as big as I, named Solomon. [Quite fitting; the dog was quite the snob] The other was a German Shepherd and much younger than Solomon, named Buckwheat. The third was a female - I forget the name coz we gave her away and didn't get to bond.
Solomon & Buckwheat got along great unless the female was around; they'd almost kill each other then. Good Lord, their fights were vicious! So, we gave the female away and their beef stopped almost immediately. Interesting.
The best time of the day for me, after school and slaving at the farm all evening, was right before dark. I'd "let the dogs out" from the kennels, watch while they devoured their one-meal-a-day, then took them deep into the farm for exercise and for them to relieve themselves. They were well trained - never pooped in the kennel. I loved those dogs to death, but I learned at an early age that dogs WILL come and go all too soon so I, when they died right before I came here, was heartbroken but alright.
Fast-forward to this day and age.
All these years, I've always wanted to keep another dog but haven't, and for three reasons:
One: I can't afford to keep one, financially and time-wise.
Two: I'm not picking anyone else's poop after them.
Three: If aliens came to earth one day and saw me picking up after my dog, they'd hypothesize I were the inferior species. That's just not happening.
Every morning on my way to work at 6.30 in the morning, and every evening when I get home, I see the same thing: people walking their dogs around, leash in one hand and plastic bags in the other. Hell to the no, I'm not built for that. I love dogs but unless I have a big 'ol yard where they can run around and go #2 wherever they want, that just won't fly. Plus, I reserve the right to keep them outside, which I can only humanely do in the South where it's warm so, until that day, I'll just have to be dog-less.
But more power to anyone who keeps a dog. Thanks too for letting me pet them. Can't wait for the day I can have one.