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Pooper Scoopers

August 30, 1992

Our garage is entered from a beautiful, uncracked concrete alley that runs behind all the houses on our block. Like other social animals, I occasionally come home after dark, and recently I brought, unknowing, something with me.

My tire brought it into the garage and then deposited it where I step out of my car. I went into the house, hugged my wife, and wandered into the bedroom to get into something comfortable. During this homecoming, I was accompanied by a distasteful odor, and I began to have that dreaded feeling that every school child has when the smell of dog poop rises from his shoe.

Our carpets are white, so it was easy for me to locate my problem--as easy as looking down. My shoes, my car tire, our carpet and, the next morning, our alley.

Almost every morning in the foggy dawn, people I never see anywhere else in the neighborhood are walking their dogs. Most of the dogs are quite beautiful, and the people are quite presentable. The lovely portion of the people carry some form of pooper scooper, and a little bag. Those are the ones, the responsible ones, and I will not ask them to recarpet my house, replace my shoes, wash my tire, and ask my wife to return to me.

I welcome you to our alley. You will see me smile when I notice your equipment.

CARTER DARNELL, La Jolla

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