State Trooper, Dog Shit & Me

Do not follow my actions – foto Smith

Got a brand new good cop story: State Trooper, Dog Shit & Me.

Went rural to visit ailing Granny who’s grandly holding court from her hospital bed in the middle of her daughter’s living room surrounded by relatives near and far who’ve gathered to talk laugh and listen in gathered goodbye.

Somewhere between leaving the house and getting in our car I stepped in dog shit. Fresh, smooth, easily evenly spread dog shit over brand new running shoe soles with all these alien protrusions and curved pools and valleys.

Three miles down the road I realize this country smell of manure not only isn’t fading with fresh air and distance but is getting stronger and is too close, too fresh, and way too doggy.

I pull to the side of the highway, put on my flashers, get out, take off my shoe to view total canine coverage, so I limp around on the gravel, bend over, pick up a stick, stand up to see a Highway Patrol car with its red and blue lights flashing in my face.

I can’t help it — the fresh dog shit shoe from a dog that I love, and now flashing police lights — I start laughing.

I walk toward the police car, holding my shoe up in my left hand with its shit sole facing the Trooper, and the stick in my raised right hand, and he puts his palm up, fingers spread, telling me to stay back.

I back up, lean against our red trunk which is held shut by a yellow bungee cord, grin, and lower my weapons. The Trooper gets out of the car and I immediately apologize, explain the shoe shit and the stick — twice — and he says “Then you don’t need any help.” I raise my shoe and shake my head and he leaves, asking for no I.D. or registration. As he drives by he suggests I go down to the park where I’ll have more room to take care of my business.

I drive down to an empty church lot and it takes me forever to more-or-less clean the shit off my shoe. There are endless brand-new gullies and rivulets and channels and loops and pools and depressions and this shit is so smooth and fine and fresh you can’t scrap it out because it oozes around the stick instead. Finally scraping and scooping and rubbing in grass and buffing with gravel and dusting with dirt and pouring water over the sole I was good to go, a smile on my face because when things move past a reasonable point all you can do is laugh n smile n shrug your shoulders n get on with it.

And thank goodness for a reasonable policeman. My laughter and raised shoe and stick could easily have been misinterpreted.

Only violators – fotos Smith