Do you, or don’t you? (for dog walkers)

It would have been yesterday were it not for the bank holiday.

Out with Maisie;

Black bins and green boxes lining the streets ready for collection.

My own black bag, morning gift from doggie; do I or don’t I?

fortnightly when the men come to take away our stuff – rubbish, detritus, waste, I encounter the same question.

Do I or don’t I pop Maisie’s bag in their bin or, should I wait for the municipal one?

Do I risk approaching the bin of a house where a person might walk out, or spy me from behind the Venetians – spot me messing with their mess; opening their bin and adding to their stuff?

Do I wait for an out of the way bin, one hidden at the end of a drive, behind a wall where I am unlikely to be seen?

And, who does this stuff belong to anyway? After all, residents are clearly showing that they no longer want it – does that mean that possession slips?

Rubbish can be strangely private and revealing.

What we throw out can tell much about us –

There is a family along the road that drinks one 2l carton of full-fat milk each day (and every week I worry about their lipids); another likes Chardonnay. Another is tidy; ordered.

Empty computer, hoover and play-thing boxes, folded flattened.

Nappies, pizza boxes and empty tomato tins.

I pass a man with a Labrador; our dogs attempt a mutual pounce;

He is in his early sixties, grey hair, slim, distinguished.

We each hold our dog on taught leads.

I hear him popping his poop in one of the bins.

At least I am not alone.

dynamism-of-a-dog-on-a-leash-1912

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