I scooped Mitzi up, just in case. “Mitzi.” I said.
“She does her business in the park here?” She waggled the bag of dog doo she held. The lump at the bottom was good sized.
I nodded. “She does.” I held up the little dog pickup bag dispenser attached to the retractable leash handle. A pickup bag waffled from the dispenser like a small flag. “I never know how much she’s going to go so I bring lots of bags.”
The old woman looked at me with one eye crooked, as if weighing how much of a liar and ne’er-do-well I might be. “Well. Somebody’s not picking up their dog’s business.” I almost got the sense she was hoping I’d suddenly break down and confess to the misdeed.
“Looks pretty big.” I said, indicating the dog pickup bag she held. “My dog’s pretty small.”
Maybe logic was getting through to her, maybe not. She irritatedly shook her head and started off. “People need to pick up after their dogs. Other people use this park. Kids and all.”
“Yeah.” I drawled in commiseration again.
I watched her leave, dog pickup bag swaying in her hand as she headed back to her house. She passed the park’s trashcan without disposing of the dog pickup bag. I assumed she was going to hold onto it for evidence, just in case. I looked at the green grass of the park. Dog poo, dog pee. That’s why I never sat on the grass anymore.