When Auntie Loo went out for walks
She would return and loudly squawk,
“I simply don’t know what to do!
The park is turning into goo!
And all because of doggy do!
Oh why can’t people pick up their poo?”
When gardening she would beseech
Every dog owner within ear’s reach
“I simply don’t know what to do!
My zinnias are turning blue!
And all because of doggy do!
Oh why can’t people pick up their poo?”
(Beneath her breath Auntie Loo would mutter,
“You bloody swine, you rotting nutters!
Were you born in a barn house loo?
Did no one with a brain raise you?”
But still the shit just grew and grew
And ruined all her overshoes.)
This went on till my Uncle Ted
Decided it was time to act instead
“I love you dearly my darling Loo
But I simply cannot handle you
And all your talk of canine poo
The amount of which you cannot eschew.”
For weeks he staked out every owner
Photographed turds of all dog donors.
“I have the evidence,” Uncle Ted did coo,
“It was so easy to accrue!
And I know now just what to do!
It’s time to start returning poo!”
Under cover of night my Uncle stooped,
On lawns and sidewalks up he scooped.
And into bags of baby blue
Went stools of Dobermans and Shih tsus.
The bags filled up, the numbers grew,
And still my Uncle collected poo.
There was no moon the night my uncle crept
And flung the bags onto porches and decks.
“When they wake up, they will find this stew
And they will probably all say ‘Eww!’
Or maybe even, ‘Huh? What? Or Who?’
I will pray that they step in the doggy do!”
He hurried home and told Loo all
They laughed they drank they had a ball.
And when the sun arose my Auntie Loo
Said, “Ted, you’re too good to be true!”
And Uncle Ted said, “Right back at you.”
And they breakfasted on cheese fondue.
They napped for several hours, then
The doorbell rang, then rang again.
“My name’s Molly Ringworm! Yoohoo!
I’m a reporter with WXT2!
I cover the dog beat in Waterloo
And I have questions about all this poo.”
Auntie Loo peered from the window
Did a double take. Had to breathe slow.
“Ted,” she
said. “Let’s review.
You said that you used bags of blue?
They’re on our lawn! On our barbecue!
And it looks like some have been Superglued!”
Auntie Loo hummed and Auntie Loo hawed
“Perhaps your footprints in the sod.
Is what gave away your derring-do
And even though it was after two
Perhaps somebody spotted you
And thought your methods were undue.”
All that cheese had made Ted feel sickly,
And so he caved in rather quickly.
“I’ll fess up to Molly, I’ll tell her who
Is responsible for the hullabaloo.
It’s a crime I can’t undo,
Or rationalize, or misconstrue.”
But Auntie Loo’s thoughts had wandered
To a scheme that she now pondered.
“There’s a better way to return the poo
To all of those dog owners who
Cannot seem to remember to
Pick up their smelly, shitty spew.”
In their garage, sat a large catapult
A leftover weapon from a former eco-cult.
(That’s a whole other story, a different milieu,
And Auntie Loo would not want me telling you.)
The cameras were rolling at WXT2
When Ted began loading blue baggies of poo.
And on Auntie Loo’s signal, I watched Uncle Ted
Release the crap catapult over Molly’s air head.
Molly’s mouth opened widely and into it flew
A house fly named Frank with nothing better to do
(Molly swallowed but that seems a little bit blue
For a story about dogs and of all of their poo.)
The poo bags landed wetly in several backyards
Onto dogs and their owners and atop several cars.
And from some of the bags, foul leavings flew
The digested meals from doggy wazoos.
Auntie Loo smiled and wished she’d shampooed
But she’d no longer lament all of her ruined shoes
Messed up by dogs and their residues.
She marched to the camera and looked at the screen
She straightened her shirt, she tried to look keen.
“At first I didn’t know what to do,
But NOW if you don’t remember to
Pick up after Fido and Montegue
This catapult’s aim has proven true.
So I think you know what you have to do.
People, pick up your FUCKING poo.”
