The Best Poo-Picker-Upper in the World

We’ve had some animal invading our garden at night for a year now. We know of this nocturnal intruder because it leaves turds in one particular section of the garden. The turds have been growing in size and attempts to block up gaps in the fence have not worked to keep out whatever animal is leaving these unwanted gifts. James and I discovered that our visitor is the possum that was displaced from its nest when one of our neighbors carried out some construction last January. We heard something prowling one night recently and when we turned on the exterior light James saw it, bigger now, squeezing through a tiny gap that he wouldn’t have believed possible if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

I had noticed earlier this week that there was poo in the garden, but couldn’t bring myself to clean it up at the time. With the wet weather lately the girls haven’t been out in the back garden. However, with the sun shining today they wanted to head out. Cleaning up the house I didn’t think of the poo until…

Ashley (shouting excitedly from downstairs): Mum there’s more poo in the garden! It’s right where we hunt for silver and gold.
(I painted little stones in silver and gold 2 summers ago and scattered them around the back garden. The girls still love hunting for them.)
Me (to James): Oh yes, I saw that this week. It needs to be cleaned up.
Ashley (still excited and calling from downstairs): We need to clean it up.
Me (to James): Will you clean it up?
James (expression of utter disgust): No.
Me: It’s easy (but not pleasant, which I neglected to add). There’s already a plastic bag in the area that I left last time. Just put a ziploc bag on your hand like a glove, pick up the poo and place it in the plastic bag. Easy.
James: That might well be but my first answer stands.
Ashley (who has by now made her way upstairs to spur a parent to action): We need to clean it up.
Me (beseechingly to James): I do it all the time. I don’t want to do it.
Ashley (to James, using hands to emphasize her point): It’s only a little poo, about this size.
James (looking skeptical): Hmmm…
Ashley: Well actually it’s about medium sized, like this (again with the hand gestures, only slightly bigger than before).
Me (keenly interested in how this will play out, knowing from what I saw last week that the poo is neither small nor medium, nor is it the only deposit facing the adult who goes to clean it up): Really, Ashley, it’s just medium?
James (to Ashley, taking a chance that because of my vast experience in this situation, he will get lucky): Who is the best poo-picker-upper in the world?

Ashley looks from James to me, to James again and then back to me, smiling all the while, enjoying the game. Then she moves towards James and, in an completely unexpected move, kicks James in the groin, indicating her choice but using her foot instead of other more conventional, and less painful, methods. Fortunately, it was a gentle kick.

James, obviously in a rush of good will at his narrow escape from serious pain, accepts the Ziploc bag I offer (once I get over the fit of laughter that has seized me at the dramatic turn of events), and accompanies Ashley downstairs to claim his title as The Best Poo-Picker-Upper in the World.