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OK; this first question is for you writers out there. (Don’t worry; if you’re not a writer, there’s another question for you a little farther down, so it’s OK to keep reading.)

Have you ever written a sortof half-serious, half whimsical article that, for some reason, unexpectedly garnered an inordinately large response? I know I have. What’s really fun is when it’s on some subject I know, er, nothing about. (But don’t expect me to point out which ones those were, though. Some things will just have to remain my little secret.)

Recently, my friend Karen Swim wrote a brief post with the somewhat eye-catching title of The Poop in the Road that seemed to generate quite a conversation, even earning her the coveted title of The Queen of Poop. Way to go, Karen - I can’t wait to see the Coat of Arms for that!

Amazing, isn’t it, how people respond to any mention of poop? I dunno; maybe it has something to do with the upcoming U.S. Presidential election. Or something.

Naaaah.

Anyway, dealing with a subject of a somewhat, er, delicate nature, as I said, this particular article somehow resonated with quite a few people, generating a rather lengthy (not to mention hilarious) string of comments. (Seriously, you really have to read it yourself. Don’t worry; I’ll still be here when you get back.)

It should come as no surprise to most of you that the mention of poop reminded me of an experience Mrs. MZM and I had. Hence this post. (As Karen put it: She was proud of the fact that her article was the, er, fertilizer for this one.)

Yes, Virginia; There Really Is A Kalamazoo

A few years back I took a job in Kalamazoo, Michigan (town motto: “Yes, there really IS a Kalamazoo!”) I’ve mentioned before in the article A Truly Close Call how we managed to dodge a frozen bullet (we escaped back to Texas before winter struck), but this incident happened in the early fall.

Right after moving there, Mrs. MZM and I did some exploring and found a decent apartment near the client’s facility. After purchasing a pair of bicycles at a garage sale, we set about exploring the area, quickly discovering what would become our favorite place, a nearby park.

Unlike Texas, the fall weather in Michigan is actually fairly pleasant. And, it wasn’t long before the leaves began their annual “changing of the guard”, if you know what I mean. We rode our bikes all over the area, enjoying the change in scenery from our usual Houston haunts (although it was a mite “hillier” than the flatlands we were used to).

The aforementioned park had a slow-moving creek that widened out in a few places, forming a string of small ponds the ducks (and the people, of course) really seemed to enjoy (not to mention creating a nifty set of water hazards for the nearby public golf course). Combined with the colorful trees it was quite a pleasant place to spend a weekend afternoon.

Until, that is, the geese arrived (sound of terrified screams - and honks).

Ground Zero

Now, before this, I’d never been around a bunch herd group lot of geese up close and personal like this. (The word is “gaggle”, but what’s the word for a larger group of geese - a “gaggle of gaggles”?).

Like most of us, I’ve seen plenty of geese flying in their distinctive V-formations like bombers on a secret mission (come to think of it, that’s not a bad analogy, either). But getting’ within spittin’ distance - well, it’s only happened rarely, and that was only a few geese at a time.

As it turned out, Kalamazoo happens to be on these particular geese’s migration route. Once they started, you know, migrating… I’m tellin’ ya; there were geese everywhere. And, they naturally congregated around any available pond or lake - particularly the ones in the parks.

Lemme just say this: I had no idea! It was like an invasion of short, fat, noisy, black & gray & white - er, poop machines. Yup; that’s what the man said, alright.

The fact is, if you’ve never been in the path of the annual Canada Goose poopfest migration, well Bubba, you just ain’t lived! There was goose poop all over the place: in the grass, on the sidewalks, in the ponds, on the handrails of the bridges across the ponds (one word: how?!) - it was awful!

I’m tellin’ ya; I don’t think there was one square inch of the park’s grounds that didn’t have some bit, or blob, or outright pile of goose poop on it. We couldn’t walk anywhere without collecting gobs of it on our shoes. Not to mention keeping a constant eye out for incoming and outgoing geese above as they flew into and out of the lakes like planes landing on a carrier deck.

Not even being off the ground on bicycles helped; in some ways, it was even worse. Not only did we never want to put our feet down (you just had to, sometimes - yuk!), but we also discovered our bicycle tires had the unfortunate tendency to, well, sorta fling it up into our nether regions, especially our backsides. It kinda left the impression of, er, skid marks, if you know what I mean. Blech!

So, How Do YOU Handle Poop?

What provided the most entertainment value, though, was watching the various techniques folks used to negotiate the gooey, sticky mess. Some moved very slowly, carefully evaluating each and every piece of ground prior to placing their feet. (Honestly, it didn’t matter; it was everywhere.) The result was a sortof slow-motion walk, not unlike that of a chicken in a barnyard.

Others walked as if they didn’t have a care in the world, completely oblivious to the fact that their shoes (and sometimes the lower parts of their clothes) were getting soiled big-time by the ubiquitous brownish-green slime. Although… they did tend to stay on the sidewalks (which, because of the sun, were generally “drier” than the stuff in the grass, if you get my meanin’.

On the other hand, kids, for the most part, couldn’t have cared less. They played, ran, fell down, got up, and generally did their kid things without any thought at all of the gradually deteriorating condition of their clothing. (The growing disgust on their mothers’ faces, though, said volumes.)

Believe it or not, I even saw a couple of barefooted people out there, too. What were they thinking? Yuk! Even the thought makes the corner of my lip curl up in disgust.

As Karen pointed out in her article, it’s pretty much a truism that, in life, as in this park, sometimes poop just… happens. The question before the jury, however, is this: How do YOU handle it?

Needless to say, there were some very insightful (albeit hilarious) responses from the Words for Hire community. So I thought it would be fun to put the question out to the MZM community, too.

When, as is inevitable, “poop happens”, how do YOU handle it?

Leave your feedback in the comment box. Believe me; on this one, we’re all dyin’ to know.

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Canadian Geese at Sunset, by tinyfroglet

I Believe I Just Stepped in Some, by Gossamer1013

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