Gathered around the tail gate, I was in the throes of telling some sort of story. As I gained momentum and was working towards the punch line the Old Lady came trotting over. Briefly turning my gaze in her direction it took a second before the gravity of the situation fully took hold.
The fish had not cooperated but it was a glorious afternoon. A couple old friends and an even older river were more than enough to make the outing worthwhile. Once the sun had dipped behind the canyon ridge we decided to call it quits and head back to town. A hot meal and a cold beverage seemed just the ticket to round out a nearly perfect afternoon.
Her head and neck were covered in feces. The color and consistency led me to believe it was human. In a panic I made several wild motions complimented with guttural utterances that let the dog know I didn’t want her anywhere near me or the truck.
The story was paused and fortunately we were next to a river. I marched towards the water growling heal under my breath, all the while careful the dog didn’t come close enough to rub my leg. I found a suitable stick and hucked it several times into the swollen current. Swimming helped. But ultimately I needed to bite the bullet, remover her collars, and wash them by hand.
It all went better than expected. I avoided getting human shit on my clothing, my friends and our vehicle. I considered it a victory.
The Old Lady isn’t sure what all the fuss was about.