We had walked up to the school for our morning training when all of a sudden Ray stopped dead and started doing the poop dance. I futilely groped around in my pocket for a poop bag and desperately looked around to see if there was a stray newspaper bag lying around somewhere. No luck.
I took the ziplock sandwich-size baggie of dog treats out of my pocket and emptied them onto the sidewalk. I looked dubiously at the size of the bag in my hand and the growing mound of poop on the grass. Ray stepped aside and started to eat the treats off of the ground. I gingerly stepped up to the task.
I guess I should have thought it through a bit better before starting. I should have turned the bag inside out. I now had a baggie full o steaming poop and I had no way of closing it. I daintily held it away from my person and we resumed our walk.
We were a block from home when Ray got a wild hair. He started doing the spastic cannonball at the end of his leash. I was dodging and laughing and trying to hang onto the poop and keep it from being exploded by the cannonballs whizzing by. I was starting to sweat a little and it was 40 degrees outside. Just as quickly as it started, the fusillade stopped. We made it home without further incident. I found a larger bag for my smelly little packet and disposed of it with relief.