She led him to the middle of the churchyard, where he sniffed and squatted, then dropped an impressive pile. Then the woman herded the dog back into the car and drove away. The next day, the same woman came back with the same dog, and they did the very same thing. When they came back a third day, I walked over to the churchyard. They push lawn mowers, pick up sticks, rake leaves, and pick up dog turds.
Dogs do like to run.
Myself, I like to play softball. But when nature calls, I try not to mess up my little spot around first base. And don't you know if I did, I'd have to clean it up before play could resume. The woman charged over to Clyde and got hold of his collar. As she wrestled Clyde back toward the car, they snorted and grumbled at each other, like an angry drunk couple leaving a bar.