WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: Getting the Scoop on Our Messes

     As the architect of multiple messes in my lifetime, I rejoice that in many instances there was someone to come along after me and help me clean them up. Occasionally I had to tidy up all by myself. Our famous family dog Flash, however, is incapable of cleaning up her own messes, both literally and figuratively.
     Recently we took Flash on a family visit to Old Salem, a place where the clock has stopped and time is stuck somewhere in the late 1700s and early 1800s. One of the few modernities in Old Salem are the signs admonishing good and decent folks not to ignore the results of their pets expressing themselves in a public manner. Because poor Flash was refused allowance into any of the old-timey dwellings- (only seeing eye dogs allowed within)- Stroupe family members took turns hanging outside, attached to the mandatory leash with the only four legged member of our family on the other end.
     During one of my rotations, Flash decided it was time to relieve herself and so she proceeded thusly. The spot she chose was within spitting distance of a sign that I couldn't help but get a chuckle from. It was strategically placed to remind Flash and me that her natural bodily functions can cause various sorts of communicable and fatal diseases. Then it implored humans to abase and degrade themselves by bending over near the dog's hind parts and scoop up the product with some sort of plastic glove-baggy type deal. (There was even a picture of a cartoon-type figure performing the act in case we didn't know what that was supposed to look like).  But my favorite part was the bottom of the sign reminding us humans that under penalty of law, we could be fined $25 to $200 for not performing the necessary excavation procedure after the act.
     Who in blue blazes determines whether it will be a $25 or a $200 fine? And what would be the basis of that determination? I chuckled as I imagined the employee whose job description included patrolling the grass areas and issuing fines to derelict doggy parents.

Doggy Patrol: "Excuse me, Sir, but I'm going to need to fine you for that #2 incident you just now walked away from."
Me: "My bad, how much do I owe you?"
DP: "Indeterminable at this point. I'll need you to stand here while I measure the diameter, circumference, and mass of the offense. (DP handcuffs me, places leg irons on Flash, then puts on hazmat suit and proceeds toward the offensive heap, but only after radioing in to his associates at the central office, warning them that he's going in before reinforcements can arrive. He then pulls out a tape measure, a weighing scale, and a 35mm camera to record and document the evidence.)
Me: "What's the damage, Mr. DP?"
DP: "Back off with the DP, wise guy, or I'll jack the fine up to $500 . . . Okay, so you owe me the full $200 based on the evidence."
Me: "Uggh, I should have adopted a smaller dog eight years ago. Or maybe I should have refused her when she begged for the cinnamon bun this morning."

     Of course this is a fictional account but beware, it could happen. I'm just glad I don't have to worry about paying the fine for the messes I've created in my own life, no matter how big or small. Figurative messes, that is. The Bible says in Isaiah 1:18 that our sins are red as scarlet but God makes them white as snow. Translation: We make messes but God is there to help clean them up. No lecture, no fine, no shame. No $25, no $200. But it does come with a price, and that price was paid for us in advance on Calvary.
     Flash didn't care about any of that at Old Salem as she curiously observed me snatching one of the plastic baggies and performing the dirty deed, depositing it in the little doggy refuse can a few feet away. "I've trained you well," she said with a grin. To which I replied, "Watch out, girl, or I'll close the lid on the toilet so you won't have anything to drink." Her smirk disappeared as she muttered, "Well played, my human adoptive father, well played."