When I was young, I loved the joke that went:
“I thought about getting you a really expensive present whilst I was shopping on Oxford Street last week. But then I realised it’s the thought that counts, so I didn’t bother.”
I would have loved to have had the guts to get away with that.
When I see dog turds tied up in little plastic bags in trees, it’s as if someone has done exactly that. “It’s the thought that counts – you take this home, shitpicker!”
This is what they think whilst they carefully tie the bag of turd to the nearest tree to the crime scene:
“I have my mock Tudor-fronted pseudo manor on a cul-de-sac with a mortgage I can’t really afford, with my fortified leylandii hedge and my carriage – and so I have my hounds.
I exercise my hounds around my extensive estate, which, if I shut my eyes whenever any shitpickers walk past, I can pretend is all mine. But I am an ethical employer, so I don’t want any servants.
Considering that I have a Bachelors of Arts (hons), and am a Professional, it really is inefficient for a person of my social standing to carry the stools of my hound. There are people that I pay for through my taxes to do that. Council people. I provide them gainful employment as shitpickers. Maybe if they work hard picking up my dog’s turds, they can end up like me one day. Besides, it’s really not a good look to be seen carrying bags of shit. Someone else can do that.
I know that dog excrement is foul and that it is such a pain to tread in it. So I have picked it up and put it in a bag and I tie it to this tree so that one day the Council people will pick it up. It’s the thought that counts.”