On our Saturday morning walk Scarlett was obsessed with holding as many pine cones as humanly possible, stuffed into her tiny hands. So as a good mother would, I stripped off my cardigan (white...good planning mom) and made Scarlett a sling to carry all of her new found treasures. It was all fun and games until someone (not me) picked up a pine cone with a clump of dog poop attached. Unfortunately I was not screening all pine cones for ultimate cleanliness before entering the realm of my makeshift sweater wrap nor was I stopping tiny baby hands from searching the proclaimed "oh muddy, yucky" clump found on said dog poop pine cone. We continued on with our pine cone search until I noticed the lingering smell of poop was wafting through the air, I searched the ground and our shoes before noticing smears of brown on Scarlett's pine cone sling. So of course I lean for a good long sniff, just to clarify the fear that is already running through my brain, genious...and without even having to get close, my suspicions were rendered truth. Dog poop, on my sweater and Scarlett's hands. Let's just say our walk ended early with immediate pine cone drop off and promise of the best bath time EVER.
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