It was early. Not dark. But early. And I accidentally took the wrong lead with me for Henry's walk (at least I took the right dog, there are five to choose from).
My Australian Shepherd Henry's lead has a PooSh attached. A PooSh is the soft leather poo-bag dispenser we make at our London workshop.
We get to the park, I detach the lead to let Henry run free (mostly free, I keep him on a long line in London) and Henry races to his usual spot (he loves routine).
I reach for the PooSh. No PooSh. Therefore, no poo-bags. What now?
Not, in my mind, national emergency levels of hysteria to warrant a text to every mobile across the country. But, for some, it can be.
I cannot ignore these spirited civic-minded fellow citizens - they are out in force at this time of day too, power walking the park circuit. Keeping an eye on Henry and me I'm sure. Making sure I pick up after him.
Of course, I want to do the right thing. And be seen to be doing the right thing. Lest I become 'that guy with that dog'.
Ah, there's a neighbour with her dog about 200m away. She will have a spare poo-bag. I shout. Eileen. Eileen. She can't hear me. I'll have to run a little in her direction. But how far do I run before I risk being accused of not picking up after my dog, and the attendant public humiliation?
Everybody is watching now. I know it. Will he pick up his dog's mess? Won't he? I imagine some would love to catch me in the act. That is, in the act of not picking up my dog's poo.
Then, this happens. A toddler, with daddy following closely behind, climbs the grassy knoll and is marching directly towards Henry's spot (Henry is jumping up by my side at this point, thinking we're in a game of sorts as I jog half-heartedly shouting Eileen's name).
I stop. Turn. No, no, no I shout, waving my arms at the toddler, running back towards Henry's spot - the father looking up now with concern, Henry bouncing at my side because the game has taken a new twist.
Toddler swooped away and lifted into the air just in the nick of time. And then, at the same moment, a woman (with a Labradoodle, I think) from nowhere, thrusting a poo-bag at me. "Your dog made a mess. There are children running about. You give other dog owners a bad name".
Sheer contempt. Without giving me a chance to explain. Though I thank her profusely. Henry and I may just take a different route tomorrow. With a PooSh attached to his lead.