Every morning, before you wake up, I walk by your house and my dog takes a crap on your lawn. Sometimes, if we’re in a rush, he does it in that little strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street next to where your car is parked, but it’s always right there for you to step in. Apparently that’s what he wants you to do and who am I to tell him otherwise? I know you don’t expect me to bend down and touch it with one of those inside-out grocery bags on my hand. Do you have any idea what my dog eats? If you want my dog’s crap out of your shoe, then I suggest you go find a pointy stick, and if you’re lucky, maybe that guy across the street will win next year.