I’m having an incredibly busy, stressful day, as I have had every day at least since mid-August. Grace memorial event, which I am completely unprepared for emotionally, is 9 days away. I just learned that my Aunt Beatrice, the last of my mother’s family in that generation, died last night. I have client work that, as usual, will take me well into the night.

But I have to walk the dog, and did so, luckily with my (I nearly wrote “our”) neighbor who was walking her dog, one of Spuds’ pals, as a companion. Our neighborhood firehouse puts out boxes of biscuits and dog treats for the many canines around here, and both dogs pulled us toward that locale as soon as we got close.

I had Spuds’ leash in one hand, so to gather some treats for both dogs I had to put down what filled my other hand: a plastic bag heavy with my dog’s morning offal. I rested the bag on a shelf next to the dog yummies. It wasn’t until I got home that I remembered that I had forgotten to pick the bag up, so I could deposit it in my trash.

So, big deal. It was obvious what the bag was, and what it contained. It was tied up. Would it be so terrible if one of the fire fighters had to toss the thing? But I can’t allow rationalizations like that to outweigh the obvious. Once, I might have.

So I got into my car, drove to the fire house, and retrieved the bag.

It was the right thing to do, damn it.