File Under: Things Never to Share Publicly

...and yet, there's this little voice that tells me it must be shared.

After a week of gray days and fairly constant rain, the sunny warmth drew us outside for a walk this afternoon.  Jed stayed home to finish his nap, so I pushed Adelaide along in her stroller and Levi skipped ahead and behind and all around.  It was just going to be a 20-minute walk or so.  No big deal.

But five minutes in, Levi stopped and exclaimed that he needed to go potty.  Now, he's a boy, so when we can be pretty discreet, and when we're far away from an actual potty, I'll let him go in nature.  We were near a beautiful, giant Christmas tree whose bottom branches formed a circle with about a 15-foot diameter.  It stood on the yard-like strip of grass between the sidewalk and the condo carports on the other side.  There was a void in its broad skirt of branches on a back portion of the tree, and I directed Levi to sort of enter inside the tree from that empty spot.  No one was around.  He went in and dropped his pants, which I thought somewhat odd, but didn't care.  I told him to hurry and began looking around sort of nervously.

It's so rare to actually pass someone on this path, but don't you know, this day would be different.  This day would give us a spectator.   It was a guy, and he appeared to be in college, so I figured, "If anyone would understand, surely this dude would."  As he approached, I glanced over at Levi to see if he was finished, and he was just standing there, pants around his ankles, arms to his sides.  "What is he doing?"  I thought with my nerves starting to constrict.  No sooner had I thought the thought than, and just prepare yourselves for this, but two long poops fell from his behind.  Onto the grass. 

Just like a little horse.  Out in a pasture.  No concerns in the world.  Just an animal doing whatever he wants.  In public.  For passersby.  There's no shame.  Only freedom and joy.

I quickly searched for a deep well into which I could jump head first, considered removing the drain grate from the street next to me and disappearing there, but instead, I looked right up at the guy, and smiled, "Excuse us."

Then I buried my head in my arms on the stroller pusher-bar and burst into uncontrollable laughter. 

Awkward.  The guy just smiled and kept going, oh so graciously and calmly.

When I looked back up at Levi, he was looking around at stuff and pulling up his pants.  I decided if ever there was a "teachable moment," this had to be one, and I gave him the run-down about what is not and what is (sort of) acceptable in outdoor voiding etiquette.  He genuinely seemed confused as to why that was the case, and I just gave my best explanation followed by, "Just don't do it."  How could I have missed this important tidbit of distinction that first time he "went" in the trees?  Things you just don't think about until you're staring it down in real time.

We made our circuit, and when we passed back by "The Spot" on our way home, Levi sauntered by, then ran back and shouted, "Hey, that's where I went poop!"  Fortunately, no passersby.  Unfortunately, I don't think I communicated the gravity of the situation.

I mean, what's worse?  The dog owner who doesn't pick up after their dog, or the HUMAN owner who doesn't pick after their HUMAN?  I left it there for two reasons:  I had no means by which to tidily remove it, and it was hidden.  OK, three reasons:  it's good fertilizer, dang it.

How was I supposed to know I should've brought along one of those little plastic baggies?! 

Anyway, I can assure you that now we both know better.  No more free-little-pony-in-the-field for Levi.