Doggie Doo Doo

by Brian Ritchie

May 27, 2026

While on a typical walk, my dog will post up in someone’s front yard and have herself a dookie. This is an activity that, until recently, made me deeply uncomfortable.

Which is not to say I’m bothered by natural bodily functions. I’ve participated in several of my own for decades, and although some of them will still occasionally make me giggle when they’re unusually loud or carry surprising sustain, I’m generally at peace with all of it.

No, the problem wasn’t the poo itself.

The problem was etiquette.

And let me be clear: this is not a debate about whether I should pick it up afterward or not. Of course I should. The second I notice Maizy entering her pre-poo-poo rituals, I immediately begin fishing a doo-doo bag from my pocket, and I do it in a highly visible manner so all nearby witnesses understand I am a responsible citizen.

I don’t need rumors spreading around the neighborhood that I am a leaver.

The real issue existed between Maizy and me.

Specifically, I have always preferred to mind my own business while she was engaged in a turd transition activity... and then one day she appeared to be deeply unhappy with my indifference.

When she was a puppy, taking her out was fairly straightforward. Dog walks somewhere. Dog drops a load. Human handles the paperwork. We move on.

But eventually tension developed.

Right before lowering herself into launch position, she would perform her weird little side-step dance. It’s the one dogs do while searching for the perfect tuft of deep grass in which to build a log cabin.

Then, just as she squatted, she stared directly into my eyes.

Not casually, either.

Locked in.

Now, to be clear, I’m already uncomfortable with prolonged eye contact. I don’t even like it when a painting seems to be too aware of me. Honestly, if I spot a knot in a tree that vaguely resembles an eyeball, I will start to feel emotional obligations to it.

So having a creature with whom I share a deep emotional bond maintain intense eye contact while actively manufacturing a brownie was extremely unsettling.

Up until that point, I believed I had been following a perfectly reasonable procedure.

I’d transfer the leash to my left hand. Deploy the retrieval bag over my right hand. Observe the situation briefly so I knew the size and emotional tone of the operation. Wait for conclusion. Then swoop in, grab the cargo, reverse bag, secure payload, twist, tie, and move on with life.

It was a solid system.

But the day our eyes locked, something changed.

I immediately sensed disappointment from her. Not anger exactly. It was more like concern that I had failed morally in some important area.

To be honest, I wasn’t sure what she expected from me. I mean, I was just standing there. She was the one getting brownies out of the oven.

“What?” I finally asked.

She looked away.

And our relationship has never fully recovered.

For years the routine was the same: squat, stare, discomfort, cleanup, walk home.

I longed for the earlier days when she would simply handle her business privately and leave me out of it.

Then, a few weeks ago, I stumbled across a video explaining common dog behaviors.

Now, normally these videos are made by people who attended Dog Harvard, and they would very much like you to click the link in their profile so they can teach you how to emotionally negotiate with a four-legger for only $39.99 a month.

Most of the advice they provide will involve techniques Maizy has already rejected using the power of complete disinterest.

But buried in the video was one astonishing revelation:

Apparently, dogs stare at you while visiting Brown Town because they feel vulnerable.

According to the expert, when dogs take a trip down the Hershey Highway, they instinctively expect their pack to stand guard and protect them from danger.

In other words, while Maizy was dropping a deuce, she believed I should have had my head on a swivel, scanning the horizon for predators.

Suddenly everything made sense.

She wasn’t trying to make things weird.

She thought I was security.

All those years she had been looking at me thinking:

"Why are you not watching out for low-life predators?"

And honestly, she had a point.

Because if a pack of wolves suddenly bursts from the tree line while your dog is pinching one off, that is probably not the ideal moment to begin forming a strategy.

Who knew?

Thoughts

You may be wondering how exactly I’m planning to extract a biblical lesson from a story that features the phrases "Hershey Highway" and "turd transition activity."

Honestly, I think the connection is obvious.

One of the great gifts of having a pet is that you become deeply loved by a creature whose entire world revolves around the greatest person in the whole world—you.

Sure, sociologically speaking, dogs initially join your family because they lack the ability to open doors and acquire employment. But over time they settle into your pack and place enormous trust in the people caring for them.

And whether you want the role or not, eventually you become responsible for somebody.

And they will need:

Food.Water.Protection.Walkies.And, now you know, emotional support during vulnerable bathroom moments.

Which, strangely enough, sounds a little like shepherding.

And that image matters because Jesus described Himself this way in John 10:11:

"I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep."

Jesus used that picture because shepherding is ultimately about love, responsibility, protection, and sacrifice.

If we’re honest, most of us would rather live independently. We want freedom. No obligations. No interruptions. Just ourselves speeding down life’s highway doing whatever we want.

But God understands something we often forget:

Self-centeredness eventually transforms into loneliness.

So in His wisdom, He gives us community.

Family.Friends.Church.Coworkers.Even pets.

And somewhere in those structures, almost all of us will have somebody depending on us.

I've always believed love obeys gravity, in that it flows downhill.

It begins with God, the source of all love.

Romans 5:5 says:

"God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."

And once His love flows into us, we’re not meant to dam it up and keep it for ourselves.

Love stagnates if it doesn’t keep moving.

Over time, even a small trickle can wear through stone. It softens hard hearts. It becomes a stream, then a river, bringing life into dry places that desperately need it.

So today, let that love flow through you toward whoever God has placed in your care.

Even if that relationship occasionally involves awkward eye contact while dropping the kids off at the pool.

And that, my friends, is how we keep it bright and hopeful.

Pray

Holy Father,

Thank you that you are an overwhelming spring of refreshing love. Thank you that yours is a love that goes so deep that you gave the life of your son, so that I would not be cast away from you.

I confess that I have not loved as I should.

I admit that shame, weakness, and even laziness have kept me from offering my best to those who you have blessed me with.

I will do better to love as I have been loved by you.

Thank you for the mercy of patience as I grow as a student of Jesus.

In Jesus’ name,Amen

Going Deeper

1. 1. Who has God entrusted to your care right now — whether family, coworkers, friends, or even pets — and how can you be more intentional about “keeping watch” for them like a shepherd would for their sheep?

   2. In what ways might you be tempted to “dam up” God’s love instead of letting it flow through you? What practical steps can you take this week to let His love flow outward into someone else’s life?

   
   

Stay Connected

You can listen to this episode of Still Bright Hope below, or keep reading to take it in at your own pace.

Enjoy this devotion? Subscribe here to receive new stories and podcasts from Still Bright Hope every week.