****ing bone idle dog owners.
Took the ankle biters for a walk at the local Forestry Commission, er, forest today as the sun was shining bright and the last warmth of the year blessed us. What should have been a delightful stroll along a pine needle strewn path, dappled by sunlight with the earthy smell of composting leaves was totally ruined by the magnetic force upon my kids feet being attracted to numerous piles of dog ****.
You've got a dog, well done. Now part of looking after it is picking up its ****ing crap you moron. And that doesn't mean putting it in a plastic bag and adorning the next tree with a hanging **** parcel either. At least get the dopey mutt to go in the undergrowth if anything where it's not going to **** me off.
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