I have a talent I've passed on to my son. I have the ability to find and step in poop within a five mile radius of where ever I am. My feet are like heat-seeking missiles attracted to crap. As a dog owner I'm pretty careful about picking up when we're out. I also pick up religiously in our backyard, partly because one of my dogs is a...er...scavenger and will get it practically before it hits the ground if I don't, but mostly because it's unpleasant having chunks of poo around where my child is playing. Last night we were out walking the dogs. In the dark. And I was tromping through piles of fallen leaves, kind of enjoying the mild evening and the swish and crunch underfoot. I mustn't have felt the squish underfoot because this morning when I went to put on my shoes I noticed a funny kind of smear. I lifted one shoe carefully and brought it close to sniff. Horrors! It was not only thoroughly wedged in the decorative treads on the bottom of the shoe but somehow got smeared up the side and over the top. My nice black suede moccasins (Merrills, natch) that are also my shoes to wear to work. And as if that isn't enough, as I brought the shoe close for that tell-tale sniff, my son nudged past me to get to his shoes and yes, ladies and gentlemen, mashed the shoe against my nose. It's a talent, I say. One I'm proud to share with my first and only born because his feet, too, sometimes seem to be the ones who do the seeking.