Poop is your problem
A bin liner appeared over the weekend, attached to one of the poop bins in one of our local parks. The bin was stuffed so someone had set up an overflow.
I met an owner of the same breed of dog as mine so we walked together for a while. He spotted some poop on the grass and we both looked at it - its size was so clearly out of kilter to have been produced by either of our dogs.
“I’ll pick it up,” he said. “I’ve got a spare bag.”
Saying “That’s not my job” is an easy way to luxuriate in moaning about spoilt shoes.