Before Hefner, Charlie, and I moved from Mississippi to Savannah, the dogs didn’t travel with me locally very often because there were few places in our small town for them to go. I took them to the vet, or for a walk, and sometimes to visit my parents in Alabama, but they never went with me anywhere just to hang out for a few hours.

That’s why I was happy to move to a dog-friendly city like Savannah. Now, the dogs can come with me to eat, shop, and just hang out around town. I don’t have to leave them at home while I have all the fun. Not that it’s fun all the time.

Hefner and Charlie aren’t always the easiest dogs to walk together, because their noses have a habit of leading them in opposite directions, attempting to pull me apart like Mel Gibson at the end of Braveheart. But the dogs seem to enjoy walking around town and receiving rubs from new people, who are as happy to see them as the dogs are to see whatever scraps I might give them from our dining adventures.

However, this new freedom has caused me to face a reality I’ve been sure of for a long time: Hefner is an awkward pooper. I say that because he will poop anywhere, anytime, without warning.

My little sister was actually the first person to make the observation. While visiting family in Alabama years ago, my sister took Hefner for a walk. Later, when she returned, she declared, “Your dog is an awkward pooper!” She then relayed the story to me of how Hefner had done his business in the middle of the road, with no regard for traffic, vehicular or otherwise.

The dogs and I were recently walking down Congress Street on the way to another of our dog-friendly adventures, and, without sniffing or circling or any other warning signs most dogs give, Hefner squatted in the middle of the sidewalk and went. He had no concern for anyone walking around us, especially the guy behind me who had to come to sudden stop to avoid stepping in the pile. Hefner has no sense of shame when it comes to public bathroom stops.

Oh, so you say I should walk him for a while at home before I leave? I do that; it doesn’t help. Hefner apparently keeps a few poo bullets in the chamber for public dispersal. We will walk from one end of our apartment complex to the other, and he will go once or sometimes even twice, and I think we’re safe. But sure enough, after several blocks of downtown walking, there he goes. In the middle of the sidewalk. In the middle of traffic. In front of God and everyone.

Hefner has always been a lazy dog, as pugs can be. He would prefer napping on my bed to any other activity. So maybe it’s the large amount of walking that gets to him. Perhaps he’s protesting the unwelcome exercise that comes along with these new excursions. Maybe he’s clearing space in the hopes I’ll let him clean my plate.

Whatever the reason, a long walk with Hefner is always an adventure (for the record, Charlie doesn’t seem to have this exhibitionist pooping habit). Something that I’ve learned through this project is to never underestimate the number of plastic bags one dogs can demand.