Having refrained from joining the editorial writers, op-ed contributors, letters-to-the-editor types, bloggers, taggers, and palm writers commenting on President Obama’s State of the Union Address--the one that, like all the others before it, from all the other Presidents, ultimately won’t make one damn bit of difference to the way the country is governed--before he gave it, I’ll stick with the plan and refrain from joining them and commenting about it now. Instead, I’d like to discuss dog poop.

Not directly; this isn’t that kind of column, and if there is that kind of column somewhere, I feel just fine not knowing about it. No, what led me to thinking about dog poop was an outing to the Grape Street dog park with Alice, current holder of the World’s Greatest Dog, Shut Up, She Is Too title. Now, dog parks are a wonderful example of government at its best: public land for public use. And not just any public use: A dog park is one of those seemingly not terribly significant things that, in fact, flat-out make life worth living. It’s a place where a sizable chunk of the Declaration of Independence is realized. Pursuit of happiness, hell; in a dog park, it’s been captured – although, within its borders, it’s temporarily off-leash.

Anyway,* while in the dog park recently with Alice, the World’s Greatest Dog, Shut Up, She Is Too, I realized that there has arisen an awkward social situation for which, at present, there’s no accepted, universally recognized solution. And that is, when someone else’s dog is pooping, but the dog’s owner doesn’t notice it--there are other dogs to look at and admire, and other dog owners to talk to--it could happen to anyone. So how do you call his attention to it? When doggie attendance is high, a lot of times you’re not sure who the offending dog’s (I could have written “pooping dog’s,” but I’m trying to keep the number of “poops” in the column to a minimum, even though “poop” is a funny word--probably because it combines little-kid silly with downright naughty scatology--and I could go after cheap laughs simply by writing “poop” a lot) owner is.

So, when you notice an offense (See? Restraint.) taking place, what should you do? You could pick it up yourself, of course, but come on, you do quite enough of that, thank you very much. (No, really, I mean it: Thank you very much.) You could ignore it, but your dog is running around, and you’re walking around, and it could come back to bite you, or, since we’re civic-minded here, bite (more restraint) someone else.

Clearly, some sort of signal is needed. I like the idea of an extended arm, finger pointed, accompanied by an ululating shriek like the one emitted by Donald Sutherland in the last scene of Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978 version), but that’s unlikely to catch on. Maybe we should just agree that simply pointing and calling out “Pooping dog!” will do, although it won’t be nearly as much fun.

Speaking of dog poop--and we are--I’m also looking for a solution to another, related problem. Or rather, I came up with a solution, but when I tell people about it, they’re not sure I did the right thing. What happened was, I was walking Alice, the World’s Etc., and she pooped. Good citizen that I am, I plastic-bagged it. A couple of minutes later, she pooped again, which she never does … and I was out of plastic bags. Emily Post didn’t cover this, I promise you.

The setting plays into it. Kensington. Dusk, leaning toward night. I was a good six blocks from home. Alice and I would be visible, if not distinct, to anyone watching, though in my experience people tend not to watch such goings-on too carefully. Now, I could have hurried away with Alice, looking back repeatedly and attempting to make it clear, via body language, that I intended to return. I wasn’t sure, however, of my ability to convey this message. Besides, I wasn’t going to return--six blocks is just too damn far, I’m sorry. And simply to leave the deposit and stroll away with our noses in the air, as it were, would be a slap in the face to any observers: You live here, you clean it up.

Here’s what I did instead: I faked taking a fresh bag from the roll, and pretended to pick it up. And why not? This set a good example for any young people watching, and demonstrated to interested homeowners that I’m a responsible neighbor.

Which I am. Mostly.

*A shameless, if somewhat veiled plug for Anyway,* my Juvenile novel, to be published by Simon & Schuster in April 2012.