who let the dogs out?

this is a very fragrant bin at the trailhead.
I thought I was going cross country skiing on Thursday with Erin, but actually it was a dog show. Dogs were hurling themselves into the snow, making pock marks in the groomed tracks with furry paws. Arches of warm pee were hurling through the frosty air, creating urine check-points at each snow mound for other dogs to join in. Dogs were digging holes in the middle of the path. Doggy wags and tails were whacking into my thighs and shins. As I surged forward on the trail, huskies, labs, chow chows, pugs, spaniels, and shetland sheep dogs passed me by, each with a frosty snow flurried beard around it's canine grin. Lining the trail were exquisite little treasure packs: neatly tied and parceled little plastic bags of poop. Dogs were smelling other dogs privates. Dogs were galloping down the trails in wild family packs. A dog chased Erin as she whizzed by. Dogs ran into my skis. Dogs! Dogs! And MORE Dogs! Sometimes I hate dogs.