Bags are big. So I hear.

My teenage niece came home the other day with a bag that she bought “used” from a resale shop in downtown Bangor for $90. It was a bargain, she assured me. “It’s Coco Chanel.”

I carry bags, too. My bags are either ash or ecru in color and the designer label is either Hannaford or Shaw’s. I can be seen carrying my bags all over the neighborhood. If things go as planned, my bags are filled with dog poop before I get back home from my twice daily walks.

I’d prefer it if my dog would keep her business to home. That way I could deal with her mess privately and on my own preferred schedule. She’s not so interested in soiling her own yard. She can hold it. She actually prefers “Firefighter Pete’s” yard next door.

His yard is just a bit more public.

It is not uncommon for me, dressed in my best sweats, to be stooping over to pick up Abby’s deposit in Firefighter Pete’s yard at 7 a.m. and to have a horn honking at me from a well-dressed and perky neighbor on her way to the office.

I wave back, usually with the hand holding the plastic bag of dog poop.

“Hey, yeah, nice to see ya,” I yell as I struggle to stand up straight.

They smile an “isn’t-that-cute” sort of smile and go on their way, probably with their Coach purse or Dooney & Bourke wallet in the seat beside them.

Abby and I and our bag full of poop make our way to the golf course. With all of the necessities of the morning behind us, the golf course allows us our free time. Abby can run and I can walk at my own pace.

The golf course is closed. We seem to be doing no damage. It works great. I feel blessed to have this space to roam.

So I paid attention a few weeks ago when Bangor City Councilor Geoffrey Gratwick noted his dismay about dog owners refusing to pick up their dog’s feces in the Bangor City Forest. Perhaps, he said, the city should ban dogs from certain public areas.

Could it be the end to my morning routine?

As much as I didn’t want that to happen, I could understand Gratwick’s frustration. Every day when I walk the golf course, I dodge the piles of dog feces that other dog owners have chosen to ignore. I cringe to think that those living on the perimeter of the golf course may think it’s me (or Abby) that leaves the mess behind.

Across the country businesses are popping up that offer to clean up dog do from yards on a weekly basis. They have names such as “Doody Free” and “Yard Guards on Doody.” They actually have an association that has annual conventions at which they give out “turd-herding” trophies.

In Germany, where some publications say sanitation workers pick up 3 million pounds of “hundekot,” or dog poop, each day, officials are toying with the idea of using DNA to catch the scalawags who “hit and run,” according to Popular Science magazine.

On Sunday, a small group of people in Belfast will gather together at the gazebo at Steamboat Park to pick up the dog poop left behind from the melting snow. The volunteers hope that those irresponsible dog owners who left it behind will at least feel some guilt knowing that their neighbors are sacrificing a Sunday morning to clean up after others’ dogs.

They call the event April Stools Day!

Brilliant!

There is no way for any city to realistically police a pooper scooper ordinance. It requires voluntary compliance and, alas, will not be perfectly abided by.

Perhaps we have to self-police a bit more. I may not carry a fancy bag with a designer label, but at least I carry a bag.

reneeordway@gmail.com