The Delusion of Action

I was musing the other night, on the verge of sleep, y'know the green bit at the side of the B road of life, well my life anyway, about saving the planet from the idle destruction of the human race. I'm sure you've whiled away time pondering the futility of feeble actions carried out too little, too late and with not much thought. Joined up thinking is not so joined up I'm thinking. Let me give you an example.
Recently we have all been abjured the use of plastic carrier bags from the local hypermarket of your choice lest the planet implode under the combined burden of all that plastic much of it non-biodegradable. Over a similar time frame, local authorities have encouraged dog owners to pick up their pet's newly laid and frequently warm faeces for disposal in...a plastic bag? Now it seems to me that there is a definite lack of joined up thinking here and we have a decision to make on which is more dangerous to the planet, plastic or canine faecal matter. Note only canine faecal matter is to be collected in these little warm parcels not feline, vulpine, equine, bovine or avian all of which can be deposited wherever, whenever and from whatever height the shitter deems appropriate and over what ever area the fancy takes the perpetrator. Apart from the incongruity of controlling the use of placky bags in shops and simultaneously bagging the poohs of our doggy pals there's the aspect of decomposition or lack thereof of the aforementioned crap. How's it supposed to break down into it's component parts and filter back into the ground, there to be converted into further nutrients for the plant life? Or are we saving it for a rainy day when all fertiliser and soil has been converted to dust by our insatiable hunger for cheap food whereupon we can raid the landfill sites for these little semi-permanent bags of rich goodness. I dunno. You tell me.

Home On the Range

I know who Paris Hilton is. I wish I could say I didn't but I do because she's all over the news every time you open a paper. Now it seems that two of her dogs have been eaten by coyotes. Her mutts are left outside at night, an open invitation, evidently, for the boys in the 'hood to mosey on over and get down. Given that they are presumably handbagged sized canines they make great coyote canapes for the Hollywood Dog Pack mob. What her 'pack' needs is a large empty enclosed space and I'd like to propose the one between her ears. 

But perhaps I'm being unkind.