Handler
with a bag full of poop
When we moved to West Virginia twenty years ago, Eleanor Green became a toddler about town. Born at 3.5 pounds, baby Elly couldn’t go out among the people during her1 first winter. Our grad student insurance didn’t cover what were then extremely expensive RSV vaccinations, so the pediatrician advised us to keep her tiny immune system at home. She and I stayed home for a winter. She ate and gained weight. I fed her and lost weight.
The only problem was that she was born to be out among the people, not just the social animal that all people are, but a miniature extrovert.
By the time she started walking and talking, I learned that we needed to have a “baventure” -- as she called it-- every day. If she didn’t see someone besides me and Chris, we had a cranky toddler on our hands.
When we moved to Huntington, she had just turned two, and she was ready to take on a new world. I was just her handler. She charmed her way around town, at the library, at ALDI, at the park, and at the bakery. I loved it. I never needed to introduce myself to anyone. Eleanor made it all happen.
I like going to England, because there’s no expectation to be friendly. Left to myself, I don’t like greeting strangers. I’m a nod and a smile kind of girl. Eleanor is part of the reason that I’ve learned the art of small talk, while I trailed behind her with the diaper bag and snacks.
When Veep started its first season, I immediately recognized myself in Tony Hale’s character Gary. I was the guy with the bag, standing behind the star. In my case, the star’s failings weren’t quiet racism and mishaps with stools and podiums, but occasionally spectacular crying meltdowns and pants pooping. I’d rather clean up poop than bigotry.
In 2025, we just got a new dog from the shelter, Misty the Goldendoodle. Misty is toddler Eleanor in dog form. She wants to be friends with everybody and everything. She wants to meet dogs, squirrels, people, and bicycles. If you’re moving, you’re her friend, except for a rolling laundry cart found behind our local hotel. It was scary. This is different from our old girl Josie, who found everything scary. She thought everyone wanted to murder me, and it was her job to stop them.
Twenty years later, I find myself dusting off the old handler skills. Misty is helping me meet everybody we pass. Her foibles? Jumping up on people and a nose for finding other animals’ poop to eat. Twenty years later, it’s still about poop.
I’m a grateful introvert to once again take on my “bag man” role, even if the bag I’m carrying is plastic and filled with… well, you know.
No pronouns were harmed in the course of his piece. I called and consulted and was informed that the proper pronouns for age 3 Elliot are “she/her.”