Otherwise known as "What happens when you tell your daughter she's not coming inside until she's cleaned the dog poo off her wheels."
There's a particular point in our most common route where there is nearly always a festering pile of poo. It seems to remain fairly constant in terms of quantity and consistency; I'm tending to the theory therefore that it's one particular dog rather than just a popular pooing point for passing pooches.
Perhaps fortunately, it's just that bit too far away for me to set a guard to inform on the perpetrator. Although if I did, and if I then confronted the owner of the dung shedding dog, and begun the confrontation with "a little bird told me", could I then consider the guard to be a genuine stool pigeon?
These are the thoughts which march across my mind as I send my daughter back into the muddy puddle for another rinse, whilst hunting for a nice sharp poo cleaning stick.