I'm covering my hands in disposable latex gloves, doubling plastic bags and making sure the hand sanitiser is in reach – because there is always one.

One dog poop. One lazy owner of a stinking, filthy dog who cannot pick up its poop.

No one else is going to pick it up and I am not digging it out of kids' shoes.

It's easy to hate lazy dog owners. It's pretty easy to hate dogs, too. They poop, they smell, they wee on the cricket bags, they jump on the little kids and they just shouldn't be … well … anywhere normal humans are.

My first freak-out dog moment came when I was about 10. In those days kids were allowed to walk up to the local shops alone to buy lollies. As I was doing this, a monster German shepherd jumped up on me. The truth is it was probably going to lick me to death, but who knew? I screamed and screamed until a woman came wobbling out of the house and got it off me.

As a young adult living in a share house we had next-door neighbours with rat dogs – I don't know what they are called – yapping 24-7. We used to tip saucepans of water over the fence. They're lucky we didn't boil the water first.

A flat would be a safer bet, right? Wrong. A man used to walk his dog through the gardens and leave poop on the walkways. Not the grass, the walkways. We put in security gates.

Callan Park, aka the Lilyfield dog toilet. Photo: Lisa Maree Williams

Then in Lilyfield, living two minutes' walk from Callan Park and going there just once in 10 years – because that one time I discovered it was just a massive dog toilet. Still not digging dog poop out of kids' shoes. The closest cafe allowed dogs in. I sneered and walked an extra 500 metres for coffee.

Stinking dogs and their poop follow me everywhere I go.

All the way to Saturday mornings at Epping Boys High's cricket oval.

My son is just about to age out of junior cricket. Your dog poop is not my problem any more.

Another mother will come after me.

And for her, I am still going to hate your dog.