Some things in life are inevitable.  I can’t remember the last time this didn’t happen:

1. Let Homer outside
2. Give him plenty of lead time to do his business
3. Pick the poop up off the lawn and dispose of it
4. Start mowing the lawn
5. Homer pinches a loaf right in the middle of the uncut grass

Frickin’ dog.  It’s like the First Law of Gastrointestinal Dynamics or something:

Picking up the poop leads to mowing the lawn, which in turn leads to Home-dog dropping a deuce right in my path.

That’s just the way it is.  There’s no way around it!

And then he gives me that look, like, "What?"