When you think you have something important to say, it’s best to define your terms. I made this next one up.

FPUP = “Faking Picking Up Poop.”

Before you accuse me of swirling into the cesspool of scatological humor, hear me out. I’ve got a story to tell and a point to make.

Here we go. I live six miles outside a remote Colorado town nestled against the Rocky Mountains. A homeowner’s association (HOA) runs our neighborhood, armed with the associated covenants and bylaws to ensure that just in case the federal, state, or county government do not provide enough guidance in our lives, the HOA can help tighten things up. Hmmm. I digress…

Regardless, as in any community, when I walk my dog, I’m expected to clean up after my dog. Even though we’re out here in the boondocks and our community is all gravel roads, I’m OK with this rule. It’s a common courtesy to my neighbors who enjoy roaming about our neighborhood as much as I do.

Here’s the rub. Half the time I walk my dog, she’s got the same issue I do after a three-hour airplane flight. Things ain’t moving so good on the inside and movements that are supposed to be regular become, well…irregular. So my dog strikes the dooty-ful pose like she’s dropping a load but then comes up short.

It’s a fake poop.

I don’t hold that against her and that’s not the problem. The problem is me. All the neighborhood houses sit on 3- to 5-acre plots. Just far enough from the road for my neighbors to see I’m walking next to a dog pooping in front of their house, but too far away to shake their heads and say, “Oh dear. That dog needs more fiber in her diet.”

So what do I do? I whip out a plastic bag with the panache of a proctologist wielding a surgical glove, bend over, and fake like I’m picking up poop. Analyzing the proximity of the closest house, I’ll often wrap the bag around a small rock to lend the bag a believable amount of heft, before flipping it inside out and tying it off.

FPUP. Faking picking up poop. Actually, it should probably be FPUFP—Faking picking up fake poop.

Why? What compels me to do this?

Must be a DNA thing. Or maybe my personality. I’ll likely never know because I’m a thrifty kind of guy who carefully uses my City Market grocery points at Shell and Loaf & Jug to lower the cost of filling my gas tank, and I’m not about to pay an analyst to tell me why my brain works this way.

Here’s my best guess: I want my neighbors to think I’m the type of guy who picks up after his dog—even though my dog isn’t actually pooping.

The last time this happened, I leaned over and zeroed in on a nice rock for my bag when my back suddenly gave out. You think it’s bad when you hurt yourself putting on your socks. Imagine the shame of injuring yourself while virtue signaling.

How far will we go to make it appear like we’re doing the right thing? Even when we’re not. Even if it hurts?

Our recent sanctions on Russia might help answer that question. We want the world to know that we are not the type of nation that will tolerate Russia’s invasion of sovereign Ukraine and are doing something about it.

But sanctioning a country to change their behavior has a poor historical track record. Sanctions rarely work and often delay progress toward a diplomatic solution (Cuba.) There are examples of successful sanctions, but they are usually accompanied by a credible threat of military force (Iraq, Serbia)—a threat (understandably) missing in the response to nuclear Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Finally, if sanction regimes are not unilaterally imposed, they can backfire and harm the countries applying them (US/EU fuel prices rise while India and China help Russia profit through oil purchases.)

With sanctions, we are faking like we are doing something and hurting ourselves.

Military intervention would be a more effective use of power, but I don’t favor that option. The invasion does not directly affect our national interests, Ukraine is not a formal ally (no US-Ukraine defense treaty) and Russia has nuclear weapons. Don’t get me wrong—the assault on Ukraine’s sovereignty is wrong in every sense of the word. I’m simply suggesting military intervention is not a reasonable choice.

Here’s what I support—the continued supply of US weapons and associated training. If my neighbor was fired from his or her job, I probably wouldn’t boycott their employer and encourage everyone else to do the same. Instead, I would find out what my neighbor needed and help them get it. The Javelin missile provided by the US proved so effective, that a picture of Mary Magdalene cradling one to her chest dominates social media. The recently introduced High Mobility Rocket Artillery System (HIMARS—a much more powerful acronym than the one I made up about dog poop) strikes enough fear in the Russians that they are spreading false reports of its destruction.

I also support the use of the diplomatic and informational instruments of power. They are often as ineffective as sanctions, but at least they signal our stance to the rest of the world, and we don’t harm ourselves through their use.

I know–hot button topic for my blog that’s supposed to be fun. But those long walks with the dog get you thinking. So bring it on…what’s your opinion?