The power of intention. We've all heard about that lately, right? Every guru on the planet is talking about the zero point field, and how quantum physics relates to metaphysics, and The Secret is really big lately. Hey, I love quantum physics, metaphysics, and I myself would dearly love to pull the winning lottery ticket out of the zero point field. I have no problem with the idea that we create our reality, except for those calamitous moments that I refuse to believe I did to myself. However, I do have proof that the power of intention actually does work.

It all started with a sign that says, "Please pick up your dog poop."

This sign is attached to a mailbox in a yard down the street and around the corner from where I live. This poor guy apparently has been battling dog poop for quite some time. He lives on a corner, and dog's love to grace his yard with their presence, if you know what I mean. But this guy apparently does not understand the laws of the universe and that we create our own reality. Having his sign state "please pick up your dog poop" simply tells the universe to give him more dog poop. And that's precisely what he is getting.

Let me illustrate the point. Not too long ago, I took Mooch for a walk. My dog never leaves anything in anyone's yard, ever. She's a good dog who goes potty in her own yard, and that's that. So, I'm walking along staring at the dusky sky, admiring the way the fading sunlight is turning the sky pink and orange, when suddenly the leash in my hand goes taut and I'm nearly jerked backward off my feet. I turn around to see what the heck is going on, and I'm absolutely shocked to see Mooch in the puppy hunch leaving some goodies in this guy's yard.

"ACK!" I screech. "Oh, my God, dog! What are you doing?"

Mind you, Mooch never goes potty in someone else's yard. I've had her forever, and I know this to be a law. Not only am I mortified to be caught standing next to a dog leaving goodies...well...anywhere...but I'm especially mortified at standing next to a dog leaving goodies next to a sign that says, "please pick up your dog poop." The worst part: I didn't have a doggy scoop, a baggy, not even a tissue. Nothing to use to clean up Mooch goodies.

I furtively glance around, hoping no one, especially the guy who owns the sign, is watching. Then as soon as Mooch is finished, I do what any human being would. I run. Like hell. Hey, I never said I was the epitome of moral perfection. I didn't want to get yelled at, okay?

Back home, I spent a few moments feeling guilty as hell. Okay, okay, honestly, I whined for half the night, until my husband told me to shut up already.

Fast forward, about a week later, I'm walking Mooch. Same route. We get to the guy's house with the sign, and again I'm staring up at the sky while Mooch trails along beside me, when all of a sudden, the leash sets like I just threw an anchor out, and I nearly get jerked off my feet backwards. My brain is going, 'no, it can't possibly be...not again...no way...she doesn't poop in other people's yard, never has, never will...except for that one time, and that was just a weird fluke that will never happen again.'

Meanwhile, I'm turning to look, and "Oh, my God, dog! Not again! What is up with you? Why here? What? Can you read the sign, is that it? You can read the sign, you know what it says, and you think this is funny?"

Again, I have no doggy scoop, no baggy, not even a tissue to clean up the Mooch goodies. As soon as I can, I give the leash a tug and...run. Like hell. Mooch just runs along beside me, grinning all the way home, and looking for all the world like she's laughing her tump off.

This time I didn't spend so much time feeling guilty. This time I spent too much time trying to figure the odds on my dog doing goodies in someone else's yard when she never has before, and why, of all places, THAT yard with the sign on the mailbox. It's just too weird, too incredible, and too much of a coincidence to ignore.

After a few days, I get over it and get on with my life. Until...yep, you guessed it...I'm walking Mooch, the leash goes taut, I get jerked backwards, and there is my dog, angelic being that she is, pooping on the guy's lawn where the sign says, "please pick up your dog poop."

This time, when I run like hell, I tell Mooch, "Alright, knucklehead, I'm not walking you past that yard anymore, ever. Got it? Good. It'll be a cold day in hell when I walk you even remotely anywhere in that direction. And if you so much as pass wind during a walk, you'll lose your privileges, dog! Understood?"

"There is no way, NO WAY, that is a coincidence. Three times in less than two weeks? You did that on purpose. I don't know how, I don't know why, but you did that on purpose."

Mooch just grins back at me as if to say, "Yeah, mom. Cool, huh?"

"Not only do I have to spell out words to prevent her from understanding me, now the dog can read. How? How I ask you?" I shout to the universe. Still running.

This does, however, illustrate a unique point. The power of intention really does work. Maybe a little too well. At the very least, it reminds me that if I'm asking the universe for something, I better be pretty darn specific with my request.

Maybe that poor guy should change his sign to read, "My yard is perfectly clean and free of dog poop." Or maybe he just shouldn't mention poop at all.




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