Traffic Stoppers

Well its happened again. Mrs Thatcher (not her real name*) has done it again. The first time it happened I excused it as "call of nature". But a second time is too much. Picture if you please a village idyll. A woman walks her doggies through the town, towards the quay for some seagull taunting and bog wrestling. Blossom* (a black labrador, flat coat mix, conceived in a hedgerow in Suffolk) sniffs at the morning breeze for suggestions of bacon butties whilst her smaller companion, Mrs Thatcher, part diva lap dog, part killer terrier (conceived behind a fence in Chelmsford)) triples along next to her, her silky knickerbockers bouncing saucily behind her. Tis joy to be alive!
To get to the quay, one needs to cross at a pedestrian crossing and then out along the river to the boats. Easily and neatly done as there is rarely any traffic. "Come along doggies!" and off we go. Rather annoyingly, Mr Thatcher is dragging behind a little, unusually too as her "competitive" nature means she tends to be more of a "front runner". Nonetheless off we go. Look left, right, left again, oh some cars coming but they are slowing down. I set off across the the road, Blossom looking up for reassurance and ... come on Mrs Thatcher... no really , come one.... I tug her off the curb and into the middle of the road but suddenly find she is refusing to follow me. I turn, and as if in slow motion I see her "assume the position." Her back arches, her knickerbockers are tucked way under her, her sail like tail held aloft, ears flattened back and eyes at half mast.
NOW?! you have to go now!?! I can feel the panic rising and my face reddening as at least one driver starts the hysrionic rolling of eyes and throwing of hands heaven-wards move PUh! Tsk! PFffTT! Must be a cat person. I yank the lead. No. She isn't budging. She shuts her eyes: "Please leave moi to mon business, if you please." I steal a look in either direction from under my hair- and there I see it, cars in both directions , now actually backing up to two or three each way patiently sitting it out as Mrs Thatcher evacuates her bowels.
I wave anxiously and mouth S-O-R-R-Y..... as I start to scrabble for a poo-baggie, hissing under my breath, "Come ON Mrs Thatcher!!" She looks up at me , staggers forward a couple of inches and settles in for ANOTHER go. God Almighty you crazy dog ! how much have u got in there?! (note to self- never feed the terrier ever again)
By now I can hear the laughter of people amassing on the pavements to watch the drama unfold, Mrs Thatcher continues to hunch and wiggle her bottom undeterred. Blossom feels hours have passed, and is now bored, so sits down in the road as I now point my butt to the wind and crouch down to scoop up mademoiselles deposits trailing along the zebra crossing.
My humiliation is complete.
For her part Mrs Thatcher leaves the scene of the crime with a victorious little backward scuff oh her hind paws, showing off her knickerbockers to full effect as she saucily triples off the road onto the pavement to the applause of the onlookers.
Thank you, yes, thank you, we're here all week..