Usain Bolt

I'm babysitting a friend's English bulldog this week. Whenever the young fellow decides it's time to take the Browns to the Super Bowl, he employs the most clever strategy. He casually strolls over to the most prominent spot available (front and center of lawn, next to flower pots, 3 feet from front door, etc). Once he's lined up in the proper position, he employs the lightning poop, kicks up grass briefly with his back legs, then sprints at least a block away. He has perfected the perfect urban poop.