The brown paper bag

Writing prompt: Give a brief character description and short story based on a brown paper bag. Limit: 500 words

Character:  Grace is 32 years old, has lots of freckles, and curly red hair that twirls halfway down her back. She and her husband live on a small farm where they raise a few sheep. Her husband sheers the sheep and Grace spins the wool to use for her knitting projects. She uses the loft in the barn for her other hobby - water color painting. She usually wears long sweaters, leggings and sneakers.

Plot:  I was walking down a street in a major city and stopped at the crosswalk, while waiting for the signal to say, "Walk" someone put an empty brown paper bag in my hand.

Perhaps this small Idaho town is not what many would call a “major” city but it is for me.  There are more people in Nampa than there are in all of Owyhee county where my husband and I live and have a small sheep farm.  We raise sheep, mostly black Marinos, Cobergs (red fox,) Chun Forests, Brecknock Hill Cheviots,  and a few Old Norwegians.  We came into Nampa today to show and perhaps sell some of my knit or crochet work and water colors of farm scenes and humming birds and wild flowers at the Farmer’s market.  We also brought along several skeins of wool that I had spun, and a few measures of raw fleece.  Every spring my husband, Frank, sheers the sheep and I take a portion of the fleece to spin my own yarns to make scarves, afghans, bags and what not all.  The rest of the fleece we sell to other local spinners or at markets and fairs.  We prefer natural colors over dyed wools hence the variety of color in our stock sheep. 
 
We had enjoyed moderate success selling our wares; after I gathered the left over goods and packed them away in the van, Frank packed the larger items, tent, tables and easels. On the spur of the moment I decided to take our border collie, Bob, to walk with me visit to one of the stores that consigned some of my work.  While I was stopped at the crosswalk waiting for the signal to let me cross someone came up from behind me, tapped my shoulder and as I turned around he put a brown paper bag in my hand.  Then he took a plastic glove from his back pocket and handed that to me.  He said, “There is room for your dog’s droppings in the bag; the trash can is just on the other side of the street.  Then nodded as he pointed just behind Bob, at the little patch of grass next to the street tree where Bob had left his calling card. Oh boy, I hadn't noticed he had left that, the last time I looked he was just reading doggie pee-mail and leaving his reply.