I am often asked why I garden in gloves.
"Surely part of the joy of gardening is to feel your hands in the soil..." they say.
Well, yes: and then I show them something like this:
Right in the middle of it.
Slap bang in the middle.
Just where I was about to trim off the old foliage, ready for the new growth of spring, which is just around the corner now.
And this is a fully enclosed garden, walls, gates or fences all the way round, and the Client does not have a dog.
But her daughter does.
And they came to visit the previous weekend, let the dog run around in the garden, and guess what, failed to pick up after it. There were two deposits on the lawn, this big squishy one (actually in three parts, but don't look too closely, it might upset you) on the Heuchera, plus another one under the Ceonothus.
So no, I don't garden bare handed!
Seriously, though, quite apart from the poo - and in an open garden there is always the possibility of passing wild animal poo, although somehow that is less offensive than dog poo, it's usually pelleted to a greater or lesser degree - there are nearly always quantities of broken glass, crockery, and sharp stones to be found when turning over soil, so even if a Client could guarantee a poo-free garden, I would still garden mostly in gloves.
In fact, I only normally garden bare-handed when I am potting up into fresh compost, or trying to pick out teeny tiny weedlings from between valued plants, where sometimes you just have to take the gloves off.
Oh, and when pruning roses. Yes, I get scratched to death, but somehow pruning roses in gloves just doesn't feel right!