Dealing with Doo-doo

Another day, another pile to deal with, and unfortunately it is not one that Simon left for me.

Out on a walk (déjà vu hitting you yet?), the sun was shining up in the blue sky with a nice little breeze keeping it from being overbearingly hot. Simon decided to be a stubborn little something and did not feel like relieving himself during the ten minutes we had already spent at the nearby park. So, we were forced to continue on our walk and hope he didn’t decide to just stall in the middle of somewhere more regrettable. Fate, meaning Simon, is not so amenable.

Halfway through our walk Simon just couldn’t take it anymore and squatted . . . in the middle of the sidewalk. Now, in the town that we call home there is a street that has one of those roundabouts, with a large patch of grass in the middle and four houses surrounding it. Simon decided to relieve himself as we walked on the side of this roundabout, right on the sidewalk next to one of these houses. We were literally one block from the park.

The four of us (me, Theresa, Simon, and Rosee) have walked this roundabout for the past two years (three years if you count the time before Rosee) since it leads the way to and from one of our favorite local parks. We’ve passed by all the same houses and people for that long too. And for the past few years we have been model walkers. Every single time Simon or Rosee poops it gets picked up, we even go buy the more expensive and thicker lavender –scented bags in order to do a better job of picking it up. Theresa and I always do our best to also keep Simon and Rosee’s marking instincts away from the nice and well-kept lawns we walk by. However, sometimes Simon (because it’s usually Simon) just can’t help himself and the instinct to go takes over.

So, Simon pooped on the sidewalk and before he could even finish with his private affair this, this lady. . . .wait, no, that would assume that she had more class. . .

This woman. . . nope, that’s just insulting to me and everyone else that identifies as such. . .

This coward shouted out of her open window to “Pick up that dog shit.”

And then she slunk back into her shadowed home to hide like the rude weakling that she apparently is. Because let’s be fair, no one just shouts and curses at two girls quietly walking their dogs without being just that. I mean the dog hadn’t even finished going, Theresa was just about to pull out the poop bag from the handy-dandy carrier we always keep attached to the leash, and it wasn’t even in front of her house! He had gone off to the side on the sidewalk, i.e. public property. Quite frankly we didn’t have to do anything, but we’re good people and like to actually pick up after our dogs, so we do and we did. Theresa picked up Simon’s mess and I just stood in front of the offending coward’s house and stared. I could not believe what just happened.

What happened to being a decent human being? To being considerate of others? To giving someone a chance?

Because, you know, I get it. I hate it when other neighborhood dogs poop on my front lawn, and they do it at least once a week. I hate that I go to take the trash out in the mornings and see little logs mucking up my grass. But I deal with it. I pick it up and throw it away. I get mad for ten seconds and then I let it go because it’s over, it’s done with. It’s just poop. Sure there are some people in this world that can’t stand it, that puke at the mere mention of it. Believe me, I have one of those in my own family. However, seeing this poop on my lawn, even seeing the offender caught in action has never made me curse and shout at anyone to go pick that shit up. Maybe this makes me a pushover or complacent, but I believe in just being a nice person. I believe in being decent and considerate. But I guess that’s just me (and the rest of you reading this blog).

It’s unfortunate that this had to happen. It’s unfortunate that now Theresa doesn’t feel comfortable walking down a street we’ve been walking down for three years because she doesn’t want to be verbally harassed (not that I can blame her). It’s unfortunate that one person’s meanness bleeds and stains another person’s happiness so easily.

Why can’t we all just get along?

Oh right, because this person didn’t have the decency to at least come and say what she had to say to our faces. If she did we could have assured her we were always going to pick up Simon’s waste, and that perhaps she should be a nicer person. (It would help with her blood pressure I’m sure.) And then maybe we could’ve at least saved her next unsuspecting victim from such harassment.

It’s such a shame.

Some people are the worst.

It’s a good thing dogs are better.


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