Day in the Life: Poop Bags on the Sidewalk

Civilization. Sometimes it’s great, and sometimes, it’s filled with people who do terrible things. Like leave bags of poop on the sidewalk.

Here’s the scenario. You’re out taking your dog for a walk, and voila, just like you planned, the dog poops. Great job, dog! You give the dog a treat so he/she stays put while you pick the poop off the sidewalk with the plastic bag you stuffed into the back of your skinny jeans — you know, just in case the dog did what dogs typically do on walks. You are so proud of yourself for being so thoughtful. I mean, you usually forget your grocery bag, so it’s so great that you remembered the newspaper bag for the poop.

So you’re swept up in the moment thinking about your pending recognition as Best Citizen Ever for picking up your dog’s crap that you completely forget to pick up the bag and throw it in the next available trash receptacle. You just left it there. But, you’re not really a great citizen so you don’t go back for it later.

Then I come upon it on my daily commute and think, Wow, this city smells like dog crap. I wonder why!

I must see at least four bags of poop on the sidewalk per week. What is wrong with people? Each dog owner went through the hard part, bending over with a plastic bag on her hand, carefully grabbing the steamy, smelly pile, pulling the bag over it and tying the knot, all while the impatient mutt on her arm tries to move on to a nearby fire hydrant — and then she just left it there! Seriously, what is up with that?

All I know is that there is a reason I do not want to live in cities. Because though civilization is great and all, with its big buildings and modern conveniences, sometimes people are shitty. And I see evidence of this on a daily basis. So you can keep your buildings. I’ll stick to places where dogs poop in the grass or in the woods and no one’s there to see it.

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Day in the Life: The Collar of Shame

I’ve noticed recently a large number of dogs sporting the protective collar. Or, as the dog world surely refers to it, the collar of shame.

Fido: “Did you hear about Sassy?”
Spike: “Yeah, too bad about her surgery. I hear she’s doing ok, though.”
Fido: “Well, I saw her out for a walk the other day. She’s wearing the collar of shame.”
Spike: “NOT THE COLLAR OF SHAME! THE HORROR!”

Surely that is the Starbucks courtesy water bowl conversation that ensues when another dog sees one of his dog friends with that stupid plastic collar. Luckily, I imagine dogs to be compassionate, caring. They care about how each member of the tight-knit dog community — I mean it must be tight-knit, they all sniff each other’s butts — is doing.

Not like I’d be if I saw one of my friends wearing a giant plastic phonograph.

Danielle: “Oh, hey Katie… WHAT THE HELL?”
Imaginary Friend Katie: “I had surgery and I kept scratching at my neck wound, so they put this on me. Please don’t laugh, it’s really painful and irritating. And showering is a nightmare.”
Danielle: “Hahahahahahaha.”

I am a terrible person. Dogs are better. So though I think those collars are terrible and ridiculous, I respect that they serve a purpose. And I guess what I’m saying is, dogs understand it, too.