Shit

Today I was inspired to write an entry upon seeing the lovely, pristine snow blanketing the city. And the horrible brown dots in it, which I noticed upon further inspection.

This is a simple post. Pick up your dog’s shit.

I don’t say this for the obvious reasons: it’s unsanitary, unsightly, disgusting, wrong, etc., to leave it where it plops. I say it mostly because it gives us all a bad name when you leave it. Watch people when they pass a pile of dogshit in the middle of the sidewalk, as they’re walking home from work or whatever. They’re disgusted, they’re angry, and they’re ready to take their frustration out on whoever could have caused that indiscretion. The first person they look at is the person with the dog. It doesn’t matter if this is one of those unthinkable situations when the foulness is not even canine issue. Dog owners are instantly blamed. And with reason, too.

The result is more hatred toward dogs and dog owners. We don’t want this. No matter how much we don’t really care what anyone else thinks, we don’t want more biased laws enacted which could limit our freedom and mobility. The simple solution is: pick up the shit.

Oh, and snow is no excuse. If your dog drops it into a snow bank, reach in there and pick it out. Snow melts and there it is, and then people get pissed off, even dog owners. Reach in, grab it. There’s usually a hole you can see right into. If you grab some snow, so what. No one was going to use that for skiing anyway. Pick it up. Don’t be lazy. As an added bonus, it'll warm your hand!

I know there are dogs out there that do what I call “the dribble poop” or the “horse poop.” You’re cruising along, having a nice walk, listening to your iPod or talking on the phone and the dog is kind enough not to interrupt. So, he just lets it go as he’s trotting along. One of my dogs, a rescued senior citizen Cocker Spaniel, does this all the time. Drives me bananas. Several times people have rushed up to me: “Sir, Sir!” And then they point. Mortifying (at the very least, I hate being called “sir;” my father is sir). Of course, I always oblige, go back and clean up the offense. I’m happy to.

The way to deal with this condition is pay attention. You’ll feel clues: a slight tug at the leash, a dash toward the sidewalk. Dogs always have patterns, for everything they do. Look back. You’re not out more than half an hour usually anyway. And if you’re in a dog run, you don’t really have to have eye contact with the person you’re gabbing with. Figure out the pattern, clean up the poop. It’s simple and it makes everyone happy. Or, at the very least, not disgusted. That goes a long way toward reducing the number of folks who hate dogs and dog owners. Consider this a lobbying effort.