Birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it—yes, I am talking about shitting. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a creature in possession of a digestive system must take a dump. What goes in must come out. God has ordained it this way, and his heteropalindrome the dog cannot help follow suit. We humans have our porcelain (or in the case of Donald Trump, gold) thrones for this purpose; dogs have none, and so they must do it where we too once did it—in the great outdoors, the universal toilet that is Nature.
Ah, Nature. Now that the weather has perked up and the balm of spring whispers upon the air, now that the sun deigns to smile on the world again, now that the birds rejoice in the first stirrings of their vernal choruses, I feel the oppression of being too much cooped up, and long to lose myself in a solitary jaunt under the reawakening trees. I imagine the golden charm of sun on my skin or, in morose weather, the gentle grey glow of a cloudy prospect. I contemplate first taking this path, then that path, or if I go around that other road, I will have a view of such and such hill, but on the other hand that one street with the houses whose cheerful faces I always enjoy seeing might be lovely too…. This shimmering map of possibility hangs in the mind, and then the limbs start to become a little restless, the body rises out of the cramping confines of its desk chair, the arm reaches out for a coat (for there is still a little chill in the air), the feet are shod, the door is flung open, the perambulation is begun, the particularities of the sky’s vague texture, the trees’ web of branches, the houses, old or new, small or big, yellow, tan, gray, green, white, a child on her bicycle, the grass starting to gain a little color in its cheeks, are taken in with a greedy and eager eye—when, lo! it touches upon an unwelcome object, and both it and the foot recoil. That object is a dog turd.
I don’t blame the dogs, of course, poor creatures. I love dogs. They are adorable, fluffy, friendly, and sweet. The blame lies entirely with the owners. Over the past few years, I have noticed a surge in the canine population of our neighborhood, and I took it as a matter of course that here and there excreta would make its appearance. However, in recent months, the problem seems to have intensified. I go for a walk nearly everyday, and every time I go for a walk I see, in less than a half-mile radius, about two or three instances of shit. Sometimes it comes in its naked form, sometimes it is wrapped like—well, I won’t say “like a gift,” but perhaps that was what the dog’s owner thought when he decided to just leave it there instead of picking it up and disposing of it like a responsible human being.
Beauty is a moral imperative, and we all have our part to play in adding to its sum total in the world. It is a civic duty to keep our neighborhoods clean, healthy, and sanitary. Dog feces are “a leading source of E. coli and other bacterial infections,” which is alarming especially when you think of the number of children running around.1 Now, why is it an arrestable offense to be naked in public, yet year after year, I have seen these careless dog-owning ruffians get off scot-free for something that is equally if not more indecent? The issue is not merely one of laziness or slovenliness, it is one of attitude. These people believe that the whole world is theirs and dear little Fido’s; Fido shitteth where he list, and screw you for having anything to say about it.
One day, a man was walking in front of our house with his dog, and the dog began to do its business on our lawn. My dad told the man to take the dog and its business elsewhere. This gentleman replied that the dog was merely peeing, as if that were any better, and, exposing to us the sum total of his fine etiquette, uttered that most creative of invectives, “Asshole!” Imagine what he would accomplish if he could put just a little bit of the same energy into paying attention to the emissions of that very thing on his beloved pet.
Walking is an aid to thinking. It is the proper task of the imagination to ponder, wonder, wander and meander. How can anyone possibly do that when one is constantly prevailed upon to be ever vigilant about stepping into shit?
I have not enjoyed writing about this topic. I hope I shall never have to again. Alas, that depends on you, canine owners of the world.
https://www.dogpoopsigns.com/pooper-scooper-laws-signs
HA! This was a hilarious read, thank you! In my building complex, all dog owners are required to register their pet with the leasing office and provide a DNA sample so that abandoned “gifts” can be tracked back to their owner and fined accordingly (not that that stops all the annoying barking at unholy times of the day and night). Perhaps it’s time we expand that policy to entire municipalities.
P.S. As your eloquent complaint has proven yet again, CATS ARE BETTER! I rest my case!
What a great essay Ramya!!!. It is the same experience I have when I take my walks. Almost like I am being punished for not having a dog while taking a walk. Thank you.