Yesterday I found myself with dog poo on my hand and dress. Before I ran errands, I decided to retrieve the trash bin. The garbage man (aka sanitation worker) flips it upside-down so it doesn’t roll into the street.
Unfortunately, he flipped it into a fresh dog pile beside my mailbox. Right next to my mailbox, as a matter of fact.
This is the second time in a month that a dog walker decided to let his/her precious pooch dump on my lawn and didn’t clean up.
On hot days I can smell it on approach – yesterday was cool and I have a cold – making every trip to the mailbox a delight. I won’t even explain what happens when a low-profile pushmower meets a pile. Neither pretty nor perfumey.
Just to add insult to injury, there is a rarely-mowed wooded lot right across the street. So there is an easy way to avoid inconveniencing homeowners.
I was going to type “neighbors” instead of “homeowners”, but there are so many dog walkers coming from other streets. The road dead ends into wooded marshland and it’s a pleasant low-traffic walk (or ATV track for kids). There are also a lot of newcomers to the area, and some courtesies have to be learned by experience.
I know the futility of teaching adults manners, so I cleaned myself and the mess up. Then I sprayed the area with animal deterrent (smells pretty to me). I don’t want to find any surprises in the autumn leaves.
*This title is one of many substitutes for curses and vulgar English phrases. It’s like when a dad says “miércoles” instead of that other word because the baby repeats everything she hears.