Portenos love their doggies. (If you live in BA, you’re a Porteno.) You see them, large and small, leading their people up and down the neighborhood streets. Because it’s winter here, the little ones are cloaked in sweaters. Short-haired sweeties often trot about town in layers – two or more sweaters in complimentary colors. This canine couture certainly comes from the many doggie boutiques around town. These sporty, well fed fellows are an index of two things: doggie love and excess cash.
Another darling doggie phenomenon around the streets of B. A. is the plethora of professional dog walkers expertly guiding a happy gang. You can even have your pooch picked up in a nice van and taken to a play date with her mates. Dog life just can’t get much better, you’re thinking. But wait. There is a down side.
Picture poop. Lots and lots of it. Picture it on the sidewalks. Imagine having to watch every ?!!*&!! step you take!. I’ve never seen so many poops on the streets. It is in all possible configurations: tiny pellets, old and dry; huge stacked loaves, shiny new; and smeared and swirled artfully in an attempt to get it off a shoe. I ask myself, is this just the way it is? Is poop, like diesel fumes or coffee grounds, simply what one puts up with for the pleasures of getting around town and/or waking up in the morning? The flip side of all this love is all this shit. I watched for days, while walking to and from school, for the slightest hint of an explanation.
Finally, I saw some light. I actually witnessed a doggie walker stoop down and scoop up a pile. Then I saw another, and finally I witnessed a pro tether his herd of SEVEN to a light pole while he cleaned up a particularly grande pile. So, poop is scooped after all. I guess even the most conscientious dog owner sometimes messes up, forgets their plastic, and can’t do the right thing. This is the explanation I choose to believe about the bombs on the sidewalks.
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