Walking my dog around the sidewalks of downtown, I find myself looking about for voyeurs every time she stops to sniff some another dog or a dirty footprint. I constantly worry about someone seeing us loitering by a bush or under a pine tree in fear they think I am irresponsibly letting my dog fertilize their yard. I almost can't wait for Osa to drop her favor on the grass so I can triumphantly pull my plastic bag out of my pocket and defiantly pick up her gift.
As aware as I am at how gross it sounds to be excited about picking up dog crap, I am really less perverted and more narcissistic. You see, there are few daily responsibilities I find as important as taking care of your dog, (if you have one) and that includes walking it AND cleaning up after it.
Living downtown, I can't tell you how disappointed I am in the percentage of dog owners who simply concern themselves with the former and not the latter. I have yet to see in front of me, some dog owner let their dog loose on the ground and not pick up after it...God help them if they do. Therefore, taking into consideration how agitated and disgusted I am at the lazy dog walker, I make it a point to have a bag in each coat I use, the corner of my purse and most times, the door of the car.
Walking the dog around the block is no different. Yesterday, I found my dog squatting in her "usual spot" and myself picking it up and carrying it the half block to the nearest neighbors garbage can. Now, I tend to pride myself (somewhat pointlessly arrogantly) on picking it up and throwing it out, but I do feel a bit of hesitation at crossing someone's yard line and using their garbage can.
But then I think, what else is a garbage can for but garbage? Would I rather have dog shit on the sidewalk or in a garbage can, even if it is my can and not my dog's shit? The can is my obvious answer. So, when I round the corner from chooch's favorite drop zone, I drop her stuff in the nearest can. I have only done this a few times, but it seems to me that one of the tenets in this local apt establishment noticed.
As I trugged back through the snow to the sidewalk after making use of this neighbors can, she came out to get her mail. Needless to say, whether I was on the phone or not, she saw me come off her property and yelled at me her assumption, "Yo bitch, stop stealing shit out my garbage can!"
Now, I would like to say here that I calmly explained to this girl that I was simply picking up after my dog, but I would lie. The "bitch" set me off to let out the aggression at other stresses that has been building up in me for a week. Why, is of no consequence, but let it be said that I was just waiting for someone to give me some shit I didn't deserve. This bitch did and I told her so.
I AM one to go around doing my thing (which more often than not is legal and utilitarian responsible) anI don't think good people should take shit. I dont know if I am a good person, but I don't think that I should get yelled at for either taking someone else's trash or dropping somthing off in it.
And, I told this girl so. Not so nicely might i add. But regardless how good it felt to take out my frustrations on this nameless chick, it was strange to have to explain to someone that I wasn't stealing garbage, (though who would be insulted by that) but rather picking it up. As I told her "I'm trying to make my community a better place and you're trying to be a bitch."
Walking away from someone yelling that I'm a bitch because I threw away garbage makes me question how much social responsibility we as a society actually weigh as responsibility. But then again, I never caught someone dropping shit in my can.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
"Clap, Clap, Clap,"
the girls go
with their hands: swaying hips
and popping them like gum.
I snap my gum quick like put downs.
(They know it's me because
they aren't allowed.) I've got to
go around and keep them in line.
Hard comebacks are quick,
rip and sting and they
bring howls and hollers
from the muster of young men:
"young bulls" bellowing
loud and louder.
The herd always recognizes
shapely moving from one
thing to another,
slip and turn on a slippery dime.
Two cents, twenty-five, "Give
me my respect and I'll let you go
to the vending machine."
But I'm not their mother, and
I can't stand mine, so what
can I say to decant their despise
of my color, of my ignorance.
"Just open my mind", I think.
But I think it in the quiet.
In the rush of the peace being
passed around, resting on each
word and inflection, the interaction
leaves me gasping.
"I'm just trying to get you guys to
learn something, anything, just something."
The herd always recognizes