Picking Up the Poop, and Applications Outside of Dog Walking

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We no longer have a back door for letting out the dog. We need to remember all the important little things to take along like a bag, the leash, treats, sometimes a ball, and keys to get back in the apartment. Only then do we head out the door, zip down twelve floors, grab an extra bag on the way out because you never know, and walk around to the side lawn in order for Addy to “do her duty”. (Incidentally “do her duty” is what my parents dubbed the process when I was a kid. “Please take Candy out to do her duty.”). 

Yes, it’s a process.

I was under the impression that everyone living in this vertical, highly dog dense, living arrangement went about this process essentially the same. Was I ever wrong.

Here is where the process breaks down.

Dog owners have two opportunities to grab poop bags, in their apartment, or exactly the moment they are exiting the building. Never mind there is even a sign to remind you to grab one.

I don’t want to be a sourpuss, or not believe there’s inherent good in 99.99% of the people walking around out here but, I can’t understand how someone can neglect to remove their dog’s poop. Then live with themselves.

We can assume they just watched their dog drop some fresh stuff (yeah, it’s sick because we do watch for it). They know they didn’t bend down to pick it up after watching it happen. They are also fully cognizant of the fact that they are walking away leaving a ticking land mine behind for some unfortunate schmuck (read me) who will subsequently step in it while holding a poop bag for their own dog’s junk.

I just don’t get it! And it’s all over the place.

I guess this behavior has some application outside the dog poop context. There are people who clean up their messes, and those that don’t (like in the SCUBA diving world where there are people who pee in their wetsuits (yuck!), and people who follow the unwritten rule, which prohibits this behavior out of courtesy to the next person wearing it!).

Excuse me while I get a knife to extract Fritz’s excrement from my gym shoes.

Finding a Good Writing Spot is a Little Like the Three Bears Story

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Since my move, I have been trying to find the “right” spot to write. Okay, so I haven’t tried really hard otherwise there would be more words published on this blog. But I haven’t given up, and I have been searching all right!

The couches in the family room are firm enough, but the southern exposure of floor-to-ceiling windows renders those couple of spots too hot. 

Distracting.

I can’t write propped up in bed because it is too soft.

Distracting.

Sitting on any chair at the kitchen table feels too erect and stiff, which is in-conducive to the process. 

Distracting.

And all the above mentioned seats offer a city view. 

Distracting.

I thought about taking my laptop over to Dollops (my current favorite coffee shop) because lots of people are there absorbed in whatever they are seeing on their computer screens. I know me, though. And I would most likely people watch, which is all right except I probably wouldn’t write much. It would be very much...

Distracting.

BUT, I think I’ve got it!!!

My back is to the windows as I type this post. I am sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island. It is the perfect height. The coffee pot and snacks are close. The balcony door is open. I can hear the streets of the city bustling if I concentrate. Otherwise the traffic and the jackhammers provide the perfect background of “white noise”.

The room temperature is not too hot, or too cold. The seat is not too hard, or too soft. The city is not too loud, or too deafeningly quiet.

It all seems to be just about right!

Am I the only one who squirms around looking for the “right spot” in which to write?

Yeah Write Garblebuster: Location, Location, Location

Nat’s first “grownup” place was a fourth floor walkup studio.

The radiators knocked, lead paint peeled off windowsills,

A whiff of bug bomb permeated the hallways,

To her, it was “home”.

She’d grow accustom to the scattering when the lights turned on.

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This is a 42-word response to the Yeah Write Garblebuster challenge question:

Is something crawling on me?