The stretch of sidewalk that wraps itself around my home has been littered with an ever-impressive array of poop. Some are nicely mounded and easy to retrieve. Still, some poops suggest that an owner dragged his or her leashed best friend down the street mid-action: a trail of turds, like a charming line of Hershey’s kisses delicately dropped in a row.
Dog poo can be a useful gopher deterrent, but basically I think we can all agree that poo stinks.
Perhaps there is a heavy magnetic field on this particular street, and dogs feel energetically compelled to release here; that’s cool. Just be a good neighbor and pick it up. Poo karma is like gum karma. If you spit out your gum in a place where people are likely to step on it, you will likely step in gum yourself. If you leave poo where people are likely to step on it, new poo will find you.
I started to leave chalk messages on the sidewalk to encourage responsible and neighborly dog custodianship. First, I was firm like a schoolmarm : “Good neighbors pick up after their dogs!” I should have anticipated that a big shit would greet this message the next day. The next approach was a little sweeter: “Thanks for being a good neighbor and picking up after your dog.” This didn’t really work either.
I started to surrender to the poop problem— what choice did I have? I could continue to get annoyed and antagonized by shitty neighbors or I could surrender. The poo became my guru— or my poo-ru, if you will. And when my energy surrounding the problem shifted, the problem shifted too. Now I rarely have an errant poo to report.