Saturday, December 12, 2009

Mr. Hanky moved to Paris and had ten thousand children.

What's my address? Easy. 3 avenue de Merde Par Tout. I know this is cliché. I know EVERYONE says this. But I can't help myself, it's a part of French life that I would be remiss not blogging about. I think we all know what I'm referring to.

Poop. Capital "C" Crap. The brown log farm. The evacuation station.

Have you been to the city yet? If not, may I suggest not leaving your home without a pair of these? Because sooner or later, you're going to be knee-deep in dog excrement. 

People here do not feel it's their doodie (sorry, hung up on dung), duty to to take care of this particular problem. Love dog? YES! Dress dog in plaid outfits? Of course. Turn dog into child-replacement? With pleasure. Pick up dog's sidewalk presents? (crickets chirp.) Not in the job description.

I'm slowly getting used to it, but as someone who has loved, fed, bathed, and de-pooped the streets of my dogs for over 15 years... I don't know if I'll ever really understand it. 

I've seen it live a few times. A part of me wants to scream and a part of me wants to laugh. Usually, it's some 70yr old lady, so I can't blame her for not wanting to bend over, what gets me is her reaction to her pet. She stands there staring avidly at said animal, cheering it on like she were at the Shit Olympics, "poop! go poopy! Come on!! Poopy-times!!" for at least 5 good minutes, until it finally takes her advice at which point she stares non-chalantly at the sky. You'd think after all that hard work motivating and encouraging her schnouser to take a dump she'd want to rejoice in the fine workings of its bowls by taking a peek at the victory trophy?

Last summer there must've been a chihuahua convention in front of my apartment because there were so many bite-sized piles littering the path between my front door & the subway that I hardly got through un-browned. I am not kidding. I nearly made little signs to stick in each one to make the following sentence:

"You French Bastards. Clean up after your damn mut or I will poop in your hallway, god is my whitness. PS: Stop feeding your dog whatever it is you're feeding it."

That makes for a multitude of tinypoops. V talked me out of that one, but a little part of me regrets not doing it. Oh well. There's always next year.

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