Not to be read if you are about to have lunch, especially if you’re thinking of serving up sausages, mini chipolatas, or chocolate flakes.
A couple of weeks back, on a chilly morning as I took out my dog Pepa to do her daily necessities, I had an uplifting chat with an elderly Spanish lady. Pepa was scrunched up in a ball, squeezing out her chocolate tum tums, when I caught a glimpse of a seventy-odd year old couple waddling towards me.
Damn, she’s bound to say one of the following, I thought.
“Take her to the dog park.” (What the one about 3kms away?)
“How can something so little make something so big?” (I ask myself that everyday)
“That’s disgusting, can’t she do that in your toilet.” (I’d like to see you try train her, luv).
So once Pepa had finished her deeds, shook her body, and wiggled her bum, I bent down and scooped the poop, fully expecting some abuse as the couple approached, but instead the lady said to me.
“If everyone was like you, then Sevilla would be heaven.”
I didn’t actually understand her the first time, probably because I was expecting abuse, not a compliment. Also, I thought it a tad strange that her idea of heaven wasn’t a land full of beautiful green hills and blessed oceans, one where people were at peace and didn’t have to work, but instead one where the floors were free of dog crap.
Please, please, I just want to go buy some milk without stepping on a plopper.
The poor lady must have been pretty irate about the cleanliness situation. I totally sympathise with her; she has probably been living for the last 70 years in a poo stained street. I’ve only been here 10, and I’ve had enough already.
Ever since I stepped in my first squashy turd, right back in my first week in Sevilla, I’ve been on the lookout for crap. Not because I want to see it, but rather avoid it. Skipping around dog poo has become a vital part of my daily trip to work. Just as I make sure I look both ways when I cross the street and I’m careful at zebra crossings for crazy Spanish drivers.
You’d have thought that with Sevillanos taking so much “pride” in their appearance, they would be able to make the effort keeping their streets tidy. It doesn’t matter if you’re in the main high street shopping, waiting for a bus, or moving your feet under a table while you sit down for tapas, you have to be on constant poo alert. It’s even worse while pushing a pram, especially knowing that you’ll have to pack it away when you get in, and risk touching the wheels. Even in the suburbs and small towns, where I thought the locals would be more thoughtful, you know, in less of a rush, where their kids play, and grandmas waddle. But no, it’s just as bad. Are there no clean neighbourhoods in Sevilla?
The funny thing is, is that in ten years of dog walking, and roaming the streets ready to pounce on dog owners ‘forgetting’ to clean up after their hounds, I’ve only ever caught one person openly leaving mess.
I was out with Pepa again, just round the corner from my old flat in the centre, when I saw a gypsy woman I knew walking with her three, four-legged pals, doing their plantations. Just after the two annoying Yorkshires and chubby Bulldog, Gordo (Fatty) had given Pepa a good barking, sniffing, and attempted humping, I glared as Fatty skipped off and dumped six big ones in a row, right in the middle of the street, perfectly placed for pedestrians to step in.
I thought about shouting out at the owner, calling her a dirty gypo (a real dirty gypo), making her realise that kids played in the street, asking her if she did that in her own kitchen, while she was cooking up her fatty fried food, but, honestly, I didn’t have the balls. I knew her, she knew where I lived, and I was aware that she was a gypsy, an evil butch one who could probably curse me to tread in dog shit for the rest of my days. So, like a coward, I left it and just watched as innocent people got their newly polished shoes dirty.
I felt guilty though. I’d pushed away my responsibility of being a kind citizen and just ran back to my flat. Since then I’ve been on the hunt for poo polluters and I’m waiting for the day that I catch someone doing it. I’m not sure what I’m going to say, but it won’t be printable.
What beats me is what the big deal is in not picking up your dog’s plop plops? We all do our own daily clean, after we have a moment checking wassup or facebook. I like to think most of us wash our hands before we do anything after. But if you think about it, the people who are capable of letting their dogs dirty the public streets, must have very little care for their own homes. It’s made me think twice before running my hand along the escalator, and I definitely wash apples before I take a bite.
So why are people so dirty here? I’ve been thinking about it and have come up with the following five reasons.
- They honestly ran out of bags on their way round as their dog did one too many.
- They get violently sick from the smell of their own dog.
- They get a kick out of watching strangers step in poo.
- It’s considered good luck to step in dog poo in Spain, but with your left foot, and things have got so bad here they are leaving out poo to help people’s luck change.
- They are just plain, dirty bastards.
I’m sure most of you will go with number five. Or am I wrong? Please, enlighten me.