And Now a Word about Poop

***Parental Discretion Advised: contains material that some may find offensive***

If you walk around Sevilla enough it’s safe to assume you are going to have some dog poop on your shoes.  This may not be a large smear that starts at the front and fans out across the side of your shoe, but mark my words, if the CSI Miami squad came and sprayed your shoe with a poop detecting photo-phosphorescent spray, it would light up like a Christmas tree.

Sevilla is a concrete jungle and there are few suitable places to let a dog do its business in the city center.  So, most commonly, the dogs simply use the sidewalk.  There are many dogs here, and technically there is a law that mandates cleaning up after your dog, but let’s just say the populous here isn’t completely “onboard”.  Additionally, the law is not enforced, so there is little impetus for change.

I walk a lot here, about an hour a day typically, so I know the sidewalks.  The walk to my Spanish tutor in the afternoon is a virtual poop minefield, and over weeks of carefully navigating this route I have come to appreciate that various morphologies exist.  The most common would be The Smear.  These are everywhere in both the side streets and sidewalks and have a characteristic pancake pattern and are usually older.  The smear is typically well ground-in by repeated pedestrian, bicycle, and/or car traffic.  Although I have not personally carbon dated these, I would guess they are days to weeks old.  These are the sneaky ones, the ones you can walk through unknowingly, and the main reason we have a shoe caddy in the entry to our apartment.

Next would be the Partial Pile.  This is a pile whose integrity has been disturbed or disrupted in some way, typically by what CSI would call a “partial”.  Most commonly, this “partial” is of a shoe, bike tire, or car tread, and some are pretty good.  If I was a detective here and there was a crime, I would inspect all the dog leavings in the area for a “partial”.  You may not figure out who the perp is, but you may discover he wears Converse and drives a 2003 Opel.

Next we move on to the Full Pile.  This is the most noble of the group and in its truest form resembles a small pile of firewood.  The full pile stands tall, is compact, and has well marbled elements.  It is usually easy to avoid and typically can be spotted with sufficient time to make evasive maneuvers.  However, look up at a pretty church at just the wrong time, hit one in full stride, and you are going to slip and slide like you hit a banana peel.  There is no quick fix for this one.  Your day is over.  Turn around, go home, throw your shoe out, and listen to Sade until you stop shivering.

Next we move on to the more rare breeds starting with the Petrified Forest.  This is usually a solitary fellow that has against all odds survived the busy streets of Sevilla and become dehydrated to the point of petrification.  You usually find these in little nooks and crannies that provide ample protection from both human and natural elements.  These are relatively innocuous, and if you were to incidentally kick one, it would simply roll down the street without even soiling your shoe.

Next is the Puddle.  This is perhaps the most disturbing of the group, and certainly the one you want to give the widest birth.  The puddle is a good reminder not to give your dog table scraps or old bones, and another one for which a graceful recovery is difficult.

Lastly, we have the Great Dane.  As the name suggests, this one is a really large, “Where did that horse go?” kind of pile, and I have seen only one.  Most dogs in Sevilla are small and I can recall seeing only one large breed dog here.  This makes the Great Dane the most rare of all.  Step in this one and all the Sade in the world isn’t going to heal your pain.  You will need a biologic containment team and I’m pretty sure you won’t be able to donate blood anymore.

Wish me luck safely navigating the sidewalks of Sevilla and please remember to pick up after your dog.

Ciao, Dave