Pet Peeved

I'm Not Here to Make Friends. I Just Want My Dog to Poop.

As a dog owner, I walk my dog Charlie exactly five times over the course of the day. Three of the times it’s a short foray in the front yard so he can pee. Two other times, in the late morning and mid-afternoon, I take him on longer poop walks around the neighborhood.

These days, I am working from home, some portion of the time teaching over Zoom, and some other portion writing. Charlie’s walks are among the only breaks I take in my work, and, as such, are mostly all business, though I do enjoy getting out into the fresh air to clear my head while he sniffs around for a suitable defecation spot. Recently, though, we have been ambushed by people, also walking dogs, who, unlike me, want to turn things into a thing.

I can’t tell you how much I hate this.

It’s not that I’m unfriendly. It’s just that I want Charlie to poop, already, and people distract him. It’s also that as a writer, my head is full of musings that I don’t want disrupted by having to ask about your Shih Tzu. “Suzy, right? Sukie? Ah, Sukie, of course! She’s so sweet! Look, Charlie, Sukie! Awww, look, they like each other! Have a nice day!” It’s the worst.

I imagine F. Scott Fitzgerald stuck at home with his dog while trying to finish The Great Gatsby. I’m almost there, just one last sentence, he thinks, reaching for the leash. “So we beat on, boats against the current,” he starts. Now, for some swell dependent clause that embodies the theme of my brilliant American masterpiece… And he steps out and runs into Muffy Hanford and her standard poodle, Genevieve, so now the end of The Great Gatsby reads: “My, look at the time! We should be getting back.”

I have a chatty eccentric neighbor with a pit bull, and recently made the unfortunate acquaintance of another chatty eccentric neighbor with a border collie. I have taken to surveilling the street for them before stepping out with Charlie, but sometimes one or the other surprises me by just materializing around a corner. I try to wave cheerfully while dragging Charlie away. See, Charlie likes to socialize, and I get that, but I don’t, and he weighs 15 pounds, and I’m holding his leash.

I know, I’m a monster.

This isn’t a plea for sympathy, because clearly I don’t deserve it. It’s more of a complaint. All I want it to walk my dog in peace. I actually fantasize about moving to an isolated cabin in the woods so I can walk freely, without risk of running into a dumb conversation beside the one I’m having with Charlie, which I suppose is another problem altogether.