There was a time—I’m not sure exactly when, but I remember it clearly—when it felt like we had calmed down a bit. A few years when the city didn’t look like a minefield, when you could walk down the sidewalk without constantly scanning the ground before stepping inside your home. Like most small miracles, it didn’t last. We’re back where we’ve always been. Maybe worse.
The city is full again. Full of brown piles left on sidewalks, near building entrances, by fences, on walking paths, near playgrounds, outside schools. You can’t go ten feet without spotting one. Some are fresh. Others are old, flattened by someone who stepped in them angrily and probably decided that revenge felt better than cleaning their shoes.
And the most frustrating part is that this isn’t about stray dogs. It’s about people walking their dogs on leashes, standing right there, watching their dog do its business, pausing for a second… and then walking away. Calmly. Casually. Without embarrassment, without urgency, without any visible internal conflict. As if it’s not their problem. As if that pile won’t be stepped on by someone else—maybe a kid, maybe a parent pushing a stroller, maybe even themselves on the next walk.
Everyone has an excuse.
“I pay taxes.”
“It’ll wash away when it rains.”
“It’s natural.”
“That’s what city services are for.”
“Who says I have to?”
Some don’t even bother explaining anymore. If you say something, they snap back. If you offer them a bag, they look at you like you just asked them to move mountains. There are people who feel personally offended by being asked to do the bare minimum.
Ironically, the people most bothered by the mess are often the responsible dog owners—the ones who do pick up after their dogs. They’re the ones stepping in it more often because they walk the same routes, use the same dog parks, the same green spaces. They’re the ones who get dirty looks simply for having a dog, as if they’re automatically guilty for every pile left behind. Some say they’ve started feeling embarrassed just walking their dog, because of the behavior of others.
Yes, there are elderly people who physically struggle to bend down. But there are also elderly people who, slowly and with effort, still do it. There are young people who are just lazy. Owners of tiny dogs who seem to think a small dog’s mess somehow counts less. People who open the gate to a dog park, let their dog go, wait for it to finish, and then leave—turning a space meant for play into something everyone else has to tiptoe around.
And layered on top of all this comes the other problem: dogs off-leash where they shouldn’t be.
“He doesn’t bite.”
“She’s friendly.”
“He’s never done anything before.”
Usually said right before something happens.
Parks, sidewalks, shared spaces have turned into a kind of Wild West. Dogs running free. Owners dozens of feet away. Leashes carried loosely in hand or draped around a neck like an accessory. Dogs sprinting toward other dogs, toward kids, toward people just trying to jog or walk in peace. And when someone flinches, or panics, or tries to protect themselves, the outrage comes fast: “What’s your problem? My dog is fine.”
There are people who keep their dogs leashed because they love them. For their safety. For everyone else’s. Because they understand that no matter how well-trained an animal is, it’s still an animal. Because reactions—especially between dogs, especially around children—are unpredictable. And there are people who’ve been bitten, knocked over, thrown from bikes or scooters because someone decided the rules didn’t apply to them.
Ask what can be done, and the answer is almost always the same: not much. Enforcement is inconsistent. Fines are rare. And without consequences, common sense doesn’t kick in. That might be the saddest part of all—that shared responsibility only seems to exist when money is on the line.
This isn’t about hating dogs. Quite the opposite. It’s about responsibility. About ownership. About the simple idea that we live alongside each other, and that your freedom ends where someone else’s discomfort begins. That if you have a dog, you take on the leash, the bag, the inconvenience, the unglamorous parts—not just the cute photos and companionship.
Maybe we’ve gotten too used to blaming “others.” The city. The authorities. The system. But the truth is, poop doesn’t appear on sidewalks by itself. Dogs don’t walk off-leash by themselves. There is always someone at the other end of the leash—or standing too far away from it.
And until we own that, we’ll keep weaving around piles, staring at the ground instead of at each other, and periodically wondering how the city “got so bad again.”