There's a special place in hell for owners who don't clean up after dogs.

I grew up in Brooklyn, so there were more strays than pets. In a place where there were just as many pedestrians as cars, sidewalks were very important. But these were shared territory. There was no scat like the country. The only dung was a challenge to your feet; very few city dwellers walked barefoot.

But people did not curb their dogs like now. As infants or toddlers, we probably did not notice except the smell. But step in a pile, more than once and it left an impression.

Now in adulthood, there's the dread. "Is that shit," the brain asks. The skin queases as well as the stomach way before the smell. There may be flies as a warning, or it may be dry like duck drops. But either way, it's not safe to kick, so get to work owners.

And you don't even want a shmear on your shoes. Mistakes will remind you later.

Fortunately I live in a place with alot of driving. But as I leave the tunnel in between Panera and Starbucks, some inconsiderate owner strategically left a pile between drying Georgia clay and the disrepaired gutter grid. Looks like a Doberman.