I’m a mall walker. Yep, I’m one of those gracefully-aging folks that put on their track shoes and rack up some low-impact mileage inside. Last weekend, on a very-dreary Sunday morning, I got to the mall about 9:00 a.m. — a comfortable two hours before opening time. As I was on my second lap, and coming up on the newly-installed Christmas tree at center court, much to my surprise and disgust, I almost stepped into a rather large pile of, well, shit. It was ugly and god-awful smelly. I was aware that there were at least a couple dogs accompanying their owners on this particular morning, so I was contemplating how to talk about this with the next canine handler I saw.
A few minutes later, near the tables by the coffee shop, I spotted one. At first I walked on by, but then I circled back to have a conversation. To the guy holding the leash, I made the observation about my recent fecal encounter and asked what, if anything, he might know about it. I wasn’t surprised when he said he knew nothing — but then he did, sympathetically, express great dismay. He asked directions so he could check out the situation himself.
I continued on with my walk and by the time I had made my way around to the trouble-spot again, the offending heap was being cleaned up by the housekeeping folks. Bless their hearts.
Then, a couple minutes later I came upon the same guy. He was talking to yet another dog owner, so I was curious about the conversation. As I walked up, he recognized me immediately, and let me know what he had found out: security folks, he reported, had determined that it was not dog shit.