It is early evening. We walk up and down our new street, talking about our day. I say "our new street" because we just moved here less than a year ago. It is a small dead-end street filled with small, old houses. We only know a handful of people here so far. This is different from our old street, where everyone was always outside, working in their gardens, or taking a stroll down the street in the evening. I knew everybody and everybody knew me. I miss that. This new street is always empty. No one walks their dogs and no one cares about their garden enough to actually work in it. Three of the houses are up for sale.
As ChinchillaBoy and I walk briskly down our street, we hear someone calling from a house we just passed. Finally, a neighbor talking to us, about time!
The man opens his front door to yell, "Come pick up your dog's shit!", slams the door, and disappears inside his house.
We're puzzled. We walked past that house so fast, Sparky couldn't have even gone #1. Still, the neighbor sounded angry enough, and I don't have a man to defend me anymore. I don't want any trouble. So we come back. I pull a grocery bag out of my pocket, bend over, and pick up some random dog's poop. We toss the bag into a garbage bin on the street corner, and continue walking. But it no longer feels the same. The mood is gone. We go back home.