I met Shirley recently when I was out with Marti, letting her sniff around in the mulch and the bushes by the patio of the assisted living facility. Marti is typically content to putter around for much longer than I prefer before she really gets down to business. So we're dilly-dallying around and Marti is playing with seed pods in the mulch and out of nowhere I hear:
"PICK UP YOUR DOG SHIT!"
It took me so by surprise that I didn't even know how to respond. I turned around to Shirley in her wheelchair, and said, for lack of a better defense, "But she hasn't even gone yet!"
So she repeated herself. Just to make it clear that dog poo wouldn't be tolerated. This time I said, "Don't worry, I always do!" Her reply? With utter disdain, she says accusingly, "With what??"
To which I waved at her with my black poo-pickup-bag covered hand. I was trying to be lighthearted through the accusations, but I was a little defensive, which is understandable because I live in a neighborhood where these signs once appeared:
Shirley's got her difficult side, for sure, and I know she puts the nurses through the wringer. I've heard her tapping on the windows from the patio to get their attention, saying "HELLOOO!?!" over and over again. I also hear her demands for coffee, and she doesn't exactly say please and thank you. But we've actually spoken since our first encounter, and she can be quite friendly when she's lucid. She sees me and asks Marti's name and whether she's had any puppies. On her good days, we're friendly. But I'm fairly certain I heard her curse at me again the other day. I'm pretty sure that somewhere deep inside her troubled mind she must remember a dog that used to take large dumps on her lawn.
