Babysitting Chalupa the dog has been a blast, but one thing about her annoys me no end: her steadfast refusal to poop. I can walk her from my front door down to the Meyerhoff Symphony Hall, back up to Druid Hill Park, back down to the Poe House, over to Mencken's house, and finally to Gertrude Stein's place to no avail. She won't poop. She'll sniff here, sniff there, occasionally bending her spine and getting into position only to be startled by a windblown leaf or candy wrapper, at which point she looks at me sadly and gives up.
Twice this refusal to poop has resulted in middle-of-the-night mess production in our 2nd floor hall. I closed our bedroom door before bed last night to prevent a recurrence, and was awakened by a dancing Chalupa at 3am. I quickly dressed, got her leash, took her outside, and...nothing. She sat down on the sidewalk and looked at me quizzically. What the fuck!?
Our neighborhood is improving dramatically, but it isn't a good idea to stroll around near the intersection of Madison and Whitelock at 3am. Two SUVs with tinted windows and thumping bass rolled up and slowed to observe me. A six-foot-five hulk in a glimmery silver dress asked if I needed "a date." Two loose pitbulls paused during their trashbag foraging to growl.
I thought, given that Chalupa weighs a mere 7 pounds, that if I squeezed her a bit...but no, that didn't work. I hope she doesn't leave a gift for Cha this morning.