Spot and I took advantage of the break in the rain and headed out for a walk. The whole block felt damp from last night’s heavy storms and I swear that every squirrel that inhabits our street was out dancing around. Spot nearly pulled my arm out of its socket in his attempts to catch those taunting little rats.
It was after a dead sprint for a squirrel. I’d pulled up on his leash and rested near a row of bare-branched bushes. I looked down and felt a little like the cartoon characters Phineas and Ferb who declare at the start of every show, “I know what we’re going to do today.”
Down on my knees, I reached between to pull out the trash wedged between the branches and half-buried under wet leaves.
Once I fished out the first piece of trash, I was on a mission. I found a discarded campaign flyer half-buried in some leaves, a torn newspaper in the gutter. A granola bar wrapper skipped across the sidewalk.
I must have looked a sight: A bag of dog poop in one hand and a handful of trash in the other.
Our impromptu trash pick-up made me remember the “Don’t Be a Litterbug” ads of the 1970’s. Back then it wasn’t uncommon to see someone drive down the interstate, roll down his window and toss trash out his window.
Thankfully, that’s changed.
Most in our neighborhood are very conscientious. I’ve never seen anyone intentionally litter. Still, on Mondays after Rumpke comes through our neighborhood, I often see stray pieces of trash blowing down the street. Escapees. Think of all the pickings then!