There’s so much to love about Chattanooga. From the gluten-free scones at Frothy Monkey to the hand-chiseled ice at STIR to the seasonal kale salads at Main Street Meats, this city literally has something for everyone. But every so often I’m reminded that unlike my prior hometowns of Brooklyn or Seattle, Chattanooga is still a small place with a lot to learn. Take for instance the case of these four turds my dog left as we were taking a walk along Main Street Monday morning. It’s now Wednesday, and the poop is still there. That’s right… despite the enormous resources at its disposal, the city of Chattanooga has thus-far failed to clean these dog turds off the sidewalk for three whole days. This is inexcusable.
I hate seeing piles of animal feces in public. It’s unsightly, unsanitary, and reflects poorly on the neighborhood itself. SouthSiders are among the most elite and sophisticated residents of the greater Chattanooga area, and our sidewalks need to reflect that elevated status. My neighbor’s house recently sold for over $400,000, yet I’m expected to navigate a minefield of dog turds every time I walk to my nearest charcuterie?
And it’s not like it’s hard to pick up a few pieces of dog poo. That’s probably the most infuriating aspect of this whole scenario. In a city with so many generously paid government employees, how hard would it be to send one of them over to my neighborhood with a plastic bag in the morning? Bend… bag… tie…. done. It’s a job so simple, any peon could do it.
Local media loves to insist we live in the Silicon Valley of the South. So how come none of these Jr. Zuckerbergs have found a way for me to drop a pin when my dog drops a poo so some disadvantaged person with a smart phone can come clean it up for me? It would be like Uber for dog shit. We could call it Poober. Where’s my billion dollar IPO? I digress.
In what’s certainly the most outrageous chapter in an a thoroughly outrageous story, it seems as if someone finally stepped in one of the dog turds today. I suppose it was only a matter of time. I can only imagine how mad that person must have been. But he only has the city to blame. The poo may be on his shoe, but the blood is on Chattanooga’s hands.