Paris, City of ....Merde?

It's official. This city is covered in merde. If you haven't read the book yet, A Year in the Merde, you have to; and if you did, then you know exactly what I mean. The thing about Parisiens is that they all want little yappy dogs, like the one Paris Hilton has, but no one, and I mean no one, wants to clean up all the shit. Therefore, on every street corner, around every bend and sometimes even at the bottom of stairs, is a little "present" from the pooches of Paris. I'm starting to appreciate the little doggie bags that folks put up in Boston, and signs that yell "Clean up after your dog!" You would be shunned in the States if you didn't; people on the street would a.) scowl at you and b.) give you an evil stare-down.
Well, Parisiens wouldn't even entertain the thought of bending down, putting a hand in a plastic bag and picking up after their pooch. And to tell the truth, I can't picture it either; a woman walking her poodle, wearing a Chanel suit and leopard-print heels probably couldn't bend down to reach the ground even if she tried.

Don't be fooled

So, as a result, I can't ever be looking up around me and enjoying the beautiful architecture, or the Eiffel Tower in the distance, or even watching out for cars, because I'm always looking at the ground, calculating every step and cautiously walking the sidewalks, trying to avoid stepping right into some caca.
Plus, some dogs slash owners, are evil! They plot and scheme and get their dog to shit right at the bottom of some stairs, or next to parked car, so someone gets out and SCHLAK.
The best is when you see trails of it, and can just imagine the poor chap sliding his foot along the sidewalk, trying to get off the brown goo before his job interview. I might do as Paul does in A Year in the Merde and wear plastic baggies over my boots just to be on the safe side. I thought I was in the clear just the other day, caca-free, until I look on the back of my shoe; low and behold... no one is safe in this city.