Short Story: Don’t Trash the Ground — A Morning with Lola

Picking Up After Others, and Why It Still Matters.

My knees ached from the stillness of the night, but Lola stood at the door like a soldier. My small white poodle had already waited for a full two minutes after the alarm went off, and now it was clearly time to go outside.

She pulled impatiently on her black leather leash, when we stepped out for our first walk of the morning. It was a crisp spring day, and I was wearing my long purple coat to shield myself from the cool wind. Lola found something new to sniff with every step, since the nearby park had hosted some kind of music festival the day before.

My 74-year-old knees slowly loosened as I matched Lola’s eager pace. Lola is a lively and slightly feisty little lady, always ready to stand her ground. Proud, but willing to swallow that pride in an instant if she hears the sound of the rustling treat bag.

We slowly reached the entrance of the park. The park was full of litter and I stopped with Lola. How is it that people can’t be bothered to walk a few meters to a trash bin? Dozens of bins had been brought to the park especially for the festival. I hesitated. Should I risk taking Lola through the park? She might step on a broken glass with her paws, or she might eat something unsafe. Another trip to the vet would be awful, no one wants to be afraid of losing their precious dog.

I paused without hurry to evaluate the path, and it seemed clean enough to walk. Just as I decided to go on, I heard drunken laughter. Two drunken underage boys emerged from the bushes. The festival had clearly carried on until dawn.

One of the boys held a bottle, swaying slightly. Then he threw the bottle into the air and kicked it hard. The bottle shattered into the middle of the path. They laughed.

But something in me snapped, a mix of anger and deep-rooted sense of justice. “What on earth are you doing and throwing glass bottles?! Don’t you see dogs walk here? Not a single cut on a dog’s paw is worth you being too lazy to use the bin right next to you!”

The boys flinched, when they heard an old granny shouting and a small poodle ended the sentence with a bright voiced bark. Lola clearly agreed and wagged her tail.

“I didn’t throw it, I kicked it.” The teenager quipped proudly back at me.

I grimaced. So this is what the youth are like now? Underage drinking all night, and on top of that, trashing the place. They would have all the time to drink even after they turn of legal age.

Drawing on all seventy-four years of accumulated life experience, I snapped: “You’re going to pick up every piece of that glass and throw it in the trash. There are dogs walking here, this is about basic decency.” The boys just laughed and ran off, yelling from a nearby bend, “The city cleaners will pick it up anyway! Not our job!”

I shook my head and looked at Lola. This is the world now. Times have changed since I was young, when I helped treat wounded soldiers. Nowadays, no one takes responsibility. Always someone else’s mess to clean up. Lola stared back at me with her big brown eyes.

We walked carefully around the shards and headed home. I searched through the dresser drawer for a pair of thick leather gloves, pulled on rubber gloves over them, and walked back to the park with Lola. I tied her leash to a nearby tree. She looked at me like I had abandoned her, but in the end, she sat patiently.

Then I went to the path and began picking up broken glass to a bag, one piece at a time. Maybe the world won’t change today, but Lola and I did our part.

How often do we walk past someone else’s mess, and just keep going? Do you think small actions like this still matter in today’s world? Let me know your thoughts in the comments.