Scooping unseen poop

The woman was wearing a big stocking cap pulled all the way down over her face to her chin. There were indents where I presumed her eyes were and a sharp protuberance where I presumed her nose was. It had never before occurred to me that there was no need for a blind person to endure the harshness of raw winter air against their face.

The able bodied are very good at ignoring the disabled--looking the other way, determinedly not seeing or noticing the disability, pretending the difference isn't there. This determination not to see makes the disabled disappear. This woman, with her face completely covered helped me along in my ignorance. I wonder how many people saw her service dog and looked away not even noticing that she had already provided herself with the anonymity that they were so eager to grant her?

Why did I look? I looked because I wanted to thank her for performing an everyday service. I love dogs but hate negotiating the piles of poop they leave on the sidewalk. As a result, whenever I see someone with a plastic bag between their hand and a warm pile of crap I try to catch their eye to give them a grateful look and pat their dog on the head.

What first told me that this wasn't the common dog owner scene was the fact that the dog was wearing a big harness. Then I noticed that the hand with the bag on it was sweeping over the ground. Finally when the woman stood up I saw, or rather didn't see, her face. The stocking cap--she had eyes and a nose but no particular eyes or particular nose. She pulled the bag down over her handful of crap and tied the loose ends into a neat knot. She unzipped her fanny pack, deposited the bag of poop, zipped it up again and grabbing onto the golden retriever's harness began to walk on down the street.

I didn't thank her for scooping her dog's poop. I didn't know how. I couldn't catch her eye. But I did stare at her as she walked away. And I did wonder what a stocking cap would feel like against my eyelids.