Olivia Bannerman, a 28-year-old software designer and part-time model, was standing on a rock in Central Park with her statuesque golden retriever, Violet, waiting for a quorum to assemble. It was the first Sunday in March, and for the past month, Bannerman had been on a bright and photogenic one-woman crusade to address the city’s dog-poop situation. Now, she was hoping to turn it into a movement.
In the end, it was a small movement. Two of us were reporters. A third was Fern Watt, founder and president of New York Dog Parade, the city’s “premier dog-culture organization.” The fourth was a friend of Bannerman’s. Bannerman had worried about this. “One thing I’m running into,” she told me, “is that dog owners are saying, ‘I don’t want to pick up other people’s poop.’” She understood the feeling, but “if everyone had that sentiment about everything for the history of time, nothing would get done,” which is why she had taken to picking up stray shit herself.
We fanned out over Sheep Meadow, a place where dogs are theoretically not allowed at any time. “Here’s a turd!” Bannerman said cheerily. “I got a big one!” cried the reporter. A man exercising a spry Shiba Inu called out his thanks, and we explained that we were participating in a community event to pick up dog poop. “That’s very” — he hesitated for a long time — “thoughtful of you.”
