How Do Blind Men Scoop Their Guide Dogs' Poop?

Good question, right? And one I'm afraid I can't answer for you fully. Tonight on my way home, I asked my doorman who notices everything that very same question, because I had just passed the Blonde Blind Man in my neighborhood with his Blonde Labrador Guide Dog who was pissing on a pile of trash bags. This guy's super blind. Neighbors with dogs on walks whose dogs sniff his dog's butt have to approach him with, "Hi (whatever blind guy's name is), It's Steve and Colorado." How's a guy who can't make out a face gonna make out a pile of steaming shit on the sidewalk? Dog-owners with 20/20 vision can't seem to be bothered with the task, does this guy get special dispensation? I run to my front door with the question on the tip of my toungue,

Anne: Hey, Al...
Al: Hey, Anne! How you doin'?
Anne: You know that blind guy around here with the blonde guide dog?
Al: No, I don't think I do.
Anne: He's right there. (I point)
Al: Oh, ok. I see. Yeah?
Anne: How do you think he...

As I ask this, a man in his early 70's --who appears to be any one of the white haired old men who live in my building with old man pants, shoes, and hats-- strolls right up behind me on the sidewalk and sort of stands there, as if he's waiting to talk to Al about something, so I lower my voice and whisper,

...cleans up after his dog?

Al: (Shakes his head) I don't know. Hmm. I don't know.
Anne: Good question, right?
Al: Yes. That's a good one. (nods, smiles)

Then I quickly enter the building so the old man can talk to Al. While in the lobby, I suddenly hear,

"You look incredible when you smile."

It's not Al. It's the old man, who had just climbed the steps behind me. I turn around and get a look at his face, his hat, his Subway sandwich bag with less than a full-sandwich inside, and I realize that I don't know this particular old man. So does he know what I look like when I don't smile which is most of the time? My conversations with the senior male residents in this building have been limited to a "Hello Nod" in the elevator or being quizzed a few of the old birds in my co-op interview back in the day (all prospective apartment dwellers have to be approved by the co-op board before gaining residence) about whether or not I recycle because "We recycle, you know!!!" and if I was noisy: "Do you own a Hi-Fi stereo system???" But I never forget a face, and I don't know this dude.

Anne: Oh, really? Thank you.

Strange Old Man follows me over to the elevator, near the mailboxes where I pull out my mail and shut the box.

Strange Old Man: Just bills.

Elevator arrives

Anne: (approaches elevator) Yep. And catalogues from companies who think I have money in which to buy stuff they're selling.

Strange old man and I enter elevator, and push our floors. I push my floor button and he pushes 11. Doors close.

Anne: (As I flip through my junk mail) I'm Anne.

Strange Old Man: I'm Ed. 11th Floor. I'm Laura's father.

I think to myself: I only know one Laura here, and she pronounces her name "Loud-ah" because she's Italian--like from Eye-taly Italian-- and this dude looks way old to be her Dad

Anne: Oh. I don't know if I know Laura. I don't know the 11th Floor very well. (Which I don't).

I notice he has bottom dentures which he's flicking outward slightly with a grinding motion. He looks like a guy who may have eaten lunch standing up in an OTB before.

Ed: What are you doing tonight?

I panic.

Anne: Tonight? Oh! Tonight, I'm going (does silly jive dancing move complete with cheesy grin) down...town! (what I come up with when "Staying home and playing with Doodle and the internet" won't do)

Ed: Oh, I'm a little too old for that sort of stuff. (Rustles Subway bag) I just figured that I'm new in town and we could get together for dinner, you know, I'd pay and everything, it'd be on me, but (voice trails off)

Anne: Yeah...aw, yeah. Well...yeah. Oh.

Ed: Well, have a good time.

Anne: Thanks. It was nice meeting you. (I give him a slight wave as I leave the elevator)

Ed: It was nice meeting you too. Have a good night.

Anne: (Turning the corner and putting my keys in the lock) I will, you too.

The elevator doors close

I unlock the door to my apartment, say a few words to Doodle, and as I put my bag on the table and look out the window I see the Blonde Blind Guy crouched over across the street, wiping the sidewalk with a plastic bag in a light and gentle circular motion, and the Blonde Labrador Guide Dog is next to him, on the leash, kicking up his back heels a bit.

~The End~

I think we can all agree that the moral of this story is:

What in the fuck is going on?