After three weeks of snow, ice and more snow, Sofia is finally starting to melt.  In practice, it means that this place is a one huge puddle.  And if you didn't know better you'd think it was raining if you looked to the street or the sidewalk to determine the weather outside.  This is because all of the buildings are dripping dirty-snow water.

I like the warmer weather a lot more.  It makes it pleasant to walk outside and the city seems like a much nicer place to be.  This is until you get hit by dripping water from buildings.  There's something about this dripping water which is much worse than rain to me.  I know that it's been sitting on top of this building for weeks in snow or ice form and that now that it's coming down in droplets it's because the temperature has warmed up.  But this water seems very, very dirty to me.

As I was walking to school and silently cursing being hit by dripping water (it's apparently impossible to avoid) I realized that I don't like it because I imagine it the same as the muddy brown snow pushed into piles on the Sofia streets.   This snow from the buildings while probably not snow you would want to eat has got to be cleaner that the sidewalk snow.  So, I didn't worry so much about being splatted by the water dripping off of buildings.

Then I realized that I hate something much, much more than either sidewalk snow or melted-dripping snow.  That is: wet dog poop.  It's not as if I like regular dog poop but somehow it seems easier to avoid.  This wet dog poop is a hazard and, I know this is strong language, I hate it.  <!--more-->

There's more to this story.  Sofia is a city that has a problem with street dogs.  They are everywhere. They poop everywhere.  And because they don't have owners there's no one to clean up after them.  Even though I am not sure that this is a courtesy that regular dog-owning Bulgarians engage in.

Maybe I can best highlight this problem with an example. Recently, I came home from the bar one night to find one sleeping on the mat in front of the door to my apartment--on the second floor of my building. I would like to make it clear, the dog was not sleeping in front of the building on the sidewalk rather this willy dog snuck in behind someone who didn't close the door firmly behind him and I found him sleeping on my mat blocking entry into my apartment.  I wasn't exactly sure what to do about a homeless street dog sleeping in front of my door.  They don't teach you this at the Fulbright orientation.  So I decided to climb up a few stairs and to yell at it in German (it's the meanest sounding language I know) and to stomp at lot at it.  I figured that I had to wake it up and I didn't want to block it's path down the stairs when I had done so.  This worked and I hurried into my apartment leaving the random street dog in the building for one of my unsuspecting neighbors to deal with upon their return home.

Like I said, some how these dogs are everywhere.

So back to the dog poop.  I think that I hate the dog poop more than I hate the street dogs.  At least with the street dogs, you can see them.  You know where they are.  Sure you don't want to run into a pack of them but they are big enough that you can't miss them.  It's not the case with their poop.

These dogs poop where ever they want.  Not so bad in the snow.  The contrast is pretty good.  It's easy to see what's what.  But now that the snow is melting so is the poop.  It's horrible.  Really horrible.  Now I walk around trying not to accidentally step in poo but it's difficult to tell what's what as it all melts together in seas of dirty water on Sofia's streets.

Still, I'd like to think that I've successfully navigated all of the dog poop but given the amount of it and the melting factor it's improbable.  I am a realist.

I've stepped in it.  But I'd like to think that maybe by the time I get home each day it's mostly been washed off by the melting snow.  Again, I know this is unlikely but apparently I like to delude myself by making up stories and telling them to myself.

As a result, I am now a shoes off at the front door kind of girl.  Hey, I know where those shoes have been.  The funny thing is I never imagined that I would become one of those people.  In the states, I imagined the shoes off at the front door families as living in homes decorated in shades of beige with hyper-active mothers who would go to any length to protect their carpets.  And now I am one of them.  I take off my shoes and put on slippers.

Bulgaria is changing me.  What's next?