I knew they were coming to town. Hell, EVERYBODY knew they were coming to town. How could I not know? Despite a God-given talent for hiding under rocks, I could not escape the blockbuster news that Taylor Swift and over a hundred thousand adoring fans would be descending on Cincinnati to bear witness to two shows in two nights. By Friday lunch the hotels were full and the downtown streets were packed with acolytes done up in various styles of dress in order match this or that “Era.”
Personally, until a day or two before the first concert, I had no idea what the “Eras” were or what color or style of clothes was associated with each. But I didn’t really need to know. Although I have yet to hear a Taylor Swift song I don’t like, I am ignorant to the details of her and her career, at least beyond the fact she is blindingly more successful than yours truly.
It was under these conditions of ignorance, with some added heat and humidity, into which my dog and I waded into the sea of Swifties, most of whom appeared to be milling about between a neighborhood known as The Banks (where the football stadium/concert venue is located) and 7th street. Indeed, as Brody (the dog) and I worked our way south toward the river, we weren’t forced to dodge any Swiftily dressed bodies until we got close to Fountain Square, which is the psychological center of downtown, and also has a really cool fountain, hence the name.
Brody and I, despite being underdressed for the occasion, took the crowds in stride, and we guided each other around various clumps of fans that were, it appeared, mostly trying to figure out their way around the city. But he was a big hit at the stop lights, where people were static and had nothing better to do than pet the adorable Australian Shepherd waiting, like them, for the green light to tell them it was ok to cross the street.
He was somewhat less popular, however, on the corner of 6th and Walnut. Now, I’m not exactly sure what happens between his brain and bowels, but Brody has a thing about that corner. It is the corner on which he habitually “lightens his load,” so to speak. He’s been doing it for years. Now, it might be that 6th and Walnut is exactly the right distance from the starting point in our neighborhood, Over the Rhine, for things to work loose, or perhaps the act is triggered by the smells emanating from the nearby Mexican restaurant. Regardless, the unsuspecting tourists waiting for the light to change were no doubt surprised to discover my dog spinning in a circle, doing his business right next them.
The fact is that, as a dog, Brody is not burdened with shame when it comes to performing these acts in front of a crowd. As well, he’s lived in the city for most of his life, and though he prefers a patch of grass as much as the next dog, for him all surfaces are fair game.
“Look, Mom. That dog is pooping.” To her credit, the pre-teen Swiftie was not accusatory. She was just making an observation. She could have blithely commented on the weather just as easily. I imagine, however, for someone unused to the urban environment, a dog displaying no compunction about relieving himself in public was as interesting a sight as anything else going on around the intersection.
Luckily, I was prepared for this eventuality. It was, after all, the normal state of affairs. Without hesitation, I pulled an empty poop bag from the pocket of my running shorts, cleaned the affected area of the sidewalk, and we went on with our run.
As we drew closer to the river, the thickets of Swifties were more numerous in size and energy, banding and disbanding in and out of pockets of bright colors, like a living organism, some singing along with the Taylor Swift songs being played over strategically located PA systems. The crowds were clearly in good spirits, but also not completely aware of their surroundings, and at times Brody and I were forced to walk or stop altogether until clusters of celebrants became aware of our presence and let us through. Brody, for one, did not seem to mind these interruptions, most likely because every time we were forced to stop we were swarmed by admirers requesting permission to pet him. My response was always the same: If he’ll let you. Most of the time, he did.
Having navigated the four-block throng, Brody and I arrived at Smale Park, an inviting strip of green running nestled against the Ohio River between the football and baseball stadiums. Brody and I like it because this is where I take him off his leash and let him run. At the time, the TS fans had yet to discover the park, thereby increasing my confidence that neither I nor the dog would encounter any out-of-the-ordinary human obstacles.
But we were being observed. Elevated above us, across the grassy knoll, was a shaded area, and located in that shade are sturdy, communal bench swings. In those swings were sitting TS fans looking to hide from the sun, which by now was directly overhead and beating down on the city and the outdoor Swifties. I could see them, as could my dog, and perhaps they were the reason he once again felt a need to empty his bowels. As soon as I realized what was happening, I stopped running and walked to his location, armed with another empty refuse bag. It was then, from above the grassy knoll, I heard a now familiar refrain.
“Look, Dad, that cute doggie is pooping on the grass.”
I smiled, quietly proud of the fact that the little girl, or perhaps boy, thought Brody cute, even as he performed an unsavory act. It also occurred to me that, just maybe, Brody and I had done our part to entertain those waiting patiently to be entertained, those who’d travelled from near and far to see a show they’d never forget, but which would not commence for another six or seven hours. There was no doubt Taylor Swift would be worth the wait but, hopefully, a random dog and the man assigned to clean up after him made the wait a little less boring.
Brody and I ran another mile or so along the river before turning around to head home, retracing our route on the way back. The fan presence on the streets had grown more dense in our absence, but with the sun and heat the dog and I welcomed the opportunity to slow down and take a break while we worked our way through the crowd. Brody continued to earn praise from onlookers, but mainly for his super-cuteness and polite behavior, as his tank was certainly empty. I received barely a glance.
What a great piece about being a dog (and his owner) in Swiftinnati!