We arrived in Brussels a year ago. On this beautiful fall morning, we were driven to our temporary apartment where we would live for about six weeks until our house was ready. Mounds of baggage, our 13 pound Schnoodle dog named Buddy, and the three of us moved unceremoniously into the cramped apartment.

The first order of my business was to find somewhere for the dog to do his business. Of course, as a community minded person, I needed a bag to pick up after Buddy. So, with nothing in the apartment, I dug through some luggage to find a plastic grocery bag that had made the trip with us. The back patio yielded nothing but cement, so off we went out the front door to find a patch of green somewhere. At the bottom of our street, I was sure I could see something that looked promising. Yes, in fact there was a nice green space on the corner, complete with a bench for resting. Nose down, Buddy was, at this point, ready to go just about anywhere, so I dragged him past several trees to the grass and told him to go for it.

Buddy was stepping lightly and having trouble getting settled on a spot. I mean, the dog had to go, it had been an eight hour flight! As I let my eyes focus on the grass, I could see the problem. There weren’t any spots, for the entire area was littered with, you know what, every size, and shape imaginable! Obviously, this was not going to be Buddy’s private loo, but a very public one. I stood in one spot, didn’t move, and waited for Buddy to go. I couldn’t imagine attempting the precarious journey over to the bench, much less sitting on it amid the nastiness. I carefully tiptoed over to Buddy’s pile, or what I thought looked somewhat familiar and fresh, stooped and scooped, deposited it in the handy trash can provided, and got out of there.

That afternoon a trip to the grocery store was in order since the cupboard was literally bare. In line to pay, I realized everyone had brought their own grocery bags. This put me in a sweating panic, until I saw bags hanging at the end of the counter, and it dawned on me that you could buy them. After purchasing some reusable bags, I packed up the groceries and walked home, all the while thinking about the gloomy outlook for the plastic grocery bags I had used for years to pick up after Buddy. The bags we had along from home were sure going to dry up pretty fast given that we weren’t going to be replacing them every other day at the food store. Usually grocery bags seem to multiply spontaneously on their own, but it was obvious that was not going to happen here. I thought of the hundreds of bags that I’d recycled before we packed up- what I could do with those now!

Buddy needed a walk when I arrived home, so with another precious bag in one hand, and his leash in the other, we made the journey back to the “scary place”. This time a couple of local ladies and their dogs were visiting the greenest patch in the neighborhood, but you can bet that I was the only one with a plastic Walmart bag in hand, a plastic bag of any label for that matter. After Buddy finished his business, I carefully treaded over, smugly scooped his poop and placed it in the trash. I turned back to smile and say au revoir, but the ladies and their dogs were gone, down the street, with not even a glance back at the strange lady who picked up after her dog.

In case you’re curious, I’ve long since run out of plastic grocery bags.