On my way through a small park in central Zagreb, I see a man collect the turds of his dog into a plastic bag and walk with them toward a bin designed for this purpose at the edge of the park. Only a couple of months old, the dog follows him with obvious interest. “Look,” I imagine it thinking, “my turds must be quite special!” When the man reaches the bin and disposes of the plastic bag with its content, the dog starts wagging its tail. “Behold,” I imagine it thinking once again, “there is a very special place for my turds, too!” I grin at these thoughts as I am walking past the man and the dog. The man looks into my eyes. There is irritation in his look, I can see at once. I cannot but wonder what he has made of my grin.