The city’s 26,000 dogs (10% of the human population is the general rule of thumb) produce around three tonnes of the good stuff a day, much of it scattered around awaiting a poorly aimed espadrille. Since moving to the city, I’ve been shocked at the amount of dog poo on the pavements, squished into gratings, dolloped generously around trees, washed into a greasy bouillon by the rain. Look up while you’re in Montpellier, and the city is all tawny limestone edifices and wrought-iron balconies, a beautiful and slightly mysterious medieval town. And sometimes it’s not even the dogs doing it – it’s the people.” He pauses, to let it percolate in. “They even let their dogs do it right in front of us. “N o one here gives a damn.” Jean-Marie Zaragoza is astride his motocrotte, a customised motorbike with a vacuum pipe that he uses to hoover up excrement, which is deposited into a small tank on the back of the vehicle.
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