Prescient

The wind is really picking up, swirling light snow around me and the dog as we take our morning walk. 

The dog sniffs around a tree checking the news like she does. From behind us, half a block away and on the other side of the intersection, an old man yells, "Curb your damn dog!"

I turn around, but nobody is looking at us, so I shrug and turn back to the dog, to find her squatting in the middle of the sidewalk, taking a dump.