“Some people are so positive, that when they slip in dog poop, they pirouette”
I’m not one of those people. I hate crap!
I don’t mean that I’m uncomfortable around it, I mean I hate it. It makes me gag to the point where I can barely breathe and I’m in serious jeopardy of tossing my last meal all over the walls.
Crap has many names: meadow muffin, shit, guano, cow flop, turd but no matter what it’s called – I hate it. I don’t even like my own crap if the truth be told.
It was all I could do when my daughter was a baby to change a diaper.
My wife and I agreed to take turns changing diapers – a kind of disgusting form of Russian roulette. If you were lucky, when it was your turn the baby had just peed. If the stars were not aligned in your favour, the diaper was filled with some kind of toxic waste that the Nuclear Regulatory Agency wouldn’t touch.
There is nothing more disgusting on God’s earth than the green, quasi-liquid, smoking mess that comes out of a nine-month old baby.
The first time I was confronted with a dirty diaper, I gagged so much that I was in serious danger of projectile vomiting on my daughter laying on the basinet in front of me. My wife had to bail me – and our daughter out of danger by finishing the job. The next time it was my turn, we were in the living room and my wife smiled evilly and said, “It’s your turn and it’s vile!”
But I was prepared this time.
I got up and started to leave the room. When my wife asked where I was going, I told her I would be back in a moment and I was – wearing an apron, scuba mask, snorkel, rubber boots and gloves.
I never got used to changing diapers although I did it. I used to look down at my daughter and wonder how something so disgusting came out of someone so beautiful. Fortunately, she grew up and while I sometimes miss all the cute moments when she was little, I never miss the horror of changing a radioactive diaper.
And that brings us to owning dogs. (Don’t ask how – just work with me here. This segway stuff isn’t as easy as it looks.)
There aren’t many down sides to owning a dog and two aren’t really a lot more work than one. Dogs are affectionate, often quite funny, loyal and good company when you’re in the dog house and your wife isn’t speaking to you. The only real down side is that, like babies, they poop whenever and wherever they want. To most dogs, the world is one giant bathroom full of opportunity and delight.
In the old days, when I was young, we weren’t required to pick up the remains of dinner after our dogs deposited them somewhere. It was pretty much accepted that dog crap was part of the natural order of things and part of the rite of passage into becoming an adult was to learn to watch where you stepped when you were walking on grass.
It saddens me that young people today will never get the opportunity to learn from first hand experience that dog crap turns white if you leave it outside long enough.
Today, we’re less tolerant. Today, it’s all about poop and scoop and everywhere you go you see people out walking their dogs, little plastic bags full of crap dangling from their free hand or the end of the dog’s leash. Talk about well-trained. Dogs not only get us to feed them and pick up the cost of the mortgage on their home, now they have us tidying up their crap for them
In our pack, Maggie does the scooping because we don’t have 30 or 40 minutes to wait while I gag my way through an attempt to retrieve it. I’m not touching that shit and that’s pretty much all there is to it.
I’m not a complete barbarian, however, and yesterday just to show her how much I supported the cause so to speak, I picked her up a package of Doggie Poopy Sacs. That’s what they’re called – Doggie Poopy Sacs and it’s clear to me by the name that it is intended that women, not men, do the poop scooping.
If they expected men to do it, there would be more to the product. It would have a retractable poop retriever that requires some kind of assembly and have instructions to be ignored. It would be battery operated, have a couple of LED lights on it and it wouldn’t be called Doggie Poopy Sacs. It would have a more masculine name like the new “Super Duper Pooper Scooper” complete with bonus power pack or for the more technical among us, the Black and Decker electric Automatic Crap Retrieval System (or ARC for short) with optional environmental recycling attachment and GPS.
Add power and flashing lights to just about any product with a set of assembly instructions we don’t understand or read all the way through and it becomes extremely attractive to most men.
But I digress.
I thought Maggie would be more appreciative of the gesture because she would no longer have to use plastic bags from Loblaw’s but in retrospect, I probably should have bought flowers. At least that was what I thought until late yesterday afternoon when the Shepherd deposited a load in the dining room.
Oops. This is not good. Hell hath no fury like Maggie facing a fresh mound. Fortunately, the new Doggie Poopy Sacs were up for the challenge so I was definitely in better shape with Maggie than the Shepherd was.
And later, we agreed that the ‘accident’ really wasn’t the Shepherd’s fault. She is adjusting to her new home and we are adjusting to her body’s schedule. She had probably indicated she needed to go out but we missed the signal.
That brought us to two realizations.
The first was that we needed to make ourselves more aware of when the Shepherd normally felt the urge to void her system while slowly starting to realign her schedule more closely with ours.
To that end, Maggie thought she should immediately take both dogs for a long walk which I thought that was like closing the barn door after the horses have fled. As hard as you find it to believe, I was wrong. Between the two dogs, there were three more dumps which brought us to the second realization.
We’re going to need a lot more Doggie Poopy Sacs.
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