Showing posts with label dog poop. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dog poop. Show all posts

February 25, 2017

Dog poop.

Last week on a dog walk...

Stranger: Do you have a spare poop bag? I forgot mine at home. 

Me: Sure thing. (Gives some bags).

Today on a dog walk...

Me: Do you have a spare poop bag? I forgot mine at home.

Stranger: Sure thing. (Gives some bags).

I wish this story had a happy ending, but alas! My dog got rolled in some non-bagged poop while playing with another dog*. Dear people who do not pick up after their dogs in public spaces: If you don't want to pick up poop, you should not have a dog. Your dog's poop does not magically disappear. The snow melts and THERE IT IS. Shame on you.
I had to hose my dog down when I got home, but HOLY HELL did he stink up the car. He's nice and clean now, so there's that.

* He didn't choose to roll in it like my last dog, he inadvertently rolled in it while playing. I'm just saying.

January 22, 2016

Getting a Puppy? Read This.

In the past three weeks I have seen more poop than you can shake a stick at. It's no secret that I have got myself a little Newfoundland puppy boy and YES, he is the uncommonly remarkable source of all the poop. Not only is it (finally) of perfect colour and consistency, this little guy can really churn it out. The food goes in - the poop comes out. Totally magical.


Inkling is my third dog, and my second Newf. But it's been over a decade since I had a puppy around. Knowing I had to get my self, my family and my house ready, I tried to prepare, tried to remember, did a lot of reading. However, nothing can really prepare you for a new baby. And that's what having a puppy is like. It's exactly like having a baby.



Because not only do you have to feed it, and teach it and play with it, you also must care for it when it's sick, and be patient with it when it's wrecking stuff, and it's chewing on your arm with those needle sharp puppy-fangs, and you haven't had enough sleep, and you're worrying whether or not you're doing it right. You forget to pluck your eyebrows, you wear the same clothes every day, showers become a distant memory, and makeup seems pointless.


And deep in the corners of your mind, because you've done this twice before, you're thinking, "in fifteen years I will have to let you go", and you just cannot bear it.


In short, you have to love the dang fur-ball floof-baby. Time to pick up some poop.



April 18, 2013

Spring. And dogs.

Ah yes! Spring in Montreal! The long hard winter is over and the snow melt reveals some pretty amazing gems.

I say “gems” but I really mean (dare I say it) ...dog poop. Let's stick with "gems" shall we?

Usually I pick up after the dog soon after she goes out in the garden. But when the temperature drops, the idea of venturing out into sub-zero Canadian winter in my pajamas is less than appealing. So as the dog lays her eggs, I let the snow fall and cover it.

I warn the kids of the dangers of building a snowman. I wait patiently until spring. I look out the window and admire the pure, white, freshly fallen blanket of snow masking the evil that lurks beneath.



The spring thaw yields layer upon layer of treasure. It resembles an archaeological dig: the snow melts enough to expose a few sparkling jewels at a time and I remove each layer over a period of weeks.



It’s normally hard going because the gems are cold and soggy; some even need to be dug out of the ice with a trowel.


An emphatically unglamorous activity.

This year however, I decided to refrain until all the snow melted. I waited for a dry day (today). Armed with my usual protective gear...



...and a zillion plastic bags... I went out to face what would surely be a bumper crop.

To my surprize, there were only half as many and the ones I found were half-sized hard little nuggets. Also, being dry, they didn’t smell.



Why, in twenty years of living with dogs, am I only just now discovering this?


September 10, 2011

Crapola.

Warning: Dog business.

I came home earlier this evening to find poor Miss Doggie locked in our bedroom. No idea how this happened. I managed to find the one key in a drawer full of keys and let her out. She tore past me, raced down the stairs and didn't even say thanks. Sheesh.

The good news? The dog hadn't actually peed in the room. The bad news...?

CRAPOLA!



I know, it's a drawing of a turd. It's late, I'm tired, and turds are funny. As long as you can't smell them. And look, I think it likes you.

The brown crayons were @BigDaddySaid's idea!