SHIT HAPPENS
My Dog Joey
A Chronicle of Canine and Human Antics
The basement was full of shit, but it took two days to detect and uncover the mystery.
We all know that puppies poop, depositing their tiny turds in unsuspecting places. Near the end of my dog’s house training, it was rare that he pooped inside. However, one day, my nose detected a subtle but foul odor. I asked my dog, “Did you poop, Joey?” He just looked at me with those innocent brown eyes. The next day, the same peculiar stench was hanging in the air. I trudged down to the unfinished part of the basement. “Holy shit!” The concrete floor was covered with sewage back-up! This time at least it was not my dog’s fault.
I have to admit that at first, I hated picking up poop while walking my dog. I clearly remember as a kid in the 70’s in a small town long before the days of stoop and scoop. It was utterly inconceivable, a ridiculous notion, an outlandish proposal, an insane suggestion — need I go on? Your dog does his business on the neighbour’s lawn — laying down cable, as my friend puts it — and your only job is to feign ignorance, and nonchalantly mosey along while whistling a tune. Ah yes, those were the days!
I vividly recall the day I took Joey to the vet to be “fixed.” What a euphemism to describe a grisly procedure! You got your dog “fixed.” Why? Was there something wrong with him? North American vets insist it is necessary for various reasons.
I suspect the real motivation is that we just don’t want our dog humping. It’s embarrassing. Humping other dogs at the park. Or humping our friends when they come to visit. Or humping us. It’s really about us. I could tell my dog, “Joey, no humping. No humping. No humping.” But all he would understand is, “Joey, blah, blah, blah.”
Instead, we say, “We’re going to take you to a very friendly man at a special place with a sharp knife and a sewing needle, and he’s going to fix you! Yes, good boy. You will be losing something precious, and for a while, you may notice something is missing when you are licking yourself down there. But you’ll be fine.”
I enjoy just spending time with Joey: petting him, hugging him, talking to him, and playing games like throwing the ball for him to fetch — again, and again, and again. Yet I also do tease him, but in a loving way, of course. Sometimes I get down on all fours and start sniffing him or barking at him. He looks at me in bewilderment. I once recorded my voice saying, “Joey, come here!” then played it back on a Bluetooth speaker hidden in the closet.
I have come a long way as a dog owner. Now, when I go to the dog park, I not only pick up Joey’s poop, but also other dogs’ poop that negligent owners have missed. (I guess they were busy whistling a tune and just never noticed). I believe I deserve at least a ribbon on my chest for this noble civic duty.
And my dog does love me after all. Every night, after we play, he insists on showing me his love and affection by licking my face. I’m not sure where he might have been licking himself before, but I try not to worry about that.
