I'll give you a hint: It involved numerous plastic bags............
Need another hint? It also involved walking around our yard..........
Still can't get it?
Here's the last clue: We have a very large dog.
Have you guessed yet?
That's right! I went on poop-patrol! Hooray!!! The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and it was a fabulous afternoon -- considerably warmer than they were forecasting. And so, I decided that as long as I was going to be outside anyway, it was probably an ideal time to scoop. It certainly had been a long time coming. It's been so chilly here that I haven't been on patrol for about four weeks. Oh, and did I mention that our dog weighs-in at 100 pounds? Did I also mention that he eats like a horse? Or that he is a very particular pooper? Well, he is. So you can imagine that going on patrol is quite an undertaking. It's almost like a treasure hunt, though clearly I use that word loosely. What we were searching for today certainly wouldn't qualify as "treasure" to anyone but the truly sick and demented. It's just that we have to be on the lookout for clues as to where the numerous trails start, and likewise, where they end. You see, Sammy doesn't like to just go in one place. He prefers to scatter, using the old "walk-while-you-go" method. Personally, I'd think that he'd prefer to confine it to one spot -- especially knowing that we don't have a very large yard. But no. He prefers to cover as much ground as possible.
Still can't get it?
Here's the last clue: We have a very large dog.
Have you guessed yet?
That's right! I went on poop-patrol! Hooray!!! The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and it was a fabulous afternoon -- considerably warmer than they were forecasting. And so, I decided that as long as I was going to be outside anyway, it was probably an ideal time to scoop. It certainly had been a long time coming. It's been so chilly here that I haven't been on patrol for about four weeks. Oh, and did I mention that our dog weighs-in at 100 pounds? Did I also mention that he eats like a horse? Or that he is a very particular pooper? Well, he is. So you can imagine that going on patrol is quite an undertaking. It's almost like a treasure hunt, though clearly I use that word loosely. What we were searching for today certainly wouldn't qualify as "treasure" to anyone but the truly sick and demented. It's just that we have to be on the lookout for clues as to where the numerous trails start, and likewise, where they end. You see, Sammy doesn't like to just go in one place. He prefers to scatter, using the old "walk-while-you-go" method. Personally, I'd think that he'd prefer to confine it to one spot -- especially knowing that we don't have a very large yard. But no. He prefers to cover as much ground as possible.
So there I was, basking in the warm sunshine and slowly scouring the yard for dog-o-matic land-mines. Mike was helping, by the way. I don't want to get in trouble for leaving out his contribution. He's quite a skilled patrolman, and certainly did a bang-up job this afternoon. It took us at least 30 minutes of slow, calculated walking and careful grass scanning, but when we were finished we had 4 plastic grocery bags filled to capacity. (I know, I know, I know....... T.M.I. I'm sure you are completely grossed out that I just included that little detail, but bear with me. If I didn't think it was an important part of the story, I'd have spared you the visual. I swear.) I stood back, surveying our handiwork, and said to Mike "How much poop do you think those bags contain?" I was asking because my last bag in particular had gotten so heavy that my bicep was sore from holding it for such an extended period of time. (And it's not like I'm in bad shape. Certainly not such that hauling around a minimal amount of weight for 30 minutes would affect me.) He shrugged and took a guess. By now though, my curiosity was peaked. How much poop did those bags contain? I couldn't help myself. I had to know. I went into the bathroom and brought out my scale. I weighed myself, and then I weighed myself holding the bags.
21 pounds!!!! Twenty-one freakin' pounds of poop! Out of our yard! And I would be remiss if I didn't also mention that it has rained recently. Rained hard. So you know that plenty of poop had already disintegrated back into the ground. Our dog shits a minimum of 5 pounds a week. That's 250 pounds a year. And I'm not even going to do the math on the amount of poo we will have had to wrangle in Sam's lifetime if he lives to the ripe old age of 12. As it stands now, in order to maintain a modicum of control we have to wander around the yard armed with plastic bags at least once a week. I mean, look what happens when we forgo patrol for an extended period of time! Thank God it's been so cold no one would venture outside to play! So, if you are reading this, and have recently considered getting a dog, (Brooke....listen up.....) I have some words of wisdom that you should take to heart: Teeny-tiny dogs produce turds the size of skittles. Which is an important fact to ponder if you can't seem to get yourself pumped up about scooping exorbitant amounts of poo. My completely unsolicited advice is to go this route:
21 pounds!!!! Twenty-one freakin' pounds of poop! Out of our yard! And I would be remiss if I didn't also mention that it has rained recently. Rained hard. So you know that plenty of poop had already disintegrated back into the ground. Our dog shits a minimum of 5 pounds a week. That's 250 pounds a year. And I'm not even going to do the math on the amount of poo we will have had to wrangle in Sam's lifetime if he lives to the ripe old age of 12. As it stands now, in order to maintain a modicum of control we have to wander around the yard armed with plastic bags at least once a week. I mean, look what happens when we forgo patrol for an extended period of time! Thank God it's been so cold no one would venture outside to play! So, if you are reading this, and have recently considered getting a dog, (Brooke....listen up.....) I have some words of wisdom that you should take to heart: Teeny-tiny dogs produce turds the size of skittles. Which is an important fact to ponder if you can't seem to get yourself pumped up about scooping exorbitant amounts of poo. My completely unsolicited advice is to go this route:
Or perhaps you could just get your kids a hamster.
4 comments:
Oh the poo duty as we call it. I think I have just come up with a way to get my biceps in shape for carrying the baby in his seat. Somehow I have gotten poo duty for the whole house. I clean up dog poop, I cleaned the cat poop (when she was alive) and now I seem to get all the poopy diapers. What a shitty deal - ha!
This was a MOST disgusting story. But, I think you'll know what image popped into my brain....a recollection from a 4-H meeting many years ago at the home of a member who hosted the club outdoors on straw bales, amid hundreds of piles of dog crap. It was totally and ridiculously disgusting. SO---the upside of this story is that you DO clean up after your dog. The downside is that he's such a machine. Is there any way you could turn that massive amount of excrement into some type of fuel? Now that could be a GOLD MINE for your retirement nest egg. Who needs an 401K plan when you have SAMMY??
xxoo
I wonder if I get too much reality hanging with you and vonbad...? I may never get married-have a baby-get a dog. Hahaha I am just teasing you.
I will definitely use the skittle defense when considering the adoption of the dog we will eventually get. Sammy really is helping prolong the process, though.
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