Dog Poop-Scooping 101

Once again, dear Intertubes, I have yet another installation in my on-going series about dogs. As you have probably already guessed the main content of this chapter, You are hereby warned, it (especially if you have a dog, or live in close proximity to one or more) will likely force you to read one or two passages aloud to whoever happens to be standing still or moving slowly nearby.
But first! The Rant Section.

One. If you live in a community that has very strict curbside trash pick-up date rules (i.e. cans on the curb only after dusk the night before collection, cans must be removed the next evening) and also sports those lovely signs insisting that pet owners clean up after their pet, PLEASE, either follow the rules and pull your can back in on time, or you WILL find several neatly tied bags of poop at the bottom of your freshly emptied refuse can. Look at it this way, I can either be a good guy and pick up after my dogs and throw it away - IN A DAMN TRASH CAN - or I can just leave that lovely steaming pile in your front yard. This also goes for people who angrily gesture at the nice little green signs that state "Pet Area". News flash folks, no matter what the tabloids say, dogs can't read, and generally don't care anyways. Logic - escaping millions every day.

Two. My dogs are trained, polite, friendly, and it is rather cruel for them to have to deal with your unruly Miniature Schnauzer who is yapping its diminutive way, off the leash, or worse, on one of those God-awful extenda-leashes (you know, the ones you never lock) zooming towards my polite guys and annoying the bejeezus out of them. The same goes for small children who you force to "not be scared!", and in order to prove themselves rush up and yank on one of my dog's ears. I've been sorely tempted to return the favor to both the child and the idiot who thinks he or she has this "parenting" thing down pat. Trust me, you don't. Back away slowly.

Three. The reverse of Two. The neighbor who sees you walking around the corner, enjoying the one nice day the Summer has afforded you, and scuttles over to the other side of the street, and then yells out "You better keep those animals under control!". Really. This coming from the idiot who blows straight through a stop sign at forty miles an hour, in a parking lot cul-de-sac, while texting, and then insists, when you politely point this out, that "Well she just finished a twelve hour day at work and just wants to have some dinner."

Um.

That is quite possibly the most incredibly dumb-ass selfish statement I've heard. The stop sign is there for a REASON. Mainly, to keep people and dogs from being run over by a ravenous mini-van texter who somehow managed to get through the perimeter defenses (Speed Bumps, Stop Lights, Police, etc.) and avoided looking up from what her thumb was doing until screeching to a halt, using two parking spaces.

Okay, Rant off.

So, now on to the guts of this missive, or rather what comes out of them.

Types of poop, and impending signs that aforesaid poop is going to happen.

The Poop Dance varies from dog to dog, it is simply a matter of how often you are assigned that particular dog that allows you the insight of when to desperately scramble through your pockets for a bag, all the while watching to make sure you spot all the smaller bits. A good circling is often a standard feature. One of my dogs likes to find racing-style tires on foreign sports cars and prop his leg up against it while he does his thing.
There is the mellow, "yeah, I liked eating the rest of your turkey sandwich"poop, usually takes a block and a half to show up, nothing desperate. This is often saved up for when the most number of people are around and are watching, and invariably occurs when you've already used up the spare poop bag, and have to go home, drop off the dog, and trundle back down with another bag to pick up the pile. The plus side is, it has cooled and dried slightly, making it much easier to clean up. Then there is the firm poop at first, but the last round comes out looking like a soft-serv cone, always fun to manage. The one we all dread is the "relatives visited for a big family dinner last night" poop, a liquid expulsion that has you both a: praying for an immediate thunderstorm, and b: swearing to never let Uncle Mortimer near the dog during after-dinner clean-up.

The Right Scoop.

Bag Selection is a very important feature in the pre-walk gear check. In this day and age of flimsy plastic grocery bags of the same thickness and durability as a gas station restroom's toilet paper, it is inevitable that any box placed with loving care at the check-out line will probably get a hole in it, invariably at the bottom. (Gee! Thanks, Gravity!) I remedy this by insisting on getting everything double-bagged, and if the cashier balks, I mournfully recall the very expensive bottle of wine that fell through and shattered on the sidewalk right outside the exit doors. Ah, Guilt trips, so much fun, and darned handy. I do have some wonderful clients who realize that their dog has the capability of depositing a load similar to that of a Clydesdale, and actually prepare "poop kits" consisting of a weekend edition-sized newspaper bag, inside of which they have included two surgical gloves, and a smaller bag for that secondary, smaller drop that happens every now and then. You folks know who you are, and I salute you, and heartily thank you.

Additional gear.

I carry a rather wide assortment of leashes, collars, harnesses, rain towels, and treats in the truck, but the most important pair of items are Butt Wipes, and Hand Wipes (for after disposing of the former.) Dogs that have just come back from the grooming salon are often far more, shall I say, Fluffy, in the nether regions, and it is a heartbreakingly funny sight to see a beautifully brushed dog doing the "Dingleberry Dance", half in, half out of a poop crouch, trying to shake that last morsel of the morning meal from their freshly laundered hindquarters. Hence, the Butt Wipes. These are also handy for when the dog manages, in dry, desert-like conditions, to find the one wet patch of mud to walk through. As you can probably imagine, us Handlers love Hardwood flooring - sooooo much easier to clean up!

Bag Technique, Post Pick-Up

Dogs being the wonderfully inquisitive and carefree creatures that they are, generally do not have much interest in waiting around while you pick up after them, so there are a few tricks to use to keep them local. I prefer the "leash loop around my ankle", others use the belt-loop, but the main idea is to keep the dog with you, and not allow it to express its extreme pleasure afforded by defecation by tearing up the neighbor's lawn with joyous hindquarter kicks.

Finally, a word to all you folks who aren't actually holding onto two leashed dogs in one hand and two bags of tied-off poop in the other, please, just wave, and say "Hi" and keep moving. Lengthy conversations are the bane of our existence, and we, by this point, are running perilously close to being late for our next client.

Thanks to all of you who heed these basic tenets, and I will tirelessly continue to keep your yards poop-free.

Next Post: Training - Treats, Aural or Oral?

-Alex

Quickpee Challenge

Inspired by my wife's scary love of Top Chef, and knowing that my robust 3 year-old Labs need at least an afternoon break, I created this. I'm sure many, many other dog lovers know this trick, but I gave it a funny name. So there.

I get home, smelling like countless animals, which usually gets me a look from George, which, when translated, is
"You Whore."

I can take it.

Rummy doesn't care, he simply needs to pee. Having been in this situation, or worse, with a girl in this situation, at a concert, I can understand his predicament. And I have to get the mail.

However, the boys do get full walks day and night, along with several "mini-walks", and this just became one of them.

Anji always updates me about poop.

Yep.

Poop.

We always check in with each other about who pooped, and if it was a scary one that means NO MORE PASTA. FOR A WEEK. (Not kidding.)

The thing is, Intertubes, when you start coming home smelling like someone else's Bitch (no, the dog, you idiots) your own dogs get a tad antsy. As in, you walk in the door, and get kind of overwhelmed by the reception.
Like, knocked down.
So Anji and I started the mail-run, where the boys got to play, but only for a short time. We'd do a minimal start-up (if you walk a dog, you know this process can take what seems like YEARS), and then go get the mail.

And then go home.

During this short period, I have seen many trees, plants, and BMW's get peed upon.

Sometimes I laugh, sometimes I ignore my cell-phone (but of course check it later), because I have two goals:
1. Keep Rumple from peeing on his leash while I fumble with the key to the mail-box.
2. Keep George from trying to nose his way through the mail in my hand to find this week's copy of Star Weekly.

Then, it is "Where's your porch!", and both of them bound up the steps, and settle down.

Time for pizza.

Double Dog Speak 101

I do mostly mid-day service, walking the dogs, and I'm usually alone (hence, why I do the mid-day walks) but on occasion the Owner is home, either taking a personal day off, or working on their laptop upstairs somewhere. I, of course, am not aware of this right away, which has led to some rather amusing situations.

No, I'm not raiding the fridge, or skimming their e-mail, or anything else.

I'm simply talking to the dog.

One lady, who is very security-conscious, heard me talking, and rushed down the stairs to see who I had brought inside, only to discover me filling the dog's water bowl, and having a conversation with him as I did so. The dog. Nobody else.

You see, Intertubes, talking to dogs is an art form, mainly because nobody taught the dog English. This is where it seems tricky, but honestly, it is simply tone of voice, inflection, and body language.

The actual words you say basically mean absolutely nothing, it is how you say them. As I've said before, I have two phrases:
1. What do you do?
2. Dude, seriously?

I can get my dogs to sit, wait for me on the front porch, calm down when another dog walks by, get them to wait while I baggy their poop, stop barking at the pizza delivery guy, get off the sofa/bed, get out of the kitchen while I'm cooking, and several other "commands" using just those two phrases.
The trick is inflection and tone, and not yelling or screaming. That just freaks them out, and basically tells them they are about to be eaten, so they had better pee on something expensive and inside.
Try it out, Intertubes, you'd be amazed at how a calm voice, using tone and inflection, can get a dog to do basically what you wish it would do, for example:

Rumple is chewing on a skin sore (they all get them) and to get him to stop, a simple "Dude, Seriously? Seriously?" does wonders.
George (the lovely but not too bright one) sees another dog as we are getting the door open and stands up (I make the boys sit on the porch, otherwise they tend to overwhelm whoever is opening the door) I say, "What do you do." He sits back down.
Again, everyone has a different approach, but this is a good back-to-basics style that has worked for me well over many years.

Off to go for what we call "a quickpee challenge" and get the mail.

Old dogs can remember

One of my charges, a lovely geriatric Boxer, was waiting for me last night in the driveway. He limped over as I collected the mail, and then we made our way to the front door. It was an amazing sight, and after I mixed up his food, and fed the fish, I sat for a while, hearing the clunk-clunk-clunk of his tongue smacking the sides of the big metal bowl, and wondered, why in the hell does this dog trust me?
The fish pretty much don't care. You check the water, add a pinch of food, and they are, like, totally cool, man. After all, we're fish. Not much we could do except flop about in a theatrical manner.

But Intertubes, this is what always amazes me. The dogs always seem to say "Dude! you're here!" and proceed to exhibit amounts of affection tantamount to folks coming home from a war.

Folks coming home from a war, you totally need to get a dog, and then avoid being near a dock or heavy machinery. And bring band-aids. Seriously.

If you can, adopt a dog or cat. Or both. It is completely worth it.

Gnat Sauce

Oh Intertubes, I ask you, how do you avoid inhaling tiny flying insects?

I, as usual, am out handling my charges. Previous to, I put on sunscreen, sprayed myself down with Off!, and still inhaled about 5,000 gnats. I put a bandanna around my mouth, and that just let me chew on them for a while. The numbers I inadvertently inhaled through my nostrils defies modern science, and even old, defunct science.

I have a funny feeling that walking through some of the posh neighborhoods I deal with, wearing Mosquito netting, will cause some comment. Not all of it good, or even faintly amusing.

The really funny part of writing this, to me, is that Rummy has taken to "caving" underneath the desk in the office, a trait he's never shown before, when I write. This is both encouraging and scary. George, as usual, simply has collapsed on the sofa, and apparently is expecting afternoon cocktails and refreshments.

In other news,
The Truck is costing me blood donations.
Hopefully, the guys will get it done by Monday, and I'll have my beloved Feeona back with me, and she will actually work. On a regular basis.
Gosh, that'd be nice.
I'm off to go hose off the Off!, and then debate if I even need to eat dinner.

Rattat - wait, how the heck do you spell this?

Whole Foods is right next door to one of my dogs, so I try to plan ahead, and get some shopping done after I've taken him out. This morning, my wife asked me to make Ratatouille, thus requiring ingredients.
Squash et all was needed.

So, the shopping list:
Butter (I always run out, for some reason, go figure.)
Various Squashes and Zucchinis
Tomatos
Garlic
Sparkling water (For some reason, Whole Foods has the best house brand at the cheapest price.)

I generally buy enough pounds of ingredients to fill my standard-sized roasting pan, and instead of doing The French Laundry/Movie version, I chunk them all up into 1/4 inches by 1/4 inches (except for the garlic, Duh) and let the stuff roast slowly. A little sea salt, a little red pepper (or chipotle) and a good olive oil work wonderfully.

Amazingly, this is one of the few veggie dishes that Rummy will eat. George usually asks for seconds.
A chef friend asked me a while back why I didn't use Eggplant.
Pretty basic.
Eggplant is bitter, and needs to be salted before use, in this case. The salt it "imbibes" can make the whole thing become something to throw out, and I abhor throwing out a dish due to over-seasoning. Therefore, stick with what you know. Leave out the eggplant.
Ratt (as my wife calls it) is a simple dish. If you overwhelm it, it will taste simply awful.
Okay, off to shop and chop.

Hot Dogs and Hollandaise

Intertubes, I made a new one today. I had a total jones for hot dogs, but was feeling a tad skittish about the whole wheat buns on top of the fridge. To be honest, they totally suck. If I'm going to throw myself into the ecstasy of a properly grilled hot dog, I want my buns squishy. Seriously, what the hell is the point of eating a hot dog on healthy bread?

So I thought about it, and my next hot dog is going to be on a baguette, gently toasted, and covered with Hollandaise.

The fact that this blog had to learn how to spell the damn thing concerns me, but no matter.
I debated making my own relish, but rapidly discarded the concept, considering I already had messed up my tiny kitchen making the aforesaid sauce.
The boys knew I was up to something, but are trained well enough to know that when I bark back, it generally means, "stay out of the kitchen, and I'll let you clean all the pans later."

The vet said Rummy was four pounds overweight, last visit.

My first thought was, compared to what, a bush? He loves sauces, and happily settles down like a Disney companion character right at the edge of the kitchen, and is very good at getting the leftover fond off the bottom of a pan. George, on the other hand, lolls like a gentle breaker off the beach, enjoying having the sofa all to himself. I've had to restrict his T.V. privileges, because he keeps nosing the remote back to Bravo. There is a finite amount a guy can take of fashion shows.

The grill was hot, the sauce ready, suspended in a bain-marie, and I was ready to go.

It was delicious.

Intertubes, have fun with sauces and hot dogs. Remember, the more complicated it is, the crappier it will taste.

Go see Julie and Julia. If you love cooking, you WILL cry during this film, simply out of joy.

Now, to go create my version of The Mad Hatter's voice. So much for sleep.