Poop!

Meet my two dogs:  Alex, a 13 year old lab/beagle mix, and Hunter, a 2 year old beagle/hound mix. 

I got Alex in a parking lot in Fryeburg, Maine, and he was the only blonde haired dog in the litter, the rest being black.  He does have a little black patch of hair on his back though as a shout out to his brethren.  Alex has been everywhere with me:  back and forth between Maine and DC, on a small plane out to North Haven, multiple campaign offices across Maine and every single piece of furniture I own, as evidenced by the trail of hair he leaves behind.  He’s a very mellow dog and permits me to sleep late in the morning.

I stopped at Wagtime here in DC to pick up treats for Alex one evening.  The owner Lisa asked me what kind of dog I had and after telling her, told me I should come out back and see the rescue dogs that needed a home.  I thought no way as I nervously walked into the back room.  Amongst all the yelping and frenetic activity, there was Hunter lying alone on a dog bed looking sad and lost.  Lisa explained that I could take him home for a night or two and that even if I didn’t decide to adopt him, any night outside of the shelter would do him good.   She also explained that Hunter had been rescued from a kill shelter in Virginia which absolutely made my heart break.

So I returned the following Friday and picked up Hunter for a doggy holiday in my Dupont condo with Alex.  Lisa posted a note on Facebook that Hunter was on a sleepover and said, “Be a good boy Hunter.  It’s up to you now.”  Well Hunter behaved perfectly, and he never went back.  Most importantly, he seemed to understand the first and foremost point of going outside for a walk.  I signed the adoption papers a week later, and it was then that Hunter yelled Gotcha! 

Hunter is polar opposite to Alex.  He sleeps right next to my head at night, and he is nervous and hyper.  He can put a flock of seagulls to shame with his high pitched warning howl.  He is starved for attention which admittedly I can’t always provide, but I seek solace in the fact that his life is far better with me than the shelter or the near fate he almost suffered in Virginia.

Lif e with the two dogs has been good except for the pooping.  Yup – I said it here on the blog – the first dirty word so to speak I have used.  While it is significantly better than when Hunter first yelled Gotcha and proved to be completely clueless to the point of going outside, we still have frequent issues with the concept.

Just this week during a 2 day rain a thon, Hunter refused to go to the bathroom outside, far preferring the comfort of a heated home.  If he was human, you know he would have a fur cover on his toilet just to keep his bum warm on the porcelain in winter.  They do work well I must admit because my grandmother used to have one.  Rather than go outside in the rain, Hunter would just look up at me after Alex had already gone 4 times with an expression of, “Are you kidding me?  I am not squatting out here in the rain.”

I love the looks I get when the dogs do in fact decide to poop outside.  One man recently said to me a minute or so after Alex let one rip on a patch of dirt between the sidewalk and the road, "Excuse me sir, can I ask you a question?"  I thought to myself that my answer didn't really matter seeing he had already asked me a question.  "Yes,"  I said.  "Did you pick up after your dog?" he asked.  I stared at him in disbelief and answered, "Um - of course.  Right here in the little red bag in case you missed it."  I love self righteous community policers.  I wanted to tell him to mind his own business, get back in his little yuppy Volvo and drive back to the suburb, but I refrained.

Then there was the woman last week who twisted her face in disgust as Hunter, for once, actually pooped.  I wanted to tell her, "Get a grip lady.  It's poop.  We all do it and just like my dog, I am sure yours stinks too."  Again, I refrained.

Back to the problem at hand.  I have tried everything from quarantining Hunter to the kitchen to only feeding him at night to longer walks.  Nothing seems to work.  Amazingly, Alex has learned how to push his way through closed doors which paves the way for Hunter to leave behind special treats in off limit areas like my bedroom.  Ugh!

But the problem now is I think that Alex has joined in the bad behavior and is content to let me think it is all Hunter.  Whenever I lecture Hunter, which sounds to him like the teacher in a Charlie Brown film, Alex just sits there all patronizing like Lucy and thinks to himself, “Silly Hunter, when will you learn?” 

I am considering putting different food colorings in their food to catch the guilty culprit.  If the poop is blue, it’s Hunter!  If it’s green, then it's Alex!  But if it’s purple, I am not sure what I will do!

I am really hoping that all of this too shall pass.  It’s frustrating, but in the end, all worth it.  Dogs provide you a sense of responsibility and keep you grounded.  They don’t talk back, and they are always glad you’re around.  I don’t consider myself the best pet owner on the planet, but they do help me to maintain a sense of purpose.

Are we there yet?  Hell no!  But like the signs in the Bible that indicate Armageddon, I am convinced that no poop for a month will be a sign that we’re getting close.