A Busmanwoman’s Holiday with Two Male Dogz
I think we own *everything* on the beach now. Sorry, all you beach folk. You may have a title for the property but we own it. I have seen lifted legs in just about every possible configuration there is. There’s the quick little don’t look now but I just marked that old log. There’s the full-tilt boogie lift my whole body up in the air along with my leg so I can mark this old dead loon wing without actually touching it. And then there’s the circuitous little dance around the yard lifting and sprinkling every tree and blueberry bush. With a sprinkle sprinkle here and a sprinkle sprinkle there. Hmm, ma, maybe you better think twice about using that cute little blueberry patch for pie. Actually, I don’t even know how you can manage to go around and pee just a little bit at every object. Uh, usually, once I start, I don’t quit until it’s all gone. Grok grok. Yuck! Ol’ Baggy, that wuz TMI! grok grok grokGROK! Oh, shut up, Froog! Anyway, I was mystified about why the sand castle pile in front of Brigid’s cabin seemed so important. King Alfred didn’t give the castle pile a mere lift and sprinkle. He got right on top of it and pooped. Kee-reist! I figured somebody’s grandchildren had made it so I wasted no time in dredging a shovel out of the garage. Actually, you don’t *dredge* things out of Jimbo’s garage. It’s way too neat and clean. But that’s beside the point. I knew I needed to clean that up quick. Nobody pooped on it the next few times we walked by but both dogz seemed to be vying to be the first to lift their leg. And then we met Brimley. That sand castle pile belonged to Brimley, a one-year-old Piedmont puppy. He’s around the same size as King Alfred but he runs circles round Alfred and the big little guy’s nose seemed just a bit out of joint. Ernie wisely elected to watch from a safe distance up on the bank.
To be perfectly accurate, because I know Karen will correct me when she eventually gets around to reading this, Ernie and Alfred were born male but they are neutered. But they still lift their legs. They are great dogz but I’ll be glad to hand them off at the end of this little adventure. Love, Kayak Woman.
June 23rd, 2007 at 6:03 pm
With regard to the elevated poop spots: It’s not just dogs, but foxes and coyotes, too (I’ve not had the opportunity to observe wolves)—they frequently make their deposits on stumps. I don’t know why, but figured it put the smell closer to the noses of passers-by, kind of a variation on p_ssing in your face. But what do I know?
June 24th, 2007 at 7:47 am
Farley Mowat was a Canadian biologist researching caribou/wolf relations. In “Never Cry Wolf”, he described how he realized he had to mark his territory, as the wolves were marking theirs in tightening cirlces around his camp. He called it going “number 23” — 21 p~ss stops and one p**p stop. Lots of tea was involved for him. It’s a good book, and a movie was made from the book. Warning to Mouse: it does involve mouse (w/ a small m) eating.
June 24th, 2007 at 4:44 pm
no peeing on the blueberries!
June 28th, 2007 at 10:27 pm
It may be *dog* pee, but it is still sterile.
Who’s to say that the bears haven’t already pee’d on the blueberries, anyway?