At the pet store yesterday I purchased: 1. a bag of high-end super-digestible dog food, and 2. a pooper scooper. The woman who rang me up did not respond to my joke about the relationship between the two items.
Until now, I have resisted scooping poop. I mean, we live in the country–our house has fields before it and woods behind it, eighteen acres of potential dog bathroom space. In this day and age, however, even in the country we can\’t allow our dogs to roam freely, to kill a neighbor\’s chickens or get mauled by coyotes or, most likely, get killed by a car.
We have put an invisible fence around our backyard. I regard this fence more as a deterrent than an impregnable boundary. If a deer came close (which for some reason it never has), I\’m almost sure our dogs would opt for the pleasure of chasing it despite the sting of the fence. Therefore, I never leave the dogs out unsupervised for more than a few minutes–the time it takes to relieve themselves.
However, now that I have three dogs, and especially since Our Forester has cleaned up the woods so nicely, I\’m having to change my irresponsible attitude towards dog poop. I\’m going to have to scoop. Hence my purchase of highly digestible, expensive kibble which, combined with my home-cooked melange, will, I hope, reduce the matter to be scooped to an absolute minimum.
Still, I am not looking forward to the job. I have resisted it for years, but the time has come for me to join the ranks of responsible 21st-century dog owners. The time has come for me to hold my head high, think of England, and scoop poop.