Pooping in PetSmart

munsoncloseup
“Who me?”

I have a love-hate relationship with my dog. Most of the time he’s adorable and his goofy personality makes me laugh. I mean, when you watch an eighty pound German shepherd act like a goof ball how can you not laugh, right?

There are other times when I question why we have a dog at all. Case in Point: Last week Noodge 3 (as I lovingly refer to him.  a.k.a. Munson) was in much need of a bath. He’d had an ear infection and after several weeks of shoving antibiotic fluid into his ear the fur on the side of his face had clumped together. (We often tried to clean the fur with baby wipes, but Munson is a long haired shepherd making the process much harder. That and he wanted to eat the wipes right out of our hands.)

Off to PetSmart for a bath! He loves getting a bath, though he doesn’t like the dryer and has to air dry and the wonderful people who work at our local PetSmart love Munson. Come on, how can’t you love a goofy, eighty pound, fluffy dog? It’s impossible.

After the bath, the Coffee King thought it would be fun to walk Munson around the store, check out some of the toys. I guess CK was thinking Munson would bark at the ones he liked best and we’d buy it. Kind of like when we took the kids to the toy store before they could speak.

Munson is easily excited. A little fun fact about German shepherds. They have a sensitive stomach. It was too much excitement for Munson. (Or someone gave him a treat we didn’t approve.) Because right in the middle of the toy aisle with absolutely no warning Munson took a squat!

It might not have been the end of the world except I’ve never seen anything so liquid puddling all over the floor in a store and coming out of the back end of my freshly cleaned dog.

I ran for help.

I found a woman on a ladder stocking shelves. I said, “My dog just had an accident.”

She pointed over my head and said, “the cleaner is over there. Do you see it?”

Uh…NO! You’re standing three feet above my head. Pointing in a general area doesn’t equal good directions. Anyway, because I’m smarter than I look, I found it. And here comes CK with the dog. “I’m taking him outside.”

And leaving me with the eruption is aisle four? You betcha.

What choice did I have? Did I really want to leave Lake Erie for someone to step into? Yes. But I didn’t. I grabbed several tiny, one-ply paper towels (more like cocktail napkins), an equally small garbage bag (think Ziploc sandwich bag) and the cleaner and went to battle.

The paper towels were useless and required fifty trips back and forth to gather enough to do any good. As soon as I put one down it was soaked through and there was no way on this planet I was touching anything that looked or smelled like that paper towel had become. The trick was how to shove the gigantic wad of wet, smelly paper towels into the sandwich bag without touching anything and hold my wallet under my arm without dropping it in the sewer. (Wallet is too large to shove in a pocket and I couldn’t put it down for fear while I was drowning in the polluted lake (not implying Lake Erie is polluted by the way) someone would come along and swipe it up.

No one came to help me. No one asked if I was all right. No one brought me a mop which I desperately needed. On one of my trips back for more paper towels another employee (and no one from the grooming center) said to me, “Make sure you throw that outside.” In the kind of voice that suggested I coerced my dog into defecating in her store. In fact, I make a career of doing just that thing. Haven’t you heard of it? Pooper Plopper. I’m very successful.

I managed to clean it up and break a sweat. You really can burn calories in all amazing ways. I scrubbed my hands and threw out the eruption in the inside garbage can, hee hee. Went outside to find CK and Munson doing laps in the parking lot. Munson no worse for wear. Me, trembling, disgusted, and questioning my sanity when I said hands clapping, “Yes, let’s get a dog! What fun!”

 

 

 

 

The Cost of Containment

Please buy me a fence. I need my alone time. Look what they do to me.
Please buy me a fence. I need my alone time. Look what these people do to me. It’s not even my birthday or anyone’s else in this house.

We can’t stop buying stuff for Munson. We’ve bought most of the toys in the store, tons of bones he can chew on, a dog bed, several collars, too many leashes, and a few different bowls. Now we’ve moved on to bigger things. A fence. I think this dog is spoiled.

 

As you know, we moved out to the country to have more space and so I could stop living behind the 75 year old man who swam in his pool naked. Well, be careful for what you wish for because you might just get a dog someday who needs a fence.

 

The Coffee King (also known as my husband) would like a real fence. Something that goes aesthetically in the yard, will keep Munson in, but won’t shock him if he gets too close. We got the first quote. I can’t even tell you how much it is because every time I think about it white noise screeches in my head. It should be a crime to charge that much for a fence. I don’t care how big my yard is. I started thinking; I don’t want a fence if it costs that much. I could remodel a bathroom for the price of a fence. And even though I love that furry, adorable, monster, he’s still a dog and I’m not buying a dog a fence when I could buy granite. Just saying.

 

There is the electric fence option. It’s less expensive, will actually cover a larger area for Munson to run in and shouldn’t he have as much space as possible to explore, exercise, and God forbid poop in? But there’s that one sticky fact. Or maybe I should say prickly fact. The shock. The poor dog has to get zapped to learn he can’t cross the boundary. Seems harsh, but I know lots of dog owners who love having their electric fence. And they spoil their dogs way more than we do.

 

Is this fence dilemma any different than say, buying a stroller for your child? You want the safest option so they don’t fall out and land on the ground for a reasonable price, but did I cheap out when I was shopping strollers? Of course, not. I’m an OCD, control freak mother. Only the best for my Noodges. I can imagine what I’ll go through to make sure they purchase the best possible car someday. Oh, wait, I forgot. I’m not letting them drive.

 

If I’m going to stick with my need to control things, then Munson shouldn’t get a fence of any kind. At least while he’s on the leash, I can control, to some degree, what he puts in his mouth and this puppy is a real life garbage disposal. If he has free reign of the yard, who knows what filth he’ll eat. So, that solves it. Giving up control isn’t worth the cost of containment.