Our dear departed Dakota had been with God and not howling at our table for a year and it was time to get a puppy. We have discovered through the years, that the old dog teaches the puppy its most valuable assists. Being practical people who have seen the value a well-trained dog, we decided to to let Tripper, our current genius, pass on his wisdom to a new puppy. Our current dog can open doors, thus never requiring us to get up at ungodly hours like 9:00 am to let him out. He can surf, chase shore birds, but not hurt them. Bark when a bad guy is at the door, but squeal with delight when it is a friend. He also stops us from fighting. For a raised voiced or an initial insult will result in a bitten ankle. He takes himself for a walk when we are too injured, drunk or lazy to attach his leash and is always back at our front door within 30 minutes. These traits have been handed down by three generations of dogs, and not of the same breed. It is a miracle of training, instinct, and determination.
We ventured to a residence that housed eight puppies that we were sure one would capture our hearts. When we came upon the front year, our first thoughts were chaos. Big wheels and bikes littered the yard, cat houses with fringe, food bowls and catnip lined the front porch. Upon entering the house, we saw three fish tanks, one boa constrictor, a rabbit cage in the kitchen and two parrots. There were also five assorted children from a bawling toddler to 9-year-olds with eyeliner and too much attitude on. Five adult dogs scratched at the back door. The puppies were housed in the laundry room with a baby gate keeping them from the general population.
We hopped the gate and squatted Indian style with the puppies. They were sleepy, but easy to wake. Huskie, Malamute and Rottweiler mixes with icy blue eyes. The epitome of cute. They nipped at our lips, chewed on our hair and sleeves, and won our hearts. Then they begin to pee, a shocking thing to me, they stopped eating our shoes to squat and pee. Then the poop started. Next thing I knew I was covered in puppy pee and poop. It was on my key chain, in my hair, soaked into my pants and covering my sweater. Gary was covered in more shit and looked worse.
We escaped the puppy prison and all but ran like we were on fire out of the house, thanking the nice people for their hospitality. When we got to the car, I made us both change, right there in the street. No puppy shit was going to soil my Jag. All I had for Gary was a tie-dye mu mu, but he dawned it without too much fuss. While giggling and changing, we agreed that anything that sat in its own shit was not welcome in our house.
Here is the funny part, we were these people not five years ago. I had 4 fish tanks, three dogs, two cats, 15 birds, 2 rats, 2 lizards and uncountable amount of children. In the midst of it, we never thought to be bothered. Picking up shit of many species was a daily event. Now it is not even an option, no matter how cute the depositor is.
We are going to the pound to find a nice, potty trained dog for Tripper to train. He will be grateful and good because we saved his life. Or maybe we will just let Tripper live out his life as the king of the castle.
When the Grand babies come, the shit rule will stay in effect. I will keep them until they are soiled and then call their parents. I am out of the shit game…. forever.