Friday, February 18, 2011


Though I love my dogs, I’m not overly enamored with some of their disgusting habits. The do and eat such gross things that my stomach rebels at the mere thought. They roll in things that smell gross, they lick themselves silly, but the grossest habit of all is their love for poop. Poop, the caviar of canines.

Brigette and Dusty indulged in this nasty little habit and I could see them looking at the cat box as I look at a tuxedoed waiter holding a sterling silver platter of shrimp. They would nibble at these little delicacies any time they thought they could get away with it. How lovely it was that these treats were conveniently dusted with cat litter, an extra crunch like sprinkles on an ice cream cone. There was a constant battle in our house: where to put the cat box so the cats had access but the dogs did not. We were never able to convince them to stay away from the hors de oeuvres bar.

Indiana also tries to sneak in for a snack whenever he can and has even tried to nap in the cat box. He’s not nearly as smart as Brigette and Dusty and gets caught every time. He’ll emerge from the bathroom with a mouthful, or with cat litter decorating his nose. I’ll give chase and try to steal his snack from him, but it’s a half-hearted attempt on my part.  Cat poop covered in dog spit is even grosser than plain old cat poop. He has eaten so much that he’s made himself sick, conveniently all over me, my pillow and my bed. By far the grossest thing that ever happened to me.

Bella is even worse and will go into the yard and eat whatever hasn’t been scooped up. This snack is even more delightful this time of year when simple poops turn into Poopsicles. There is nothing worse than looking out in the yard on a frigid windy night and seeing her with her ears flapping in the breeze with a frozen poop sticking out of her mouth.

Last Friday as I sat at my computer, Bella kept whining to go out. I assumed that she wanted to sniff around the yard to see if there’d been any recent visits from cats or porcupines. She finally came in and settled in her crate, I thought all was well. Suddenly I hear a retching sound and smell the aroma of… poop. She sat there looking at me from her cage, covered in thrown-up defrosted poopsicles. I hustled her out of there and cleaned everything up, not daring to breathe. While I cleaned she wandered around and finished throwing up the rest of her disgusting snack.

I’m not sure why dogs do this but there seems to be no good way to get them to stop, other than making sure the yard and cat box are kept poop-free at all times. I guess it’s kind of like humans and alcohol. We know if we over-indulge, we’ll pay the price, yet the consequences rarely convince us not to partake.

As for Bella, I’m considering a muzzle. Meanwhile, no doggie kisses for this girl! 

Ice Princess

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