New West Colorado, Idaho, Montana, New Mexico, Utah, Wyoming
As I lay on my back on a blanket in the middle of Bonner Park, a Nerf football for a pillow, I gazed up at the sky and watched the clouds scud by. It’s something that grown-ups just never do, and I was digging it. It was an absolutely perfect day, temperature in the low 70’s, a slight breeze from the west pushing those clouds past my field of vision. Barb and I had decided to bring Rusty and Speaker to the park for a picnic on this brilliant Saturday, the most beautiful spring day we’d seen yet.
So I lay there, soaking up the long-absent sunshine, picking out various shapes and animals morphing among the clouds. An elephant with a huge trunk. Now it’s a panda bear being bisected by a high-flying airliner. Now it looks a lot like a softball. A bright yellow softball. And it’s getting bigger…BAM! It was an errant throw from Speaker, and it nailed me right in the forehead.
She was playing catch with her brother, and had heaved one right over his head. Fortunately, it was a squishy minor-league ball and didn’t hurt much. Still, I grabbed the ball, leaped to my feet, and chased her around the dugout. She squealed with delight and mock fear, and she gave me the slip around the backstop. I gave up and returned to the blanket, tossing the ball to Rusty. Barb put down her book, picked up the Nerf football and told me to go long. I ran towards the band shell, and looked back in time to see her perfectly thrown spiral floating down over my left shoulder. I hauled in the pass and raised my arms in triumph, but my feet got tangled up and I fell to the grass.
Like a car wreck, it all happened in slow motion. As I began to fall, I instinctively looked down to see if there was a sprinkler head in the grass. No sprinkler head, but something much, much worse. I fell directly onto a humongous, spongy, fresh pile of warm shit. Took it full on the chest, as if I were throwing myself on a grenade to save my platoon. Boom. Squish.
I’d like to report that it was dog crap, but from the size and quantity, I have to wonder if someone had been out that morning, walking his pet mastodon. I mean, this was one impressively huge stack of poop. You could probably see it from the other end of Bonner Park, a city block away, but we’d somehow missed it when we set up our picnic headquarters. It was a big as a dollhouse. A dollhouse with brown siding and no windows. The dog who left this vile pile must have brought along a newspaper to read.
“Nice catch, honey!” Barb yelled from the blanket. “Are you okay?” I rolled over on my back and held up the ball. What a freakin’ guy thing to do. I’m smeared chin to knees with fresh dog shit, and I want to make sure I get credit for the catch. “Yeah,” I said with a little dry heave. “I’m peachy.” I got up, peeled off my t-shirt, walked over to a trash can near the sidewalk, and threw it away. I returned to the blanket.
“That was a nice catch,” Barb said, fishing around in the ice chest. “You want a beer? Jesus Christ, you STINK.” She held her nose and tossed me a PBR. “What the hell?”
I snapped open the can and immediately sucked down half of it. “Dog shit. Big pile.” I retched, but only threw up a little in my mouth. The smell was embedded in my sinuses. “Godda go home. Shower.”
She started backing away slowly, waving the air in front of her nose. “Oh, god, yeah, it’s bad. Must have been pretty fresh. But the kids are having such a good time. Couldn’t you just clean yourself up in the bathroom?”
I looked over at the bathrooms. “Still locked,” I said. “They won’t open ‘em up ‘til Labor Day. Unh-hnnccch.” Another dry heave.
Barb, still holding her nose pinched shut, reached into the ice chest and pulled out a bottle of Newman’s Own Balsamic Vinaigrette salad dressing. “Rub a little of this on yourself. It might cover the stench.” She tossed me the bottle. I shook it up and poured a palm full. I rubbed it all over my torso like it was sunscreen. To my surprise, it overpowered the dog shit stink almost immediately. I hope the kids appreciate what I’m doing, I thought, so they can continue to romp in the spring sunshine while their father marinates in garlicky feces.
“Hey dad,” Rusty yelled. “Come pitch to us! We want to hit.” I grabbed my mitt and headed over to the ball field. Rusty met me at the pitcher’s mound and gave me the ball. He squinched up his face and staggered back a couple of steps. “WHOA! Dad! What happened?”
“Nothing,” I said, rubbing some stray basil flecks into my chest. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you smell like a salad that got flushed down the toilet!” he said as he ran toward home plate, cackling at his own joke. “Hey, Speaker,” he said, “dad STINKS!”
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to eat salad again. But as of now, I’m definitely a Thousand Island man.
[If you think dog shit stories are funny, you've come to the right place. www.newwest.net/bobwire.]http://www.top-blogs.com/cgi-bin/rankem.cgi?id=ednor59
http://www.humor100.com/cgi-bin/rank/rankem.cgi?id=ednor59
Dog crap is just a funny subject, like fart jokes, chicken stories and jokes which use the word “underpants.” I’m pretty sure I don’t even want to associate with people who don’t think so. There should be a singles website where membership is based on that criteria, so reasonable people can weed out the losers who don’t find those things worth a good guffaw.
A Perfect Spring Day Ruined. By A Loser.
(Sorry…this isn’t directed at you. It’s just a related account of the stupid and ignorant people whose mission, it seems, is to ruin everyone else’s days.)
I drove the half hour it takes to get to the off-leash dog park closest to my home. (Most are in the 45 min. – 1 hour range, so I visit this one at least twice a week.) (I try never to go to the same off-leash park two days in a row.)
I’ve been training dogs for decades, so it should come as no suprise that my dog is about the most obedient, well-behaved, and well-socialized dog you’ll encounter. Anywhere. Ever.
Since I teach responsible dog ownership, it should also come as no surprise that, aside from training my dog, I also pick up after her. Every time. No excuses. (I actually catch my dog’s feces in a bag, before it hits the ground. I like to walk barefoot in my own yard, dontcha know.) I’ve never left any amount of my dog’s feces in public. Not even a speck.
Getting back to my ruined day…
My dog and I enjoyed the sudden blush of spring as we navigated the blossoming off-leash trails and large, open field where many a doggie friendship has been born. I met up with a professional dog walker I sometimes see there. Since we were both walking in the same direction, we struck up a casual conversation.
As we exited the wooded trails, towards the big field that borders the parking area, I noticed a woman standing there. Just standing. No dog. Which is odd, because usually the dogless folks are actually doing something: cycling, jogging, on a brisk walk, often with another dogless buddy. They usually just pass through.
As the dog walker’s pack strolled by the woman, barely taking note of her, the woman began shrieking. “You should have those dogs leashed!” “I’m afraid of dogs!!” “Control your dogs!!!”
I don’t know…maybe it was the thought of the minimum 30 minute drive back to my neighborhood, where I can (and do!) only walk my dog on a leash, but with the knowledge that a dog simply can’t be properly socialized entirely on-leash…so I’m doing the best thing for me, my dog, and for society, by making these daily treks to off-leash areas, to ensure my dog remains a model canine citizen. It’s a sacrifice I make, in order to do the right thing.
I didn’t want to just let it go. I walked towards the woman and as calmly, and politely, as possible informed her she was standing in the middle of a dog park, that is clearly marked at every access point. (Hey, it wouldn’t be the first time someone has accidentally walked into the leash-free area.)
The psycho flew into hysterics at that point. She hissed something to the effect that it doesn’t give anyone the right to let their dogs “attack” people (seriously…the dog walker’s brood merely walking by her was the “attack”, apparently).
I pointed out that the other dogs simply walked by her, and that my own dog never came anywhere near her. I again explained that SHE made the choice to enter one of the city’s 30 off-leash dog areas (with over 1,000 parks, that leaves at least 970 parks she could have gone to without meeting any off-leash dogs).
I can only describe her as being “off her rocker” after that. She was bitten by a dog once, she pleaded. (Uh, huh. Probably her own. Highly unlikely it was a well-socialized dog at a public dog park, though.)
Exasperated by her intransigence, I left her and continued on my way to my car. I warned of the woman’s presence, to those entering the park. I’m left assuming she came to the dog park for the expressed purpose of hassling law-abiding dog owners.
Many a beautiful spring day has been ruined by ignorant folk who know next to nothing factual about dogs and who seemingly operate on a purely emotional (read ‘hysterical’) basis.
Better yet are the generalizations that blame all dog owners (because we’re such a visible group…you know…with our dogs) for the acts of a few bad apples. (Wouldn’t it be great if we were each held accountable for what we actually do, and not what someone who just looks similar to us once did?)
How about the guy who sneered at me as I walked my dog (on-leash) down a public sidewalk, in no uncertain terms suggesting I was the one leaving dog feces on his lawn?
While every fiber of my being wanted to go ‘physically explain’ his error, I did what I usually do, and struck up a more diplomatic discussion about responsible dog ownership. I explained how I (like many responsible dog owners) trained my dog to “go” on command, in my yard, before embarking on a walk. He agreed, but still, it was almost another walk ruined by some ignorant fool.
There was the time I was just about to enter an off-leash area, and overheard an altercation between a “father” (you know pretty much any man can become a father) and another dog owner, in the off-leash dog park.
The “man” was simultaneously berating every dog owner within earshot while making his children virtually hysterical by his actions. None of the dogs in the vicinity even approached the 3 kids on bicycles. The man called out frantically, “You okay?!?!?!” “It’s okay!!!” “Just stay where you are and they won’t bite!!” The kids stood frozen; their legs straddling their bikes. I swear I could almost see them shaking. (Teaching fear and hatred to children is a form of abuse, in my books.) The well-socialized dog park dogs couldn’t have cared less, though.
The “father” was going on and on about us all leashing our dogs. “It’ll only be a matter of time ’til some child is attacked. Then you’ll be sorry.” (You came up with that all on your, huh? Did you dress yourself, too?)
But something that’s never happened before, or since, makes this incident one of my favorites. You see, that idiot was standing right beside the sign that reads, “You are now entering the leash-free dog area.” When the woman who caught the majority of his wrath…because she stood up to him, I guess…pointed to the sign, his face went red. Beautifully, the dog owner generously explained that he and his children were welcome to travel through the off-leash dog area, or even stop to meet some dogs, as long as they respect the fact that the area was set up for dogs to run off-leash.
The “man” didn’t take her up on the offer though. He called his kids back and they rode off on gee…you know what? …On one of the designated bicycle paths. Imagine that!
How about the time my husband and I were at another off-leash park and a group of joggers barrelled over our dog and another. This caused one of the joggers to trip. After he picked himself up, he turned around and hissed, “You should have those dogs on a leash!” (Keep in mind, I’m now checking my dog for injuries after this “jogger attack”.) (giggle) Given there were several other dog owners in the vicinity, it didn’t surprise me that they all reacted the same way to hearing this ludicrous statement, “It’s an off-leash area,” we all chastised.
Showing what kind of person this loser is, he came back with, “…Not if it bites me. I’m going to call my lawyer and have that thing killed.” We all laughed. I smiled and told him to come back and say it to my face. He was either a general coward, or specifically noticed my husband is 6’10″ and 330lbs. Either way, he ran off…like morons tend to do.
Oh, I could go on and on.
How many beautiful days have been ruined by the actions of ignorant fools?
Of course, I’ve had infinitely more days where I’ve not encountered these losers. And I arrive home having enjoyed a lovely outing with my dog. Today was one of those days. Spectacular! Spring is here, and I intend to soak it up as much as possible!
…it was only a matter of time…
jorie-
Wow- it sounds like you’ve run into every single psychopath in Missoula!
I love dogs, I love dog parks. I love anywhere dogs can run off leash. I just wish the already-crowded paths in Missoula where dogs are supposed to be leashed and picked up after weren’t rife with “apologetic” owners, their unleashed dogs and thawing, soggy dog turds.
Damn, Jorie’s comment is impressive. I can’t even get my kid to “go” before we leave the house!
I have four dogs. One is pretty good, despite being a serial humper. The other three are among the worse dogs ever — Jack Russell terriers all. We take them to the Bark Park on occasion. I would never dream of taking them to Bonner Park. Most dreams I have of taking them anywhere are actually nightmares.
I live at a trailhead where folks walk their dogs. I see dogs and bad dog owners all of the time. 95% of the folks are great. They leash their dogs and clean up after them. 1% of the dog owners are the most oblivious and rude people that I ever encounter. So even if you are the best dog owner, the bad ones out there are sullying your name. I have talked to the animal control people, city council people, and the police. The police have requested that I get license plates of these folks; the city council folks asked me to keep them informed, the animal control folks said (jokingly) “where i come from, when dogs run in your yard and are a nuisance we shoot them.” I’d never do that….but there are some days that I would love to give the treatment to the owners. I grew up with dogs, and have had them most of my life. But can’t have them now. I’ve lived at the trailhead for 10 years…and it gets worse every single year. So as you walk your dog, you should remember that you are an ambassador for all dog folks, whether you want to be or not.
Funny…with a title like that, it took me a tad longer to figure out that “Speaker” and “Rusty” weren’t the canines in question…Good names for “fideaux” though— I’ll have to remember that the next time I buy a dog.
hehehe…
Yeah, bad dog owners are a dime a dozen. Like most areas of life, it’s the 80/20 rule. 80% of the problems are caused by 20% of the population. For more serious dog-related problems (i.e. serious, unwarranted aggression), I suspect the ratio is more like 99/1. But…having taught responsible dog ownership for so many years, my personal view is only about 5-10% of dog owners are really trying to do the best things for the dogs AND their neighbors. And that’s the real test of responsible dog ownership. Most people are…well…people, and they like to do what’s most convenient for themselves, above all else.
Unfortunately, many people paint all dog owners with the same brush. If they’ve had a bad experience with one person, we’re all to blame. And we’re part of this (to them) ‘reviled group’ by virtue of having a dog with us. We’re visible. We can’t hide our dogs. Well…okay…Paris Hilton can hide her dog. Most of us can’t. We’re targets of anyone who thinks he/she knows something about dogs, and has an overwhelming need to share it with us.
It’s amazing to go on a nature walk in a popular area both with, and without, one’s dog.
I would say that, overall, you get many more positive comments with a dog. After all…without a dog, you’re just another human on the trail. You could be nice or you could be a pedophile looking for a target. Who knows? But dogs are popular with many folks because they tend to reduce some inhibitions or at least bridge the akward pretenses of interacting with strangers. People often have no compunction about walking right up to someone with a dog, and saying all manner of things, both good and bad.
But let’s consider the good comments. “Oh, what a beautiful dog!” How many strangers tell individual adults walking along they’re beautiful? I suppose babies garner this kind of attention somewhat more often, but still it doesn’t seem anywhere near the sheer volume of compliments a dog is likely to elicit.
However, as I was saying before, all too many people just don’t know what the heck they’re talking about. The canine disinhibitor factor causes some people to make laughably inaccurate judgments or, in some cases, downright hostile remarks they’d never say to/about a human walking alone, or to someone’s child.
I’ve heard it all in my years of training dogs.
My current dog, an unquestionably unattractive, brindle, rescued Great Dane (not the source of the “mastadon” droppings, by the way) is routinely called “beautiful”. …Several times. …Daily. I’ve learned to say, “Thanks,” even though I’m really thinking, ‘What the heck are you talking about???’
My dog is supremely fit. Yeah…yeah…I know. It’s a shock to some people. There’s no fat on her and her muscles are huge and well-defined. She’s fit, in that you can’t see her ribs. They’re covered in a thing layer of taught muscle. But there’s nothing extraneous on her frame.
One day, I was at our local dealership, dropping off the car (a task I often combine with walking my dog home). As I stood in line at the service desk, a salesperson walked up to me, smiling, and, in broken english, said something that sounded like, “Feed your dog.” I said, “Pardon?” To which he said it again. It sure did sound like, “Feed your dog.” But all I could be sure of was that he was saying something about my pooch. I just smiled and said, “Yes, she’s a great dog.” Only a few minutes later did I realize he really said what he said. …Moron. (If he only knew how much my dog eats each day, and how much I spend. Since I feed only the super-premium foods, I spend…get this…at least $300 a month on dog food alone. But that’s another subject.)
I’ve heard the “skinny dog” thing so many times, now, I’ve learned to pity people who don’t recognize a healthy, fit dog. My veterinarian has often said she wishes she could use my dog as an example of a really fit dog. “I wish my thighs were as fat free (as my dog’s),” she once quipped. But I can recall many instances where I’ve had to just shake my head and walk away.
One time when I didn’t walk away was when a woman announced my dog was the smallest Great Dane she’d ever seen. When she said it a second time, even louder, in a very accusatory tone, I couldn’t hold back. As she and her buddies passed, I said, “You must not know much about Great Danes, then.” Not too surprisingly, this caused her to stop to defend her comment.
I took great pleasure in pointing out that my dog, an 18-month-old puppy at the time, was already 32″ tall. The breed standard for female Great Danes requires a minimum height of 28″, so she’s fully 4″ taller than the breed minimum. Moreover, female Danes rarely go above 36″, so she’s only 4″ shorter than the biggest I’ve ever heard of.
It’s the few male Danes not-too-experienced people compare the females with. Males typically grow much larger than females. (The tallest dogs in the world are almost always male Great Danes, and Guinness lists the record at 42.5″.) (Go ahead. Get out a measuring tape. See how big this really is. It’s pony-sized! My 32″ female looks downright diminutive, by comparison.)
The woman looked sheepish as she and her friends ambled away. I felt a bit vindicated, as pathetic as that sounds.
Oh, while I’m on a roll (blushing) (bear with me), I’ve learned to really enjoy the obtuse breed determinations my dog (and others) have inspired.
Keep in mind my dog is both a purebred Great Dane AND brindle in color.
She’s been mistaken for the following breeds:
- pit bull
- Greyhound
- Mastiff
- Doberman Pinscher
- Boxer
- Rhodesian Ridgeback
- Irish Wolfhound
- Catahoula Leopard Dog
- (my personal favorite) Afghan Hound
- (and inexplicably) Dalmatian
Now come on… Anyone who claims people can accurately visually determine a dog’s breed just don’t get out enough. I actually hiccuped an involuntary laugh when the person said, “What is that, an Afghan?” I immediately apologized, but it just caught me so off-guard. Great Dane. Afghan. Short-haired brindle. Very long coat, no brindling. Square muzzle. Pointy muzzle. Average height 34″ and up. Average height 26″ or so. What the ????
I don’t begrudge people their ignorance on this subject. We all have to start out somewhere. I usually just smile and confirm her breed. Sometimes I ask what it is about her that makes them think she’s this breed or that, and that sparks a happy littel conversation.
But I almost fell down when a guy asked me if my dog was a Dalmatian. …Of all the kinds of dogs most famous for their appearance, Dalmatians have to be up there at the top of the list. White with black spots. A giant brindle dog??? What the ????
Anyway, I’m probably boring you all to tears by now. I guess this means I’ll have to start my own blog about my daily experiences with the public. (guffaw) Really…I don’t sit around all day talking about dogs. Really I don’t. I can’t stand those people who do. There’s so much more to life than being a good dog owner. But I’m guessing I’m not convincing anyone, at this point.
Uh…gotta go!
Actually, I’d put up with all the dog crap if I didn’t have to see one more Missoula dog owner:
1. yank their dog off the ground by its neck when the dog isn’t going in the direction they want it to go. (I see this at least once a week and it is one of only two things in Missoula that has ever made me feel physically violent)
2. smack their dog in the face when yanking doesn’t work, hard enough that I can hear it 25 yards away (see above)
3. let their dog run loose in the city where it is at great risk of being hit/getting in a fight with another dog/getting stolen
4. let their dog run loose with a tag on his neck that says “if I am between ____ and ____ streets, that’s ok, if not, please bring me home to_____. (really!)
5. Ride their bike down the path while practically dragging their dog along behind.
6. Playing “fetch” with a dog in the very cold and fast-moving Clark Fork River in Spring, when they have to go 1-200 yards downriver each time to meet the exhausted dog who doesn’t know any better.
7. Make excuses for not neutering/spaying the dog: “she needs to have one litter first because that will calm her down.” I won’t even get into the male owner/unneutered male dog issue.
8. Pay money to a “responsible breeder” for a purebred dog when last I checked the crematorium at the Humane Society was still running. I lump them all together: puppy farms, people selling dogs in the Target parking lot, and anybody else who makes a profit selling dogs or participates by buying. It’s a living thing, not a status symbol, and psst- the AKC is a joke and its certification means nothing. Love of the breed my butt.