Where Bitches Pee

I tend to not be especially PC, as in politically correct. I do recycle with the best of them, but if I am in The State of Washington, where they do not have a bottle bill, and I know I saw a pop can in the bottom of my van’s garbage bag, before someone else, never me of course, filled that garbage up to the brim, with coffee grounds and fishwrappers, I will likely toss the whole thing in the dumpster, not only legal, in Washington, but one whole hell of a lot more efficient, and way less icky.

But this pickin’ up your own dog’s shit sucks. I am committed to not fouling my neighbor's lawns, er, allowing my dogs to do so, and that’s why I am one hell of a stellar citizen, but here’s the deal.

When I was a kid, say, oh, 4 to 17, before I went away to college, I was the chief shit remover in my family. So I get it that people don’t want huge omega clumps of nasty Bull Mastiff feces on their putting green pristine lawns, and neither did my folks, who would dispatch me to my task with a wave, whenever we would see Rover having his way with our turf. “Ric”, my dad would holler, “that damn Frenchy pooped on the parking strip”, and off I would go, trowel in hand. In those days, it was homeowner beware, in lovely Portland, Oregon, in the 1950s, 60s, and later. Those who would take responsibility for their own dogs, well, most of them hadn’t been born yet.

I come by my green thumb honestly, having been the gardener at my folk’s house for much of that time too, and after awhile, one grows to check for dog shit on the lawn before one takes the Toro to it, since, though doo can be smelly and unpleasant to remove, sliced doo is potentially overwhelming. So there I would be, as a ten year-old, already fully capable of breaking down the Briggs-Stratton, on my knees, scraping feces from fescue, before returning with the lawnmower to comply with my parent’s wishes. And even into my adult years, as I began buying houses, it was still the job of the homeowner to remove any doo he might find on his property. Seems like I have spent my entire life removing dog shit.

We have a lovely turn of the century six-plex next to our home, and occasionally I will run into the owner, who shows now and then to do maintenance. His lawn is full of those little brown patches, where bitches pee, burned by the much heavier nitogen content of a female dog’s urine. I am sure it pisses him off. The last time I saw him, walking my teeny tiny dogs, with my bone-shaped doggy doo plastic bag dispenser tethered to my yuppie dog leash handle, one of them shit on his lawn. As I began to fumble for my poop bag, he was quick to remind me, “you’re gonna pick that up, aren’t ya?’. Being responsible for removing your own dog’s shit, is, i think, in all honesty, a very good thing. Still, I almost popped him.

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