Thursday, April 16, 2009

The Dog Who Cried Poop.

I find that some people don't appreciate when I make comparisons between children (especially small babies) and dogs, but the similarities are striking, people. I have, on multiple occasions, mistaken a kid's toy for a dog toy and vice versa. It's just a lot of squeaky rubber and plastic. I once picked up a dirty stuffed toy off the ground and handed it to my cousin's child just as she said "that's a dog toy". In hindsight, it made sense...I wouldn't have given that thing to my child either, but who am I to judge other people's parenting.

Vintage Indy photo...but one of my favorites.

Indy is a smart dog...very smart....too smart. But he's limited to his good looks and sparkling personality because he's always going to be stunted at the developmental level of a 3 year old with a learning disability. That's the real difference between babies and dogs (ok. I know, there's other one has hair and the other doesn't...blah blah blah)- one has the capacity to continue to learn things like human language and emotional development. 

One of the many reasons I wish I could talk to Indy (other than asking him what is so damn tasty about my socks) is that I would like to read him the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf. I think it would benefit him tremendously and open up the lines of communication and understanding between the species. That way I could tell him that barking at the dog being pushed in a little red wagon is NOT the same as eating the face off of a hostile intruder and if he continues to growl when he sees a possum running across the back fence I'm going to ignore the time when our flat screen is being hauled out the door by meth heads in ski masks. 

That story would also get the message across that when we go on our walks he can't just stop and look at me with those big brown puppy dog eyes as if to say "mom. i'm seriously going to crap on the sidewalk if you don't stop" only to sniff the grass and claim that tree as his own.  

On our walk last night I tried to put my foot down and not let him stop every few houses, but far be it from me to keep a man from doing his business. (Sometimes I even bring a magazine in case he needs help)  So I stop, make him sit, then say "ok" and release him. Sometimes he even pretends to circle around finding the right spot or fake pops a squat... but then lowers his head to sniff or lifts his leg and declares that INDY WAS HERE. "Hurray! Squeaked one in past mom!" 

I'm telling you...this dog is not stupid..... Every night I grab a bedtime biscuit and open the back slider for Indy. I say "go outside and go potty". He knows he's supposed to go to the grass and pee before he can get his biscuit...but lately he's been bolting outside, barely touching the grass and then immediately turning tail (hehe) and making a bee line for the door like he's doing line drills.

"What's the problem now?"

And see! You didn't even have to wait until I had kids to get a blog post about poo. How awesome for you. 

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