Startup Fiance

I just would like to take a moment to thank the genius that decided to develop and market a plastic claw that could be used to pick up dog waste, making this yuck-saving device available for the common man. You see, Butterfinger has a major aversion to dog doo-doo. At the old house, especially toward the end of our run, this became less and less of a problem as the grasses grew to about shoulder length, completely hiding the masses of poo. For the past few years I have found myself as the sole poopy patrolwoman, scouring the yard for terds, and disposing of them with nothing more than my bare hand and a double wrapped grocery bag; yeah, I keep it real.

I have always accepted this duty as part of the joys of dog ownership, sometimes wishing constipation upon each of my canine food processing machines, but never really thinking twice before venturing out to take care of business. Butterfinger on the other hand has taken a strict stance against poo retrieval. I can remember one instance, during our visit back to Pennsylvania, that he returned to the house with the dogs after a walk, only to let me know that I needed to bundle up and head out to do some cleanup in the next-door neighbor’s front yard.

Five dogs in the house for a week leads to a lot of fecal material buildup in a yard the size of your typical McDonald’s checkout area. The amounts of brown, material deposits in the yard seem to defy mathematical reasoning, as you would expect for each pound of food a dog eats, a pound of waste would be expelled. Well, I think we need to start researching these dogs and looking into the relationship between energy and waste, because something is not adding up. If I had to do a rough estimation, I would say that for each pound of food one of our dogs ingests, he expels about two pounds of doggy doo. This excess of waste also seems to translate into a higher energy level, and increasingly more so as we approach the summer months – the season when the dogs like to wrestle at sun down.

Today the tables finally turned. This morning Butterfinger took to the yard, with pooper scooper and trash bag lined bucket in hand. As is true to his nature, he did not stop searching for brown gems until the job had reached a perfection unrivaled by even professional yard waste removers. He was out there for a good 30 minutes, yelling twice for a bag replacement – which meant I had to carry the the stinky bag of petrified tootsie rolls over to the cans for disposal. So despite the fact that I was able to get out of actually skill clawing the various piles of number two, I still had to be in contact with it via garbage transport; I will remember that for next week when it is my turn.

So thank you again, Mr. Pooper Scooper man. You have finally made my partner unafraid of collecting dog waste, a feat I had once thought was unattainable, and for which I bestow upon you my highest thanks. Happy Scooping!