One of the best gifts of dog ownerships is that dogs are endlessly funny, especially for someone with a 3rd grade sense of humor.
While Coco is a bit more of a lady… ie. she’ll go to another room to shit in the house, and she’s not much of a farter… Chachi is all guy. In fact I can hear him licking his wiener LOUDLY and with fervor right now. He doesn’t just lick his asshole, he makes LOVE to it. Then comes to lick your face… and that is exactly what it smells like.
Chachi is all boy. He smells. He sweats from his walks and stinks. He shamelessly farts in your face without raising his head. His farts singe nose hairs and remind you of pizza toppings mixed with raw sewage. You often wonder if it was a shart.
However, Chachi’s coup de gras is outside on the leash. Not content to merely curve his back in a half-embarrassed-but-this-is-what-a-dog-has-to-do-shrug on the grassy side of the sidewalk… NAY… Chachi is an ARTISTE… and his medium is poop.
I was first struck with laughter when Chachi did his signature move… which is to lift his leg to pee… and WHILE STILL PEEING… starting a log… when it gets about halfway pinched, he does a quick half pirouette into the traditional doggie pooping position. The first sight of this technique is shocking… you think, oh, he’s just lifting his leg, going number 1… and he surprises his audience midstream. It will cause a “Stop walking!!!” A quick tug on the leash of Coco to keep her from walking into the artist’s zone.
There is also the matter of stench… Chachi’s Batista bombs will clear a 6 by 6 feet area. Even when sealed in a bag you do not want to be downwind from it. I often stick my nose into my own sleeve to not smell it. And those of you going… WHAT IS HE EATING?! It doesn’t matter. Coco is eating the same thing and… it’s ain’t like her shit don’t stink… but her shit don’t STANK.
(For the record… they eat Natural Balance small bites in the morning, and a homemade chicken and brown rice dish with sweet potatoes, spinach, and carrots in the evening. Not even lying)
Then there is the issue of what is the perfect canvas for his art… sometimes it is a hole in a bush. sometimes it is a leaf suspended mid-air. A tree trunk. Atop of another, much much much larger dog’s poop. The middle of the sidewalk. In front of the guy waiting for the para-transit. In the lawn of the guy going to his driveway. If it is uncomfortable, it is Chachi.
I’ve come to understand it is his form of expression, and I try not to laugh. More than once I have started into ULS… thus startling him enough to stop pooping and be confused going back to his walk.
Actual responses to Chachi poops:
- Woah…. what the hell? (This was an upside down smiley face on the base of a tree trunk)
- Soft serve. That looks like a dairy queen cone.
- I think he just tried to make a “C”
- Is that a Charleston Chew? (This was a long, straight line across a lawn… it looked like the super long charleston chews… or maybe a cow poke)
So, the other night Mark had a hissy fit over pickle juice… and in the midst of his angst, I decide to take the dogs for a walk by myself… Mark stated he was coming, and I said not to bother, that I wanted to walk them by myself.
Headed off in a huff, I tried to get down the street as fast as I could, in case Mark didn’t listen to me and tried to come along. Lo and behold, a block and a half down, I heard footsteps behind me… and on the OTHER side of the street is Mark, carrying his day old Jamba Juice. (Or should I say Jew-se). This was funny to me, that he was on the OTHER side of the street… as if he were just out for a walk himself… not trying to walk with us.
Which he was. Obviously. I made some comment about Mark never listening to me, and handed him Chachi’s leash. I was laughing about him carrying and drinking the old jamba juice, so it was all fine.
Chachi did a big, but somewhat normal poop for him… I illuminated it in the dark with my flashlight so Mark could pick it up. Mark asked for my ALREADY USED WITH COCO POOP bag. He always does this (Happy Rosh Hashana, Mark!)… to me, as much as an environmentalist as I am (which isn’t much beyond recycling and such, really), reusing a poop bag???? No thanks. That two cent savings is NOT worth the risk.
But, hey… it’s Mark’s hand, not mine… if he wants to play with poop fire, go for it. I kept the flashlight on the poop as he tried to maneuver it… I said… “It’s too big! Use a new bag!” as he fumbled a little bit… and said… “You don’t need to shine a spotlight on it!!!!!!”
So I turn off my flashlight, he wraps up, and we continue on our walk.
Ugh. Chachi poop! It stinks, I say!
Then I notice Mark is holding the leash funny… like, only holding half the leash. Because there is poop smeared like peanut butter on the other half of the leash.
When all was said and done Mark got poop on the leash, his hands, all over his shorts, his tee shirt, and the top of his shoe. It required the hose and me pointing it all out with hysterical laughter.
Poor Chachi, the gift that just keeps on giving.
