So it is about six o’clock and my two doggies are getting restless. There is a small elementary school about a block away and we take the boys there to run in the large fields. Best on the weekends, but after school, it is an awesome dog run.
I love watching the two knuckleheads running full blast in every direction.
So all of a sudden Bruiser decides he has to do #2.
He squats down in the I’m-getting-ready-to-leave-my-luggage type of squat and I look over at him.
He looks right into my eyes as if to say This is a bit of an embarrassment to have you watching me while I go to the bathroom.
So I pretend to be interesting in something to my right and when I turn back, Bruiser has locked eyes with me again as if to say I would appreciate it if you turned away.
So I look to my left at something imaginary and turn my head back and who is locking eyes with me once again?
He gave me a look that was unmistakable in its meaning. He was saying Three times? What is your fascination here?
Murphy’s thing is angles. He cannot “do his duty” on a flat surface. He has to be on an angled hillside, or straddling a bush or plant. He also doesn’t care for an audience when he is doing his thing.
I am a bad dog owner because unlike the Domestic Despot, I do not pick up after my dogs when I walk them. I try to take them to places where no one would notice like Metroparks, off the trails, and of course avoiding the athletic fields.
But back in Arizona, we lived in a tract home, so we had to walk them on sidewalks, weather permitting.
I also carried another “prop.” One of those little doggie bags (and I’m not talking about restaurant doggie bags). If it was in the daytime and I knew there was a possibility of being spotted, I carried a bag unfurled for all to see as I followed my dogs. If they were to “leave their luggage,” I would look around, and if necessary, I would ACT like I was picking up their deposits.
Karen has given me so much grief for that over the years.
I would walk the dogs (not on a leash like you are supposed to), but I held their leashes in my hand in case they ran up to anyone I could shake my head, hold up the leashes, and act flustered.
You know, I really cannot blame my boys for wanting their privacy. After all, I absolutely HATE anyone watching me in the bathroom while I am “laying my luggage.”