Let Pooping Dogs Lie

Bluffton Today Column
November 11, 2009

“Pet owners are to have their dogs urinate / defecate in their own lawns prior to taking them for walks. If you cannot control the animal from urinating/defecting while being taken for a walk, then you need to find another place to walk your dog.”

This quote is taken from a recent update sent out by my Property Owners Association. Pardon the pun, but I expect that this may insight a $hit storm.

Let me shed a little light on how dog walking works.

The moment I lace up my sneakers my dog, Darby, begins spinning in maniacal circles. He knows that we are going for a walk. When I open the closet door and reach for the leash, the spinning is joined by jumping and an audible increase in breathing rhythm. So now I have a spinning, jumping, out of breathe dog who if he was a little smarter would realize that we can’t go for a walk until I put on his leash. And, I can’t get the leash on while he is spinning and jumping.

Eventually good sense kicks in and I am able to get the leash around his neck and us out the back door. Where we pit stop in our yard for the first “go”. I hope the POA is watching!

Then, we begin our trek through the neighborhood to the main entrance. Now, because Darby is a dog he does stop at almost every mailbox to take a sniff, each stop sign to take a whiff, and every fire hydrant to take a … well, you get it. In some instances he is marking his territory and in others checking out an already pre-marked locale. I think it is because he is a dog!

Once on McCracken Circle we get moving at a pretty good clip. And undoubtedly each time I hit my stride, Darby hits a mandatory pit-stop and practically separates my shoulder. Again, I think it is because he is a dog.

Believe me I am the first one to complain when I see a steaming pile of poop that someone didn’t scoop. But, I do think the POA needs to be a little more realistic. It isn’t as easy to control a dog’s bathroom habits as they may think.

So, I pose this scenario to Mr. POA. Imagine you just had a huge Mexican dinner. Beer, tacos, salsa, hot sauce, re-fried beans. About half way home you start to feel the rumble in the tumble. You park the car haphazardly in the driveway, fumble with the keys, and race through the front door only to find that your wife is in the bathroom. You dance around outside the bathroom door, holding “it” in agony pleading with your wife to hurry.

And, she says, “honey can’t you hold it just a little bit longer?”

Better yet, she comes out of the bathroom, ties a leash around your neck and tries to drag you to somewhere that she deems better for doing your business.

I don’t know about you, but I’d bite your wife and bust through the bathroom door. When you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go.