The dog and I have our every-other-morning walk routine. It generally involves a couple of spins around the leafy and grassy area out front until she deposits a steaming pile of poo in the grass. When I say grassy area I mean a few square feet of curbside grass stretching along one of the busiest streets in Brussels. Inevitably, it’s raining (yes, you can picture that whenever you picture anything I write here-again, Brussels!).
Fancy Paws is what I like to call the main event of the morning walk, when Scapi balances herself, paw in front of paw, along tiny European curbsides and the minuscule deltas between rain rivulets. She can trot along on her half-pads like this for the whole walk just to keep her precious toes from getting mildly muddy. If somebody could make it rain in a tent, she’d be a great circus act. When it’s time to poo, Fancy Paws gets down to business. Scapi balances all four paws on the curb closest to the street, sticks her nose out into oncoming traffic while dropping her load in the grass behind. It’s just not as exciting to take a crap if twenty hubcaps don’t go by three inches from her nose while mom tugs on the leash and yelps nervously at every green light until the deed is done. I like to call this EXTREME SHITTING. It’s like those ironing people… only… you know, with dogs and shit.
Lately, though, there has been a third act added to the Cirque du Fancy Paws. It has involved a little obsession with the bushes. The dog who refuses to moisten her foothairs has been gleefully dragging me over to the bushes that border the grassy-area. There, she runs full power under the bushes as far as her leash will take her, whipping the branches sideways and upwards as she runs and soaking me with the ensuing waterfall. Why, dog, why? She, too, comes out soaked from nose to tail and - what’s this!? - quite pleased with herself?
I kept wondering why this sudden change in my dog? Why this sudden willingness to come into contact with water? Sweet puppy! Finally, she enjoys playing in the rain! Finally, something dog-like about my dog!
So one day, when I could see that this was a habit that would stick… one day, after a gleeful romp under the bushes, I laughed - “Bwah ha, owners of dogs who chase sticks! Bwah ha, owners of dogs who wrestle and tussle with other friendly dogs! See how my dog too can be … dog-ish! … Whatever, just see!”.
Then, I came inside and went to lovingly hug my Scapi. And that’s when it dawned on me. This obsession with bush… it was really an obsession with penis. Actually, what dawned on me was the horrible smell of dog-piss. My dog, you see, had been using the rain + bush to = wash all the boy-dog pee onto her hairy body. That’s right, people. My dog was PERFUMING herself with PISS from the bushes. And then I remembered how after these bush-romps my dog had been enjoying jumping up onto my bed.
Now we call Act III of the Cirque “Le Tug-o-war”. Scapi tugs me towards the bushes, and I yank her back towards the curb.
Ahhh, well. At least one of us has learned to enjoy the rain.
