(Thanks for letting me know that WordPress or maybe the rabbits ate my original post. Thankfully, I had e-mailed a copy to my friend Beanie whose eagle eye catches my errors, so I was able to retrieve it from an e-mail. I could be blaming the wrong parties, however. You know my dog’s fondness for eating poop and that is, after all, the subject at hand here.)
A holistic pet food store opened in our neighborhood last year.
We have always bought our cocker spaniel’s food from the vet: a high fiber, diet food that makes her the crapping-est canine in the county. One day, however, I wandered in to the pet food store to see if they carry Pill Pockets and yes, they did. Pill Pockets are a mainstay at our house, although I can’t tell you how much it vexes me to have to buy them. Is it logical for a dog to refuse to eat chewable pills, but eat her own poop? We have to hide the chewables in Pill Pockets. She’d eat nails in those suckers. I’d like to be the one to invent something similar for humans.
I suppose I mentioned all this the pet store owner in my usual “I’m getting older and I babble to strangers” way, because he informed me that he could solve her fetid fetish.
Hah! Veterinarians in more than one city have tried and failed. But, as his zeal in promoting his store products matched Harold Camping in preaching fervor. I was so enraptured, I agreed to give his food a try.
The first time, he started her on a senior dogfood. As some of you have told me, he explained that dog poop still has some minerals in it and that’s what Miss Piggy was after– trying to satisfy a diet deficiency. I think she simply has a taste for sh-t. The food he recommended was supposed to be more completely digestible and thus, solve the problem.
We gave it a try, but after two bags of the recommended food, we noticed no improvement. Miss Piggy still dined on doodoo.
Let me stop here to point out that this is not something that happens now and then. She patrols the yard, ignoring the crazy wabbits and the damnsquirrels, interested only in whatever droppings may be on the menu. She even tries to bring it inside, like a normal dog would do with a bone. Whenever she comes to the back door for reentry with her jaws locked firmly, I know she has a snack packed inside her cheeks.
“Drop it,” means nothing to her. I could go in after it, but honestly, I just leave her outside while I go to the bathroom to gag.
In fairness, she is a pig about ‘most everything, completely obsessed with food. For instance, when Dearly Beloved took the little pigster for a walk yesterday, he gave me the The Poop Report when he returned. “TWO GIANT ONES,” he said, shaking his head…“and they had corn in them.”
We had corn some nights ago and I buried the corn cobs in the compost pile. She must have excavated them. (Dearly Beloved said he thought it looked familiar.)
The pet store guy’s next suggestion was a product containing venison and sweet potatoes. I resisted that one. It wasn’t so much eating Bambi as the sweet potatoes that made me nervous. Don’t they sometimes cause gas? We’re already afraid to light candles around her.
We moved on to the next recommendation on the list: a synergistic diet, whatever that is. It’s supposed to result in “superior stool quality.” If all goes well, we could be the envy of the neighborhood: an A+ in pooch poop.
I asked DB to tell me when he realized he was picking up superior poop. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to know.
According to the information printed on the back, we’ll get “lower stool volume and less backyard clean up.”
We eased her into the new diet–half the synergistic, half the kind she’d been eating. Last night was the first meal with only synergistic. How soon could we expect the miracle? I could hardly wait to hear how things went when Dearly Beloved took her for their morning constitutional ….
Baa, baa, Bag Man, were there any poops?
This morning, Merrily, three bags I scooped.
We’re still hopeful. I can imagine our jubilation. We’ll celebrate: high fives and sh-t eating grins.