My Dog’s Tasty Meal
My dog Daisy (right) and my cat Bastille (left) in 1984.

The first dog that my family had was a little brown mutt named Daisy. I don’t know exactly what he was a mix of. My mom says he was part chihuahua, but he also looked part dachshund. I don’t really have a lot of memories of Daisy, since we had her when I was so young, but I do remember one particularly interesting story which occurred near the end of her life.

My brother and I had a habit of going to the bathroom outside. I believe that this is perfectly natural for little boys, and I have no regrets or shame in doing so. Our backyard was fairly private, not completely, but fairly, so I’d take a pee against the fence, or around the side of the house on occasion. I’d also go to the bathroom in the front yard from time to time. I’d just hide behind one of the trees we had so that any cars driving by wouldn’t notice. Usually, though, if I was going to go to the bathroom outside, it was in the backyard.

In general, going to the bathroom outside consisted only of urination. A ”number two” was almost unheard of, almost. I always figured it would take too long, there wouldn’t be any toilet paper, and there would be more of a risk of being seen. Plus I’d be completely defenseless while squatting. Imagine if someone came by and asked me what I was doing. How would I answer?

I mention the possibility of being seen because my brother was seen by a neighbor, once, while he was taking a pee in our backyard. The neighbor lady called my mom to complain about it. Ironically, my mom later caught one of ”her” kids taking a pee in ”our” backyard. My mom considered calling the neighbor lady to complain about that, but thought better of it.

Well, as I was saying, usually I’d only urinate outside, but one time, I just had to take a dump. Sure, I could have gone inside, but I was a little kid, and I didn’t want to go inside. So I did the only natural thing to do, I stacked up a bunch of old tires, and used them as a toilet. I know, technically it would have been faster to go inside and use the bathroom instead of ”building” a toilet in my backyard, but I wanted to go outside. I wanted to be a wild man.

Well, I had my toilet set up high enough that I could actually sort of bend my body into it, that way no one would see my bum while I was taking care of business. I then did the deed. Since there was nothing to wipe with out there, I went inside to the bathroom to clean up.

With business taken care of, it was time to disassemble my toilet. So I took the tires and rolled them out into the yard. And, of course, there was my fecal matter sitting in the grass. It was a solid log with cookie dough consistency. It was kind of artistic, the brown matter clashing pleasantly with the green grass. I almost wanted to leave it there for the aesthetic. (Okay, I’m going a little overboard, but I wanted to address my tiff with the claim that ”everything is art”.) Realistically, I couldn’t just leave it there, it was gross. I decided to get a shovel and bury it, but before I had the chance Daisy ran up to it, and started eating it.

She was chewing away at it like it was canned dog food. I kept trying to brush her away from it, so I’d have a chance to get a shovel, but as soon as I let go of her, she was back at it. Eventually I gave up and just ran for the shovel. I figured she wouldn’t be able to eat much of it if I hurried. By the time I got back with shovel there was a solid chunk eaten of it. I scooped it up in the shovel none-the-less and started carrying it toward the garden. Daisy just followed me along, all to eager to get more of her meal.
When I set the poo down to dig a little hole, Daisy was right back at it. Chomping the stuff down like it was ice-cream. I mean, you really have to picture how exited my dog was. It was like how when you give a dog human food and they get really excited. Daisy wasn’t starving or anything, we fed her every day. This wasn’t just a meal for Daisy, it was a treat.

I never had the chance to bury it, by the time I had shoveled out a little hole, there wasn’t enough left to bother burying it. Just a brown smear. The meal was eaten. I was worried there was something wrong with Daisy, that she would eat that. I’d never seen her do anything like that before. She was getting kind of old, I thought maybe she was senile, maybe she didn’t know any better. Maybe it just tasted that good.

After that experience I was done taking dumps in the backyard. Never again. Urinating, sure, but a dump, no way. Not outside. Not unless I’m on a camping trip, where the only animals to eat my waste are chipmunks or some other animal that I don’t know, and will never see. Even then, I have a trowel with me so I can bury it right away.