POOP PATROL

I am not writing about husband tonight because the poor dear is just exhausted from sitting all day talking to our guests. There was that half hour that he had to move his chair over near the BBQ while cooking the chicken but he is recovering in his recliner in front of the TV so we don't want to pick on him.

Instead we will discuss the great perplexity of POOP !

Being a grandma has many, many perks, not the least of which is knowing how to change a diaper. Or so you would think! Back in the dark ages of the 70's there was the problem of deciding on cloth diapers with accompanying rubber pants or those new fangled disposable things. The cloth diapers held the challenge of not stabbing your child to death with a diaper pin that was the size of a football, but those disposable things were just too new to trust. Then once we realized the NEW diapers were trustworthy enough to touch the bottoms of our children we had to learn a totally new skill. Getting the diaper on the baby, pealing the tape off the side of the diaper and getting it around to the front in one deft movement before the baby got the tape stuck to it's head or your arm. This tape was so sticky it stuck to everything it touched, except the diaper. Many a child of the seventies was seen with duct tape holding his diaper together because the tape from his diaper was stuck to the changing table for life. Now a days the challenge of diapering my grand children is DOES ELMO GO IN THE FRONT OR IN THE BACK? Diapers have come a long way but that is not the topic of the night.

Rather . . . The fine art of Pooper Scooping is what I would like to talk about. It seems that this past week I have picked up more than my share of DOG POOP ! This disgusting task is all part of dog sitting our neighbor's dog for 3 weeks. (WTF was I thinking?) Don't get me wrong, I love dogs. I had dogs as a kid but NEVER did I have to follow the dog around with a plastic bag. When the dog pooped in the yard my father would head outside each Sunday with his creation of a long stick with a tin can nailed on the end and with this "scooper" and a small rake he would walk around our massive 20'X20' back yard and collect all the deposits. He would then toss these droppings over the fence into the empty lot next door and that would be that! (Thinking back on it, my friends and I played in that empty lot all the time and never thought twice about what was under those leaves and brush.) If, for some reason, we walked the dog and it went in the street that's where the deposit would stay. Cars and rain would remove the poop and everyone was happy.

But now we live in a "CLEAN" environment and must pick up after our pets. I understand that, but this particular dog poops about 20 times a day. I don't know what is in it's dog food but I swear if we could find a use for poop this dogs owners would be millionaires. All the dog does is sleep and poop. (Not too unlike Husband but at least he is potty trained.) Dog, on the other hand, wakes up, walks out the front door and poops. If you take her for a walk she poops. If you walk out to the mail box and she follows you, she poops. And guess who gets to pick it all up!? It is a disgusting task and now that I am finishing writing this I am going to go out to the garage to go through the recycle bin to find myself a tin can and a stick.

And all this has just answered the age old question of . . . "What is better, a dog or a cat?" The cats have to take it hands down because they are smart enough to learn to poop in a box.

Wet Dog

No, this is not another story about Ger. This blog is about my Grand "Puppy", Mookie. Mokie is a wonderful Chow mix mutt that belongs to my youngest son, Kent and his wife Kristen. Mookie has been with Kent since Kent's days of living in Baltimore, just out of college, working at a crappy job, living from hand to mouth. Kent got Mookie as a puppy sometime around 2001-2002. I never will know the real story of how Mookie got into the family because at the time Kent was sharing a 3 story building with a bunch of other guys, all of which drank a lot of beer and were all trying to find their path in life. Mookie and her sibling, Snickers, arrived into that house and it is a wonder the poor dog is not brain damaged because of all the beer she drank at a young age. We have no idea what ever happened to Snickers, I shudder to think about it, but Kent moved out rather soon after and he and Mookie have been best buds ever since. As a puppy she was a tiny ball of fuzz. Now she is a BIG ball of fuzz who LOVES to come to Grandma's. She was my first grand(child) and will always be a favorite. Since she lives only 45 minutes away we do get to see her more often than the other grand daughters who are in England and Maryland. When Mookie comes to Grandma's the order of the day is BALL !! BALL !! BALL !!! If I had a nickel for all the tennis balls we have gone through in the past 5 years I would be rich ! We have an enclosed back yard with a pool in it. Mookie loves to come up here and play ball in the back yard. We have to be careful that she doesn't tear up her feet on the cement around the pool but she does love to run and catch the ball. As soon as she arrives here she charges into the garage room to find her basket with the tennis balls in it. For some stupid reason on my part I keep buying chewie bones of all sorts which Mookie NEVER chews on. Instead she noses them aside and grabs a BALL. Then it is out into the back yard to play. Her favorite is when you throw the ball into the pool, just near the edge. She leans way over and grabs it with her teeth and back to you for another throw. Quite often our aim is off and the ball lands in the middle of the pool. That's when she stands on the edge and alternates between barking at the ball and looking at you with those big sad eyes. You see, Mookie DOES NOT swim ! No way, no how, NEVER ! She will lay on the top step of the pool and cool her belly and feet but that is as far as she will go. Every so often she tips over when reaching for the ball and in she goes. I have never seen a more frantic animal in my life. She totally panics and has no idea how to swim or climb out. Whoever is the poor sucker who is playing with her at the time has to go in and rescue this poor thing. I thought all animals were natural swimmers . . . Not this dog. Kent has tried carrying her into the pool with hopes of teaching her to swim or at least giving her the idea that she can paddle to safety. These ventures have resulted in Kent receiving wounds across 50% of his body. Picture a 40 pound dog trying to climb her way onto your shoulders and head. It's not a pretty sight!
So Mook is here for the weekend while "mom & dad" are away and grandma and grandpa have been playing ball since noon on Friday. I think we have finally tired the dog out because she has stopped following us with a tennis ball in her mouth. I caught her napping on the couch before and snuck up next to her and dropped the ball on her head. She just opened one eye and looked at me like I was the crazy one.
Oh, by the way . . . our son Kent is a HUGE NY Met's fan, thus the name of the dog . . . Mookie Wilson. Heaven help us when Kent's son is born. We may end up with another Mookie or Daryl or some other NY Mets' player's name.