And no, I’m NOT talking about Dr. Darling or Heather Armstrong of Dooce. (Though both she and her dog Chuck would probably appreciate this story.) I’m talking about our house guest, a 4.5 year-old female Weimaraner named Pixel.
We’re keeping her for a couple days while her parents (another American-Swedish couple we know) are in London. I volunteered us for this detail back in early December knowing full-well that Dr. Darling would end up with the bulk of the dog-related duties…but she’s a good sport about such things and besides that, she loves big dogs. Which is a good thing, because Pixel is BIG.
She is also extremely well-behaved and quite considerate … giving us clear signals when she needs to go outside. And taking her out is not nearly the chore it could have been now that we have the code for the touchpad lock on the front door of our building.
Though, not surprisingly, we didn’t get it from our nut-ball landlord or the live-in superintendent. We got it by accident from a party guest of one of our downstairs neighbors. This led me to wonder if rather than none of the tenants getting the code, perhaps we were the ONLY tenants to NOT get the code. But then I walked back from the bus-stop with a neighbor who lives in the other end of the building, and she said that she only managed to get it by accident, too. (During the walk we bonded over what turned out to be a shared disdain of the landlord and Cruella and our mutual plans to move elsewhere ASAP.)
But back to Princess Pixel. She and Dr. Darling have been bonding over her apparently limitless capacity to crap. Seriously, today she dropped no fewer than four loads…and it’s easy to keep count because who ever is walking her at the time has to pick it up and dispose of it properly. (There are small, fixed trash cans all over the place especially for this purpose.) I was at work for dumps 1 – 3, but was walking her together with Dr. D when she suddenly started circling for No. 4.
The Swede was incredulous as Pixel began her “searching for the perfect place to poop” dance.
“She’s already done this three times today and she doesn’t eat all that much! Where is all this shit coming from?”
Evidently Pixel was aware of Dr. Darling’s consternation, because she delivered a steaming pile that left us both hysterical and cursing the fact that we didn’t have the camera with us. Now maybe it was the cold temperature, or maybe it was just the dog’s practiced method of crouching for this task, but she left what was literally a vertical tower of turd emerging from the side of a slightly softer base.
I, of course, had to point out the obvious … that it looked remarkably like an erect penis standing in the snow. To which Dr. Darling said:
“Clearly that one was meant for you.”