ELIMINATION DISCRIMINATION - PART I
copywrite 2008
We all like to walk on clean
trails, woods, beaches and parks. What I would like to know is why doesn’t
the “pick up after you dog” rule apply to humans? Frequently my
dogs and I walk in the woods, and every season they find a pile of human
excrement to relish. No matter what season, spring, summer, winter and
especially fall with hunting season.
Winter use to be a safe haven, because
deep snow would hides the offending mass. Some might say if animals eliminate
in the woods why can’t humans? The difference, wild animals and dogs are
taught to use the outdoors as their “rest area’ while people are “toilet
trained”. Eliminating for dogs is not only a biological function, but
also a form of communication, scent marking and territory setting. As far as I
know this is not a function for human elimination in today’s society. Certainly
we all get caught off guard and the inevitable happens, but I recall being
taught to “bury it”.
It
is infuriating to find my dogs dining on a pile of human poop. The woods
of southern New England are not as remote as they appear, and a toilet is
usually not far away. With a little planning nature’s way can be
addressed before that hunt or hike, or swim, thus the need to go outdoors is
squelched.
Places people choose to go are
astonishing. Such as, behind a rock or maple tree located two steps off a
trail. Put a little effort into it, walk further into the woods, and bury it.
For emergencies, outfit yourself with your own baggy or hand trowel found at
outdoor stores. They sell very nice collapsible trowels. The “poop bag”
stations meant for the dogs could be used for human as well. Why not pack
a personal bag, who is to know the difference if you are tossing human
excrement or canine into the dumpster? Smell up your own car, and not my dog
and her dog mouth.
Human bowl movements rank worst of anything my dogs discover. Who knows what infection
threatens my dog’s (or me, since I have to clean them.) as they wallow in human
poop. Who is to say what plethora of
bacteria, preservatives, and toxins fermenting in that excrement might be harmful?
I
have, not by my own volition, become an aficionado on human stools. At
times I feel it is my super power. I almost feel I am able to identify if a hunter ate sausage and
eggs for breakfast, the hiker tail mix, vegetarians lettuce and tomato, and why
the logger got the runs. I know you all more intimately than I would
like.
Dogs are inherently driven to roll and eat fowl dead, stinking carcasses and
fecal matter. Anyone who owns a dogs can attest to their devouring
kitty truffles, rabbit plops, or better yet snacking on those scrumptious horse
apples, cow, or sheep slop. OH, I can’t leave out bear scat, deer dodo, and
beaver yuck, with its delicate oily fish stench.
What
people don’t realize is that human boombie trail is the prize of them all.
A dog owner is hard pressed to call their pet off a mound or human scrap left
uncovered behind that rock or tree. The woods are not entirely remote and
untaversed, as we might like to believe.
Keep this in mind as you venture
off to relieve yourself. Know that someone’s dog will find your treasure,
and its owner will curse you for being so inconsiderate. Chances are when you see your soiled skivvies, toilet paper, or whatever used to wipe your ass, hanging in a
visible public space, near your area of depository - It was definitely me.
THE INNOCENT
Pearl 4 months old (2009)
Grace 4 months old 2016 (Nash's Grand daughter)
Halo 4 months old 2016 (Nash's Granddaughter)
It
was late one winter afternoon. Snow glistened on sun rays Willow n Nash, and I were out for a walk when
they both disappeared into the woods. Neither dog responded to the call,
which could mean only one thing; they have found something most excellent on
which to dine. My calls
became more irate, and I whistled louder. Finally Willow appeared, and eventually
Nash crept out of the woods with his mouth full. I watched his jaw
munch madly; a recognized behavior to mean one thing. I Could tell by way of
his chomp on the a savory morsel. A frozen bark like mass gradually softened
and became pliable with each chew. As I approached the faster he chewed,
and with one big gulp the clump was gone. I gagged while Nash savored the
last remaining scrap of his delicacy on his taste buds. We continued our walk, and
I made a point to keep the dogs close on the return trip; I failed
miserably. Just over the snow covered stonewall, and a few steps down
into the woods, a glacial bolder. Behind the boulder, left by a human,
two soiled spots stained the once pristine white snow. Willow and Nash
hastened to ravage the area as I scrambled to shoo them away. Nash just would
not leave the spot even as I approached; he burrowed into the snow to find his
prize. Finally, I hauled him away and we went home. During the
drive home Nash sat directly behind the driver seat, all I could hear was the
lick and suck of his tongue and jowls. The sound magnified and ricocheted off
my eardrums. Gag me.
There are a multitude of such incidents,
but the most memorable moment took place when Willow n Nash located a soiled
pair of black underwear. It was during hunting season in the year 2002,
when both dogs disappeared behind a rock. It was our usual hiking area, and
this was normal rodent hunting behavior. I approached and noticed both dogs
focused on a particular area. They did not display their usual hunting body
language, which gave concern. I gagged as I witness a horrifying sight of
the two cleansing a pair of black skivvies.
With a stick, a very long sturdy stick, I picked up the caked
undergarments, dogs trail behind like fish after a lure, and I placed the blob
high in a tree. Every day of that week the dogs managed to get a hold of
the underwear, and each time I tried to relocate it.
Eventually, ground froze and snow fell, all
was covered, and out of sight. Until one day Nash, who was two years old at the
time, came barreling down the hillside with a black, frozen, malformed blob in
his jaws. He was so please with himself. I didn’t realize what it
was at first and asked him to retrieve his treasure. Like a good boy, he
did. With nothing left to do, I had him release the crusty cloth in my
gloved hand, and praise him profusely for his marvelous retrieve.
The
saga continues from one year to the next, and from one generation to the next.
From Willow n Nash, to Pearl, Willow Sunshine and Now, fifteen years after that
marvelous frozen poopy retrieve by Nash, his Granddaughter has been
soiled. Grace - Sweet and innocent
Grace.
The year is 2017. It is hunting season. I
walk with Grace and Halo, Willow’s great granddaughters, and Nash’s
granddaughters, in our favorite
area. Grace disappears long enough for
me to have to call.
“One - one thousand, Two - one thousand,
Three – One thousand…Okay Grace, where you are you?” I said, quietly under my
breath. Halo and I turn around, and retrace our steps. Grace shoots out of the
woods. Her tongue lip smacking her jowls as if she’s emptied a peanut butter
jar.
“What are you eating, Grace?” I said, as she gleefully charges past.
“Grace! Come back here, what is that smell!”
I said, like she’s really cares what I have to say at this point. Her brain cells
are fried.
There! On her brand new collar, and
smeared in her coat, is the tell tail sign of excrement from … you guessed
it! A HUMAN!
“OH, Grace! How could you?” I said, in
dismay. So, it is, and off to the stream
for a rinse. Fortunately there are towels in the car. It was a cold soapy hose
bath when we got home, and the final touch; perfume to disguise the stench. Soiled! Grace been soiled! Halo now remains the Innocent
one.
THE SOILED
Willow
Nash
Pearl
Willow Sunshine
Grace
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