Dog Stories part 2

We have six children.  Sometimes when someone learns that we have six kids they will make some comment like – what else do you do for entertainment, or ask a question like – why do you have six kids?  Having been asked many times over the years I developed a few favorite responses, one of which I have borrowed from Bill Cosby – because we didn’t want seven. 

Our sixth child is our fifth son, Samuel.  One of the advantages of having five older siblings can be that you acquire the ability to think on your feet.   In some cases it might be a survival instinct, but for Sam it has resulted in a quick wit and well developed sense of humor.  I don’t know if this is true of all later born children but Sam seems to have an insatiable curiosity combined with a very high gross out level.  This means that Sam will pick up anything – living or dead – to examine it, smell it, evaluate it, and sometimes stuff it in his pockets.  Leaves, rocks, bugs, feathers, toads, a dead mouse have all come under Sam’s scrutiny.  

Rita was my brother’s dog.  She was a mutt.  She looked like she had some Beagle in her but her legs were longer, proportionately, and her snout was slimmer and she was smaller than a Beagle.  She was mostly white with the familiar liver colored patches.  She was a great dog.  She even met all of my mother's requirements for a good dog.  I asked her once when she was about 80 years old, what kind of dog she liked and she said she only had three things she wanted in a dog.  One was "nothing hanging down" which eliminated boy dogs.  Second she said, "no drooling - I don't like loose lips and a lot of slobber.  I can't stand that."  "And the third thing?" I asked. "I don't want anything shining at me from the other end."  Enough said.  So Rita was okay by Mom.  She was friendly and patient and could do a few tricks and was never snippy with kids.  Sam loved her.

It was Christmas week of 2006 and my mother and father were coming to spend the holiday with us and they were bringing Rita with them.  My brother and his wife were going to Brazil for Christmas and my parents were taking care of Rita.  When Sam found out that Rita was coming he was thrilled.  He was already happy that Grandpa and Grandma were coming, but Rita was icing on his Christmas cake.

The evening finally arrived and Grandma and Grandpa came in with Rita and after a round of hugs, Sam attempted to play with Rita.  Of course Sam’s idea of playing was to follow her around and try to pet her, pull her tail or her ears, lay on her, hug her, etc., all of which Rita normally tolerated very well, but this time she seemed a little anxious about something when Grandpa said, “I think she needs to go out and do her business, Sam.”  Sam got a very concerned look on his face and said to Grandpa “make sure she doesn’t eat any poop, remember what happened last time.”

Okay a little digression here for sake of explanation.  Sam at the time was five years old.  The previous summer our second son David had graduated from high school and his graduation party was in our back yard.  We have a large two acre lot surrounded by woods and a creek bordering the back property line.  For the party we set up a large tented eating area, some volleyball nets and a music system.  The weather was perfect and everyone had a wonderful time.  Our dog Sadie, an eight year old black lab with a perfect temperament, and Rita, were the only two pets invited to the party.  They were both getting lots of attention and an occasional snack.  Rita was getting a lot of attention from Sam, who had appointed himself her personal guardian, when something alarmed him.  He started yelling at Rita, “STOP! STOP!” Uncle John, tell Rita to stop.”  We looked over at Sam who had his arms around Rita’s shoulders pulling back as hard as he could, while Rita was lunging forward digging in for all she was worth, her snout in the grass.  My brother started walking toward the two of them and said, “What’s she doing Sam?”  “SHE’S EATING POOP!” he shouted, voicing great concern for Rita’s health and well- being.  Admittedly five year old boys do not know much, but Sam was sure he knew that this was not good.

The technical name for what Rita was doing is coprophagy.  Why dogs do it is not really clear.  Some experts think it’s because the undigested parts of the feces provide some nutritional value, especially cat feces which, because of their diet, tends to be higher in fat and protein content.  On the other hand some dog behavior is just inexplicable.  Like the time I saw a well-bred German Shepherd rolling around in a raccoon carcass in the middle of the street.  I can only imagine his family’s dismay when he arrived home wearing his new found aroma.

It’s easy to be repulsed by this sort of canine behavior, but we might be casting stones at ourselves.  According to Saint Peter those who know the truth and abandon it, are like dogs returning to their own vomit or pigs wallowing in the mire. 

Now if a five year old boy has been paying any attention at all in his short time on earth, he has learned that some behavior is highly questionable, and this certainly fit that category.  So he clung to Rita with all his might and called his uncle for reinforcements.  And while Sam could not pull Rita away, one stern word from my brother –“RITA, QUIT!” made her slink back and assume the subservient position -rolling on her back, her legs in the air, tail half-wagging, hopefully looking up as her master approached and then one playful rub of her belly from my brother and she bounced to her feet and followed him away from the danger.  Sam looked relieved and a little tired as he let out a little boy sigh and then followed after Rita and his uncle, and as brief as it was the whole thing had left quite an impression on Sam.

So when Grandpa told Sam that he was taking Rita outside to do her business, Sam felt a moral obligation to remind Grandpa of the previous summer’s misbehavior and save Rita from repeating the transgression.  “Don’t let her eat any poop Grandpa” Sam warned, adding “Remember what happened last time.”

Grandpa was taken aback – he had forgotten the incident and didn’t care to be reminded, and said rather gruffly “Sam, some things are better left unsaid.”  To which an un-phased Sam responded “Yeah Grandpa and some things are better left on the ground.”