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Auckland, North Island, New Zealand
Wine tour operator, wine writer and lapsed physiotherapist. "Nature abhors a vacuum. I personally hate dusting."


Monday, January 17, 2011

Dog Shit Happens

Dog poop is part of the deal when you have a dog. And the amount of poop is proportional to the size of the dog. I have had three Labs in my life in a row and I can tell you the Black Lab, because of his voracious appetite, is a veritable poo factory – producing an endless variety of freeform sculptures of diverse consistency and colour.

Yesterday I was pottering around in the garden – bringing in the tools I had been previously using to get them out of the rain.

Then the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” I yelled, as I sprinted in a sad 54 year-old sprinterly fashion, back into the kitchen, across the dining room, down the stairs, across the lobby and opened the door to the nice Asian courier man. He had some food tour goodies I ordered, and I scribbled on his computery tablet thing to signify acceptance and then he left.

Twas then I realised that I could smell fresh dog poop. Very fresh. That cloying sweet/foul/ nauseating unmistakeable dog poo odour. Yep – I had plonked my right shoe squarely in a large Jaspoo on sprinting from the garden and had tracked it all through the house to the front door in a one-legged right foot fashion.

So – back to the old poo cleanup regime: bucket of warm water with wool fabric mix, old towels. Wet, brush, blot, wipe, repeat ..

However, when I went into the garage to store the wine tour goodies, I discovered that I had previously left my keys in there.

It then dawned on me that this poo has a silver lining.  Had I not, answered the door, and then been required to clean up the poo trail, I would not have found my keys parked in an odd place – and would quite likely driven myself mad trying to find the lost keys once I realised they were missing.

Thanks Jasper.

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