A Novel Attempt

Savvy is not a dainty doggy.  Her tail alone shames Godzilla, so when it comes to describing the destructive force that is the Savvy-copter, “giver of life” and “builder of homes” do not spring to mind.

And yet she is–through the incredible power of her stinky poo.

We live in a condo so our “backyard” is really a shared green.  Savvy loves chillin on the deck, but she loves lounging in the grass even more.  So I have one of those crazy reinforced steel cables that I attach to the indestructible pine pillars (after she bent the metal stake that was designed for up to 120pds of disgruntled doggie, I checked with the Homeowners Association to make sure the pine was truly indestructible for anything weighing less than an elephant) that enables her to roam around along the outside of our deck without risking her running off after a rabbit.  (As a note for my PETA friends, she is supervised while on the tether and the cable is less than 15′, which is no longer than a retractable lead).  She usually spends about 30-45 minutes browsing the lush blades of greenery, checking the rain gutter to make sure the chipmunk she terrified weeks ago has not returned, and just meditating the scent of pine needles strewn around the shrubs.  When she is sufficiently satisfied that all is well, she marks a few spots. . .and takes a monumental dump.

I always pick up after Savvy. Always, always, ALWAYS.  But in instances like this it may be just a few minutes until I do because I’ll first take her off her tether so she can come back up on the porch and will sometimes let her in the house if she sits at the door because that means she’s hot and wants to go into her crate for a nap.  Savvy was hot and wanted a nap today, so her poo remained uncollected for several minutes while I took Savvy in, settled her down, and gave her an ice cube to nom before sleepy time.

When I finally returned to the poop, a bright pink bag pulled up to my elbow like a surgeon’s glove, the targeted sample was already being collected.  Flies fled before I’d even crouched down to reach the brown lump, but those cowards weren’t a surprise.  The two wolf spiders, however, were.

I’m not a fan of spiders.  They skitter right below ticks and just above crickets on my list of the top three most disgusting creepy crawlies.  Two within springing distance (they jump!  I swear!) gives me the heebie jeebies.  And yet I couldn’t pull away!  I just sat there and watched, holding my breath–partially because of the smell, but also because I didn’t want Spider Bob and Spider Edna to notice me.

The flies quickly returned, greedily trying to lay a few more eggs.  A particularly fat one with shiny reddish eyes stuttered its way towards Spider Bob.  Poor fly didn’t even see it coming, and I didn’t really see Spider Bob going, which elicited a squeal and some brisk omg-get-it-off-me shivers, but Spider Bob was apparently happy with just one victim.  Spider Edna was still waiting patiently for her meal, but I had reached my limit of creepies for the day.  I blew a gust of breath in her general direction and she disappeared.

Picking up such a pile of poo is a two-handed job, so I was forced to make myself vulnerable by sheathing both arms elbow-deep in the pink plastic.  The feat usually takes two passes, but I almost dropped the entire load when I got my second surprise of the day: a genuine dung beetle stared up at me from the stinking filth, his shiny carapace mottled by the processed remains of Savvy’s breakfast.  His mouthparts were circling furiously.  I think he was chewing.

Ew.

“Seriously?!”  I queried aloud.  Mr. Dookie Beetle seemed to shrug as he bent back to the sticky remnants.

I poked him off with a stick and retrieved the last bites, er, bits.  Next time Savvy wants a nap, she’s gonna have to wait.  I can’t trust Mother Nature to leave off the poo.