We got a dog, a five-month old American Pit Bull Terrier puppy. I won’t get into the misguided belief that every Pit Bull is a mindless killing machine that only hungers for the intestines of small children. Or, well, I suppose I just did.
This is just a short note to express my profound distaste for this dog’s pooping habits. Peeing, he could go either way. Inside, outside, doesn’t matter to him. Wherever he’s standing when the mood strikes him is where he’s going. Pooping, however, is a different issue entirely.
Rufus (that’s his name) literally prefers pooping inside the house, for some esoteric canine reason. I take him outside and we stand in a field together waiting for something to happen. He snuffles around and occasionally sits down out of boredom. I can tell he has to poop. He paces around, as if to say, “Could you hurry this up, so I can go inside the house and poop?”
All of this is compounded by the fact that Rufus hates going outside. And I don’t mean pooping or peeing, anymore; I mean that he actually hates leaving the house. Whoever heard of a dog that hated the outdoors? The leash is like a harbinger of doom, to him. If I can coax him out the door, he stands at the top of the stairs and frowns at me. Sometimes I have to pick him up and put him down in the grass, where he immediately moves for the stairs to go back inside. After I refuse to take him inside, he fixes me with a stare that says, “You leave me no choice. Look, now I have to poop ouside. Is that what you want? Is it?“
As a matter of fact, it is, but I don’t speak dog. We both speak Dogtreatese, however.
