Originally from May, 2008.
We recently acquired a new dog - a 1-year-old female White German Shepherd named Ilse. We figured she would be a good companion for our current dog, Sage, a Siberian Husky mix.
The first thing we noticed about Ilse is that she consumed a great deal of food. With Sage, we could just leave the food out all day, in his bowl, and he would graze whenever he felt the need. Ilse, however, ate like she had been starved for a fortnight, and would never eat again. She attacked her bowl of food like Godzilla attacked Tokyo. I'm surprised we didn't see flames and an overturned Tonka truck.
Ilse came to us about 10 pounds underweight, so one of our first priorities was to get her filled out. We increased her intake to 6 - 7 cups a day of food. Of course, it had one undesirable side-affect. The amount of poop in our back yard quadrupled.
Sage, not a voracious eater, left maybe 1 pile a day in the backyard, as he preferred to wait until I got home from work and go on a walk, so he could do his business somewhere else other than his play area. Ilse, however, has no compunction about going where she pleased, as much as she wanted. Another thing about how she did her business was also a curiosity. She couldn't stand (squat) still and do her thing all in one pile. She would drop a line, walk forward a little bit, drop another, walk forward, etc. So, to pick up after her, it was like ET following a trail of Reese's Pieces. Well, maybe a trail of fun-sized Snicker bars.
With Sage, I would go through maybe a single grocery sack in a week's time, and put it in the trash Monday morning. But, if I forgot, I could keep the same bag on the pickup device and use it for another week. I found, however, with Sage, plus Ilse, that I would use about a bag a day. And, I had to be extra vigilant. For awhile Ilse was her own best clean-up crew. This meant that as it passed through her system again, and out the other side, that it seemed to be even more noxious smelling. So I would be out at night, with a Mag-Light, making sure that I missed nary a pile (and got her on a product called "Deter").
My requirements for disposal changed as well. I couldn't continue keeping the bag on for a few days, let alone an entire week, so I started tossing the bag into a trash-can I had on the back porch. It had a 55-gallon lawn and leaf bag inside, held in with a giant rubber band around the top. It was quick, convenient, and I could swap-out grocery bags each day.
Well, after 1 week, I figured I hadn't really filled up that much of the 55 gallon bag, and it would be a waste to throw away a mostly-unused heavy duty garbage sack, so I left it for another week. I like to be environmentally-conscious. Well, it rained a little that week, and I'm pretty sure that although I have a covered porch, the sides are not walled in, and some rain water got into the bag. Week 2 came and went, and although you didn't want to get too close to the garbage can if you didn't have to, the neighbors hadn't started complaining, so I figured it was good for another week. Week 3 was hot, and rainy, and the grocery bags really started piling up. I thought, "I better get that out to the curb come Monday morning."
Well, Monday trash day came and went, and it wasn't until I walked out Monday after work (for cleanup) that the smell really hit me, and I realized that I forgot again. I looked around for what I could do about the overpowering smell, and I saw I had a trashcan lid that I used to cover another trash-can I have on my back porch. In the other trash-can I keep my lawn fertilizers. Well, the lid didn't exactly fit. They were two different trash-can manufacturers, and the circumference of the trash-can lid was slightly smaller than what I needed. But, I could kind of wedge it on there and call it good.
By Wednesday, after a few more days worth of grocery bags added to the ever-growing pile, my wife really started to talk to me about options for getting rid of it. But, I didn't want to take the bag out of the trash-can and haul it away myself, as mentioned previously, it had rained. I could only imagine rain water sloshing around in the bottom of the bag, and it leaking all over me as I tried to get it in the back of my truck. Not only that, but then imagine it leaking all over the bed of my truck itself. Plus, it had really gotten warm for springtime, and the now-composting dog poop had reached an all time compost-smell high.
By Saturday I made sure to avoid eye-contact with my neighbors, as I'm sure the look of reproach would have been unbearable. Sunday we were having guests over. I agreed to move the trash-can over into the side garden so that the aroma would only reach their noses of they came within 40 feet of it, unless the wind was particularly strong. If they smelled it coming into or out of our house (thankfully it didn't smell inside the house), they were either too polite to mention it, or too horrified that something like that could exist in Highlands Ranch.
Highlands Ranch is a covenant-controlled community, where you get nasty little notes from the covenant control office if you have a weed in your yard. Or, they will give you a note if they think your house should be painted, and, if you want to change your house color from "khaki" to "slightly darker khaki" you have to get it approved by the architectural board. Most likely, they will not approve your color-request change, but instead, suggest the color "a slightly lighter khaki color, but you can have a slightly darker khaki accent color, and maybe a beige-tan on the fake shutters."
Sunday evening, I hauled my regular garbage can out to the curb, and, wedging the lid on as tight as I could, I hauled the dog-poop-can out to the curb as well. Woe be to the neighbor that walked by my curb that night. But, I could only think of the poor kids the next morning as they walked down the sidewalk on their way to school, and run screaming, with tears in their eyes (because they were burning from dog-poop-fumes), past my house.
Imagine my surprise the next morning while outside in the back yard (getting in one last bagful of poop for the garbage) and Ilse starts going nuts, barking her head off. I then hear sirens coming closer and closer to the house. I run inside to calm Ilse down, and I see a fire truck pull up beside the house. I live on a corner, so, they didn't park directly in front, but on the side street. Firefighters hop out and start looking around. I figure maybe one of my neighbors had a medical emergency, and the ambulance couldn't get there quick enough. I go back to picking up the remainder of the dog poop in the back yard (I'm on bag two - the 1st bag ripped from all the weight).
As I bring the second bag to the curb, the firemen are walking slowly across the street towards me. I deposited the bag in the garbage, and figured they didn't need anything from me. I then remembered that I needed to bring my recycling bin out to the curb. As I'm leaving my garage, 3 firemen are walking up my driveway.
"Hello, sir, what can I do for you?" I'm trying to look and sound official as I stand there with my recycling bin full of beer cans and milk containers.
"Have you noticed anything that really smells around here? Something noxious?" He looked dead serious.
"Um, just my garbage can," I said, smiling, playing it off as a joke, trying to act normal, as if a month's worth of two-dogs poop was normal to have on the curb.
"Well, this was the address that was given in the 911 call. They reported that maybe it was ammonia or something."
I turn around to look at my house number, just to make sure it hadn't changed overnight; that my house numbers didn't rebel against me and leave to go find a better-painted, better smelling house. "9841?"
"Yes."
"Well, sir, I didn't make any 911 call. I'm not sure what you are looking for," I said, super-conscious of my long-hair (out of place for Highlands Ranch) my tub of beer cans (might cast judgments about my character, even though I mostly use beer for marinating deer and elk, and making fish tacos), and the knowledge that ammonia is used for making Meth.
"Are you sure you're not aware of anything suspicious happening around here," he asked, coming a step closer.
My mind raced, wondering whether or not to tell him about the contents of the second, slightly-smaller, black, reeking container at the bottom of my driveway. Noticing that there was quite a storm of flies now circling it, I decided that it didn't warrant any mention. "Um, no sir, I'm not aware of anything going on in the slightest."
"Okay, well, have a good day." They turned and left, and I saw one of the other firemen examining the storm-drain on the corner, to see if the smell referenced in the 911 call was coming from there. I closed the garage door and watched from my window as they looked around more, talked with other neighbors, and left the scene.
I will now make sure that I get a smaller aluminum trash-can, with a tight-lid, that fits a standard 30-gallon trash bag, and make sure I take it out to the curb every Monday morning, lest I get another visit from the friendly-neighborhood Littleton fire department. Or worse, a police car. Or worse yet, an ambulance, because someone passed-out in front of my house after catching a whiff of a month's worth of dog poop.
I'm thinking of the poor garbage man who has to empty that garbage can into the back of the garbage truck. I should have probably left a six-pack for him next to it, with a note of apology.
The first thing we noticed about Ilse is that she consumed a great deal of food. With Sage, we could just leave the food out all day, in his bowl, and he would graze whenever he felt the need. Ilse, however, ate like she had been starved for a fortnight, and would never eat again. She attacked her bowl of food like Godzilla attacked Tokyo. I'm surprised we didn't see flames and an overturned Tonka truck.
Ilse came to us about 10 pounds underweight, so one of our first priorities was to get her filled out. We increased her intake to 6 - 7 cups a day of food. Of course, it had one undesirable side-affect. The amount of poop in our back yard quadrupled.
Sage, not a voracious eater, left maybe 1 pile a day in the backyard, as he preferred to wait until I got home from work and go on a walk, so he could do his business somewhere else other than his play area. Ilse, however, has no compunction about going where she pleased, as much as she wanted. Another thing about how she did her business was also a curiosity. She couldn't stand (squat) still and do her thing all in one pile. She would drop a line, walk forward a little bit, drop another, walk forward, etc. So, to pick up after her, it was like ET following a trail of Reese's Pieces. Well, maybe a trail of fun-sized Snicker bars.
With Sage, I would go through maybe a single grocery sack in a week's time, and put it in the trash Monday morning. But, if I forgot, I could keep the same bag on the pickup device and use it for another week. I found, however, with Sage, plus Ilse, that I would use about a bag a day. And, I had to be extra vigilant. For awhile Ilse was her own best clean-up crew. This meant that as it passed through her system again, and out the other side, that it seemed to be even more noxious smelling. So I would be out at night, with a Mag-Light, making sure that I missed nary a pile (and got her on a product called "Deter").
My requirements for disposal changed as well. I couldn't continue keeping the bag on for a few days, let alone an entire week, so I started tossing the bag into a trash-can I had on the back porch. It had a 55-gallon lawn and leaf bag inside, held in with a giant rubber band around the top. It was quick, convenient, and I could swap-out grocery bags each day.
Well, after 1 week, I figured I hadn't really filled up that much of the 55 gallon bag, and it would be a waste to throw away a mostly-unused heavy duty garbage sack, so I left it for another week. I like to be environmentally-conscious. Well, it rained a little that week, and I'm pretty sure that although I have a covered porch, the sides are not walled in, and some rain water got into the bag. Week 2 came and went, and although you didn't want to get too close to the garbage can if you didn't have to, the neighbors hadn't started complaining, so I figured it was good for another week. Week 3 was hot, and rainy, and the grocery bags really started piling up. I thought, "I better get that out to the curb come Monday morning."
Well, Monday trash day came and went, and it wasn't until I walked out Monday after work (for cleanup) that the smell really hit me, and I realized that I forgot again. I looked around for what I could do about the overpowering smell, and I saw I had a trashcan lid that I used to cover another trash-can I have on my back porch. In the other trash-can I keep my lawn fertilizers. Well, the lid didn't exactly fit. They were two different trash-can manufacturers, and the circumference of the trash-can lid was slightly smaller than what I needed. But, I could kind of wedge it on there and call it good.
By Wednesday, after a few more days worth of grocery bags added to the ever-growing pile, my wife really started to talk to me about options for getting rid of it. But, I didn't want to take the bag out of the trash-can and haul it away myself, as mentioned previously, it had rained. I could only imagine rain water sloshing around in the bottom of the bag, and it leaking all over me as I tried to get it in the back of my truck. Not only that, but then imagine it leaking all over the bed of my truck itself. Plus, it had really gotten warm for springtime, and the now-composting dog poop had reached an all time compost-smell high.
By Saturday I made sure to avoid eye-contact with my neighbors, as I'm sure the look of reproach would have been unbearable. Sunday we were having guests over. I agreed to move the trash-can over into the side garden so that the aroma would only reach their noses of they came within 40 feet of it, unless the wind was particularly strong. If they smelled it coming into or out of our house (thankfully it didn't smell inside the house), they were either too polite to mention it, or too horrified that something like that could exist in Highlands Ranch.
Highlands Ranch is a covenant-controlled community, where you get nasty little notes from the covenant control office if you have a weed in your yard. Or, they will give you a note if they think your house should be painted, and, if you want to change your house color from "khaki" to "slightly darker khaki" you have to get it approved by the architectural board. Most likely, they will not approve your color-request change, but instead, suggest the color "a slightly lighter khaki color, but you can have a slightly darker khaki accent color, and maybe a beige-tan on the fake shutters."
Sunday evening, I hauled my regular garbage can out to the curb, and, wedging the lid on as tight as I could, I hauled the dog-poop-can out to the curb as well. Woe be to the neighbor that walked by my curb that night. But, I could only think of the poor kids the next morning as they walked down the sidewalk on their way to school, and run screaming, with tears in their eyes (because they were burning from dog-poop-fumes), past my house.
Imagine my surprise the next morning while outside in the back yard (getting in one last bagful of poop for the garbage) and Ilse starts going nuts, barking her head off. I then hear sirens coming closer and closer to the house. I run inside to calm Ilse down, and I see a fire truck pull up beside the house. I live on a corner, so, they didn't park directly in front, but on the side street. Firefighters hop out and start looking around. I figure maybe one of my neighbors had a medical emergency, and the ambulance couldn't get there quick enough. I go back to picking up the remainder of the dog poop in the back yard (I'm on bag two - the 1st bag ripped from all the weight).
As I bring the second bag to the curb, the firemen are walking slowly across the street towards me. I deposited the bag in the garbage, and figured they didn't need anything from me. I then remembered that I needed to bring my recycling bin out to the curb. As I'm leaving my garage, 3 firemen are walking up my driveway.
"Hello, sir, what can I do for you?" I'm trying to look and sound official as I stand there with my recycling bin full of beer cans and milk containers.
"Have you noticed anything that really smells around here? Something noxious?" He looked dead serious.
"Um, just my garbage can," I said, smiling, playing it off as a joke, trying to act normal, as if a month's worth of two-dogs poop was normal to have on the curb.
"Well, this was the address that was given in the 911 call. They reported that maybe it was ammonia or something."
I turn around to look at my house number, just to make sure it hadn't changed overnight; that my house numbers didn't rebel against me and leave to go find a better-painted, better smelling house. "9841?"
"Yes."
"Well, sir, I didn't make any 911 call. I'm not sure what you are looking for," I said, super-conscious of my long-hair (out of place for Highlands Ranch) my tub of beer cans (might cast judgments about my character, even though I mostly use beer for marinating deer and elk, and making fish tacos), and the knowledge that ammonia is used for making Meth.
"Are you sure you're not aware of anything suspicious happening around here," he asked, coming a step closer.
My mind raced, wondering whether or not to tell him about the contents of the second, slightly-smaller, black, reeking container at the bottom of my driveway. Noticing that there was quite a storm of flies now circling it, I decided that it didn't warrant any mention. "Um, no sir, I'm not aware of anything going on in the slightest."
"Okay, well, have a good day." They turned and left, and I saw one of the other firemen examining the storm-drain on the corner, to see if the smell referenced in the 911 call was coming from there. I closed the garage door and watched from my window as they looked around more, talked with other neighbors, and left the scene.
I will now make sure that I get a smaller aluminum trash-can, with a tight-lid, that fits a standard 30-gallon trash bag, and make sure I take it out to the curb every Monday morning, lest I get another visit from the friendly-neighborhood Littleton fire department. Or worse, a police car. Or worse yet, an ambulance, because someone passed-out in front of my house after catching a whiff of a month's worth of dog poop.
I'm thinking of the poor garbage man who has to empty that garbage can into the back of the garbage truck. I should have probably left a six-pack for him next to it, with a note of apology.
This is the funniest story about dog poop that I have ever read!
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