In spite of being 82 years old and battling Parkinson’s disease, a good friend of mine volunteered to take care of her daughter’s family dog for a day.
That brave, elderly soul of a lady also happens to live on the top floor of a four-story apartment building without an elevator. So, taking care of a rambunctious, young labrador was no easy task for her. Undoubtedly, the biggest challenge was taking to dog out for potty-breaks.
But she managed.
It turned out that four-legged, black fuzz ball proved to be incredibly responsive to her handicap. Whenever he picked up too much speed while scaling down the flight of stairs leading to the building exit, she merely told him to slow down or stay put, until she regained control—and the pup obeyed.
He was also extremely cooperative in emptying his bladder whenever she gave him a chance to do so. However, he didn’t activate his bowels with the same promptness. Even allowing him a lot of extra time to mill about outside didn’t do the trick.
Late in the evening, closely adhering to her daughter’s instructions, my friend fed her canine visitor a plentiful dinner at 9 p.m. sharp.
Then—after waiting for two solid hours—she figured it’d be a good idea to embark on yet another challenging trip downstairs with her canine companion in tow
Although it was now ominously dark outside, my friend kept on lingering in a small grass patch adjacent to her building, sincerely hoping for the dog to finally properly relieve himself.
Once again, this didn’t happen.
Frustrated, she hauled the lab back upstairs into her flat.
Her daughter returned just minutes later. That’s when my friend pointed out that the dog may still need one more potty-stop before settling down for the night.
“You mean, he didn’t go all day?” came the exasperated question.
“Oh, no, no, no! I took him out several times.” My friend threw up both hands. “And he produced plenty of puddles, but nothing solid.”
Her daughter looked baffled. “Mom, did you watch him very closely?”
“Of course, I did.” My friend shot back. “I kept right on petting and talking to him, hoping to cajole him into doing his business.”
“Oh, no.” Her daughter rolled her eyes. “That’s the problem.”
My friend was baffled. “What do you mean?”
“Hovering over him. He does prefer his privacy during a bowel movement. As soon as he finds a suitable bush, you’re supposed to turn around and face away from him until he’s finished. I’m sorry that I forgot to tell you this.”
My friend couldn’t believe what she just heard.
A dog that was too embarrassed to relieve himself while being watched?
And, frankly, when she told me this story, I’d also never before heard of any pet being ashamed to poop in company. Well, live and learn!