Running barefoot over the wet sands of Burton Beach recently with Max, my dog-for-a-day, I contemplated the Bank Swallows wheeling around us.
They (and local leash laws) were the cause of the jingling jangling tether dancing between me and my happy pal as we jogged along. It’s not easy being a bird in this ever-shifting land of erosion called Fort Funston. The fine-feathered Funstonians whizzing by us that day seemed aptly named, because in that landscape the sandy bank can swallow a Bank Swallow’s home in the blink of an eye (not unlike what the other kind of bank is doing to the homes of sub-prime mortgage holders these days). Still, with hang gliders overhead, sparkling foam underfoot, and the aroma of BBQ in the air, a smile passed between me and Max that said, “It’s all good.”
I’ve heard it said that you know you’ve become a dog person when poop becomes a frequent topic of conversation between you and your friends. Likewise, one way you know you’re a humor columnist for a dog newspaper is by how much space you devote to the same subject. Sorry, but scatology comes with the territory. If I offend, dear reader, you may exact a modicum of rather pointed revenge by using this newsprint you hold in your hands to help housebreak a small puppy. I’ll understand.
Fortunately, as I learned from listening to Dr. Rachel Maddows on the radio one day, the subject can be handled without, um, soiling one’s reputation too much. Feeling the FCC’s huffy breath blowing down her neck, Maddows used the clinical scientific approach to answer a question rather indelicately posed by a listener. It went “How come my dog eats his own poop?” The good doctor employed lab-sterilized words like “coprophagia” (yes, there is a specific term for such behavior) and managed to impart the latest theories without getting kicked off the air.
Oh, all right, if you must know, the latest theories assert that when dogs eat poop they are not, as was once thought, compensating for incomplete digestion by engaging in a culinary doo-over. No indeed. Now scientists believe that such behavior is driven by a precautionary mechanism hard-wired into a dog’s genes. For people interested in canine psychology (does the name “Pavlov” ring a bell?), your dog’s thinking goes something like this: You never know how long it will be before your next meal, so eat what’s put before you!
If this is truly normal behavior, should we worry if our dogs are not into – how shall I put it – post-gastric gastronomy? Inquiring minds want to know: “Is it abnormal for a dog to pooh-pooh poo poo?”
Judging from our own species voracious appetite for those present-day parallels to Poodle plop called American pop culture and politics-as-usual, it would seem that we have a similarly unsavory habit to deal with. Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, and Lindsay Lohan dished, devoured, digested, excreted, reconstituted, and re-packaged for our continuing consumer enjoyment, along with the Bushes and the Clintons, over and over again, ad infinitum forever. Yum.
If cable news directors stuck bumper stickers on their Porches, they’d say: “How is my driving? Call 1-800-EAT-S*#%”. (Has Blow Up TV been on your to-do list as long as it’s been on mine?)
So next time your Keeshond Hound cops a little coprophagia, don’t get all uppity.
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