A Shitty Situation


Would someone please tell me why my two Golden Retrievers consider the cats’ litter pan a dog version of a box of Whitman’s Sampler? It’s an ongoing battle in my house. The turd makers versus the turd eaters.

Sometimes I think all I have to do is feed the cats and the dogs would live happily ever after—munching away on their daily litter snacks and eliminating any need for me to either scoop out clumps from the cats’ box, or spend another cent on Purina Dog Chow.

Husband once commented that between the toilet bowl and the litter box, our dogs could be quite self-sufficient and live for weeks without being fed or given water. I believe it.

I read that dogs’ noses don’t function like ours do; dog noses can isolate different odors from a single source. So to them, cat turds don‘t smell like poop, they smell like fish and eggs and chicken and turkey. Yummy!

I’m not sure the ability to isolate odors is a blessing or a curse, but I do know that guarding the litter box is not a profession I care to pursue and I’ll be damned – but I have no idea how to stop the excessive coprophagia.

(I think I could have dropped the word excessive in the previous sentence as eating one single turd is repulsive enough.)

I have had numerous talks with these two massive-headed morons with their liquid brown eyes and floppy yellow ears. I’ve hollered and done the PU sign of pinching my nose. I’ve flapped a rolled newspaper against the wall and did the crazy mommy’s mad dance. But, nothing works.

Just as a freshly baked apple pie cooling on a countertop will call the Bishop troops into the kitchen, so does the whiff of cat turd call to the dogs.

An online veterinarian suggests: "Booby trapping" a sample of stool by cutting it in half lengthwise, and putting some Tabasco type sauce on the inside of the stool, then putting it back together so that the dog is not aware of the hot sauce until it eats the stool.”

Um Doc I don’t think so. I would say you should go back to the drawing board and come up with another plan. I don’t think there’s a soul in the universe that’s willing to carve up a turd, season it and then put it back together. And you graduated from what Veterinary school?

So the cat box problem exists and I see no resolution in sight. I guess I will have to live with my big boy Goldens and their shaggy, waggy tails and their “I-don’t-get-it” head cocks and their perennial shit eating grins.