Fox Poop

‘Why do you do that?’, I asked, unconsciously adding emphasis to the first ‘do’.

She said nothing but wagged her tail.

‘Come on, speak up.’ Over lockdown we had become good conversationalists. It wasn’t like her to blank me.

She put her head on one side. ‘It’s what dogs do-do.’

‘Hey, less of the smart-arsed alliterative dog toilet humour. In case you hadn’t noticed, it stinks.’

‘When you’ve got a nose as good as mine most people stink.’

I realised we were getting into one of those circular arguments. ‘Why fox poop? It’s not only disgusting, it’s unhealthy. And I hate having to wash it off.’

‘It’s the only time I get a bath.’

‘That’s a cheap shot.’ I gave her a look, challenging her to answer the question. She finally acquiesced.

‘It’s a tribute.’

‘Tribute? To who?’

‘More correctly, that should be “to whom”, don’t you think?’

For a pooch she was a stickler for grammar. I sighed. ‘OK. To whom?’

‘Anubis. The great God Dog Fox in the sky.’

‘You believe in God?’

She sat down and looked up at me in a way I knew meant she was going to be didactic. Or should that be dogdactic?

‘We’ve discussed this before – every culture has its own creation myths. You don’t think dogs should be an exception, do you?’

It was in many ways a mind-bogglingly bizarre conception. But I thought about it and, trying to avoid any double negatives, I shook my head.

‘Look, you don’t need to be dyslexic to know ‘dog’ and ‘god’ are anagrams. Obviously, God was a Dog – and vice versa’. Putting Latin words in italics was another of her grammatical foibles. How she managed it in speech is anybody’s guess.

‘This Anubis of yours. Did he create the world?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. He created dogs.’

‘Strange choice to elect for canines, given all the possibilities.’

She looked down her nose at me. Being a spaniel, she had a long nose – it was a long look.

‘Somebody has to look after humans. You don’t do that good a job of it yourself. Be honest, you’re rubbish at barking at the mailman!’

I was tempted to say that I didn’t keep a dog and bark myself, but the woke side of my brain got the better of me. ‘Last time I put the dog food cans in the trash I was under the impression I was looking after you.’

‘That’s simply ungrateful.’

We walked on for a few moments in silence. However, she had the bit between her canines and there was no way she was going to let it go.

‘If you gave me your credit card I’d be more than happy to do the shopping,’ she sniffed.

I stopped and looked her in the eye. ‘A human can’t just live on tinned meat and dog biscuits.’

‘Enough of the hyperbole. You know I’d get tinned fish – we both like tinned fish.’

Knowing that dogs don’t do greens I kept the vegetable card in my pocket and steered the conversation back toward ecumenical issues, where I felt on safer ground.

‘So, Anubis, God or not, creator or not, why do you seek out what is not to be sniffed at and roll in it?’

‘Whenever we find his scat, we anoint ourselves as thanks for giving us life.’

‘Scat sounds awfully like cat you know.’

She dug her heels in, then sat and growled for effect. ‘Don’t’ pause ‘even’ pause ‘go’ pause ‘there’.

‘Nice delivery. I particularly loved the pawses,’ I ventured, hoping she’s get the nuance.

Sadly, the nuance went right over her head. She stood up and shook herself from the tip of her cold wet nose to the end of a fluffy tail that I realised needed a visit to the poodle parlour.

‘So, there’s no way I can persuade you to stop doing it?’

‘That’s the way I roll,’ I obligingly smiled at the pun. ‘You going to stop using that Paco Rabanne aftershave? It’s overpowering.’

Perhaps she had a point. ‘Right, home and bath time for you.’

She jumped up and licked my hand. ‘What’s not to like about that?’