Doggy Day Care // Chic Week vs Bleak Week


Chic Week

I finally became dog owner. A temporary one that is. Yes after much pleading with my boyfriend I've finally realised that getting a dog just isn't on the cards right now. Instead I've turned to borrow my dog style app Tailster. Basically wee dogs come to my house and stay while their real parents are on holiday. A best of both worlds type situation where I get to enjoy the company and cuteness of a pet without the near 20 year commitment. 

This week I got to foster an adorable miniature dachshund named, Smartie (yes dreams really do come true). She was a cute old lady who couldn't manage stairs or hard food anymore (happens to us all eventually) and especially liked snuggles and naps (a girl after my own heart). I had the BEST couple of days with her (mostly...see below...). I was smug as anything strolling down the street with her at my heels. Don't know if you've noticed before but cute dogs attract a lot of attention. 

Despite the fact that it breaks my very anal aesthetic, here's a picture for reference of just how lovely she was. 




I could finally be one of those ultra chic Finnieston cafe dwellers who go in to dog friendly cafes with an actual dog and drink flat whites and do creative things on their laptops (google dog memes...) all with a little pooch dozing at their feet. Life goals. Obviously, as tends to be the theme of Chic Week vs Bleak Week (my not-even-once-a-month "weekly" mini series...), things weren't as rosey as I first thought. 

Bleak Week

I picked up poo. In a tiny bag specifically designed for poo. More than once. Need I say more? 

To be honest the physical act of picking up wasn't even the worst part. It was a whole saga.

Now if you're a well established fur baby parent, you may scoff at my tale, but remember - you had time to adjust to the toilet habits of your pup. You've fostered them since, presumably, they were just teeny toddlers. Your early pooping experiences were shrouded by a fog of unconditional love and overwhelming excitement for the fluffy bundle of joy you'd brought in to your home. Perhaps you even felt such a rush of pride the first time your lovely little dug dropped one outside, instead of on your nice clean carpets, that you forgot to feel disgusted as you scooped. And by the time the initial honeymoon phase had passed you were so used to the absurdity (and outright ickiness) of picking up another creatures waste that you could do it in your sleep. 

I on the other hand was tossed in at the deep end. Up shit creek with nothing but a roll of uncomfortably thin poly bags to save me.

It began shortly after Smarties parents left. The old gal was clearly nervous and I was doing my best to welcome her warmly and put her at ease. I turned away for all of 5 seconds to get her a treat and turned back to find a tiny, perfectly formed turd on my living room floor. Bleak.

Once the shock subsided and an uncontrolled yelp had escaped me I leapt into action. Armed with WADS of kitchen roll, a bottle of Dettol and several old poly bags, because of course I quadruple bagged that thing (the turd, not the dog). I had that poo down the rubbish chute in seconds and had disinfected the entire scene within minutes. Like a poop-scooping ninja. It all happened so quickly that I didn't have time to think about it. That came later.

For  now I had a fraught relationship, with a very guilty looking OAD (Old Age Dachshund), to repair. We've all been there I suppose. In a strangers house for the first time, desperate to go but uncertain whether it's appropriate to ask where the loo is yet. It happens to the best of us. Admittedly, the best of us don't tend to resolve the issue by squatting down on said strangers floor but, alas, I forgave her quickly.

Luckily this incident did not a repeat and Smartie soon settled into a routine of going outside instead of on my laminate. I on the other hand didn't adjust to the routine so quickly. Let me paint you a picture. Leaving my block of apartments takes you straight out into a large carpark. In the middle of the car park is a large communal garden where all the other canine residents enjoy frolicking and well, getting their business done. Did Smartie pick up on the vibes that this was the social norm for the other dogs at this building? Nope. Not so Smartie after all. She chose to go 5 paces from the apartment block door. Right in the middle of someones parking space. (And before you say it, yes I was taking her out very regularly, she wasn't that desperate, she just seemed to like that spot). Fab.

And then came my bit. Scooping. There wasn't a hope in hell that I was going to pick that thing up, with the aforementioned very thin bags, while it was still steaming hot. Nope. No siree. Absolutely not. So there I am standing in the middle of a car parking space with a tiny poo on one side of me and a tiny dog, giving me a look that clearly said what the hell are we still standing here for, fool, I've done my thing - time for you to do yours, on the other. Now I had nothing but time to think about the grossness I was facing. My many neighbours strolling past on the way to the garden with their dogs, who clearly knew the drill, giving me looks of pity/confusion/disgust. Oh hey. Hi there. Just me, your friendly neighbourhood dog borrower, waiting for a poo to cool. Don't mind me. Nothing to see here. Ground swallow me whole any time please. Things are getting bleaker by the minute.

After an appropriate amount of cooling time had passed it was on to the bagging. It's surprising how quickly one can move when threatened with a potential whiff of doggy doo. Securely sealed in seconds. Cue problem numero dos. Where the fudge am I supposed to put it? I realised with great distress that in all the time I'd spent watching the dog owners in my building with envy I'd never actually caught any of them in the act of disposal. There are no public bins on the property except the ones at the ends of the bin chutes. Which were locked. Trust me, humiliatingly, I paced the entire length of all the blocks, bag of poo in hand, trying all ten bin chute doors. Things are almost at their bleakest.

What a sorry sight eh? Me wandering around in my flip flops, looking lost, in the rain, a tired Dachshund under one arm and a small bag of poo in the other hand. Why must the universe punish me for trying to be a responsible dog borrower.

Feeling hopeless I decided my best option was to take the lift back up to my floor and put the bag down the chute. Despite the fact that I'd seen enough dog owners in the lift without poo bags to know that this wasn't normally the way things were done. Unless they were all hiding it in their handbags? I just don't know. Looks like Smartie wasn't going to be the only one breaking societal norms in this saga. And of course, of course, there was a guy in the lift. At this point did you really expect that there wouldn't be? No-one spoke. I stood hanging my head in shame hoping that the guy maybe hadn't noticed the suspicious object hanging at my side. He stood staring awkwardly at the wall because he definitely had noticed (via sight or smell, I'd rather not know). Most uncomfortable lift journey of my life? You betcha. We've finally reached a bleak climax.

So what have I learned this week? Well, after believing for my entire life that I'd LOVE to have a cute pooch to call my own I've actually come to the realisation that whilst it's fun to have a wee creature follow you around and adore you unconditionally - the bleak outweighs the chic for me. I think I'd rather have people stare at me because of a very chic new Chanel bag rather than because of a very bleak new bag of poo. Now excuse me while I go ride out this existential crisis. Who even am I if I'm not a wannabe dog owner anymore?!

Jess x


If you enjoyed this rambling tale you might also find my last Chic Week vs Bleak Week, in which I have a near death experience in my bathtub, mildly entertaining. 

Find it here


Yes I did look up the word poo in the thesaurus as preparation for this post. What of it?

1 comment

  1. Hahaha it's a tough choice but hot poo bag or Chanel...I know what I'd choose ��������
    Chantelle x

    ReplyDelete

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