Tag Archives: Dog

Just How Much Pee Can One Dog Hold?

I’m not claiming to be an expert, but I’m pretty sure that my daughter’s dog just set a world’s record in the pee department.  I’m contacting the Guinness Book of World Records to verify it.  I don’t know if Guinness has a category dedicated to dog urination, but if they don’t, they need to set one up – PRONTO!

I’ve been dog sitting my “grand-dog” Milo, so I decided to take him on a hike to the top of Spencer Butte.  When I get Milo out of the car at the trail head, two things happened.  First, Milo makes a b-line for the nearest tree.  And second, I notice a new warning sign –

My daughter hasn’t had Milo very long, but breaking the news that he died saying “howdy” to a rattlesnake wouldn’t have gone over too smoothly.  My concern about rattlesnake danger, however, quickly disappeared.  Here’s why.

Three feet up the trail, Milo began peeing on trees.  Yeah, I know, he’s a dog.  They pee on trees.  But that’s not what I mean.  Milo was peeing on every tree.  EVERY.  SINGLE.  ONE.  This is western Oregon, friends.  We have trees.  If I had one of those little clickers that the lady at the Costco entrance uses to count shoppers, I would have counted.  My conservative estimate?  One thousand.  There have got to be one thousand trees between the trail head and the summit.  Here’s what it looks like –

It’s mostly Douglas Firs.  Milo hit every one like a World War II combat veteran taking the hill at Iwo Jima.  (In fact, if Milo were there, I am certain we would have taken the island much faster.  I doubt the Japanese soldiers could have sustained Milo’s unrelenting pee attack.)  But I digress…

It’s possible Milo missed a sapling or two, but let’s call it a 97% “P-rate.”  I grew up with dogs.  I know dogs.  They pee – A LOT.  But Milo is the Lebron James of canine urinaters.

I know he doesn’t look capable of holding the record.  He’s not a lab, or some other aircraft carrier sized dog with a bladder the size of a municipal water tank.  So I’m expected the team that comes out from Guinness to verify my claim to be suspicious.  Not to worry.  I’ll tell them to meet me at the trail head of Spencer Butte.

 

 

 

 

The World’s Hairiest Baby

My daughter got married last summer.  I would have written a column about it, but after selling my extra kidney on the Chinese black market to pay for the nuptials, I didn’t have any money left for ink.  For the purposes of this column I will refer to my daughter as “Zoe” and her husband as “Will,” because their names happen to be Zoe and Will.  But I digress.  My newly impoverished state is not what this is about.  This is about what the parents of every young bride hope and pray will come next.  This is about the special gift that will fulfill their purpose in life.  I am referring, of course, to a minimum of five to ten years of ABSOLUTELY NO BABIES!  ZERO!  This is why my wife and I were thrilled to learn that we were the proud new grandparents, to their new dog – our “granddog.”

If anything can snap a starry-eyed couple back to the reality of caring for a newborn, it’s a puppy.  As everyone knows, having a puppy is exactly like having a baby, that is, if you could lock your baby in the garage for two or three hours while you went out to dinner.  In other words, the stark reality of caring for a demanding puppy is the most effective form of birth control.

Our granddog is a one-year old mongrel named Milo.  They “adopted” Milo from a humane society.  My daughter is pretty sure that his first owner was homeless.  This is because every time Milo spots a homeless person he makes a b-line for them.  Milo LOVES homeless people.  That, and he loves to dig through garbage.

If he was once homeless, Milo has hit the jackpot.  As my loyal readers know, I grew up in Alsea.  Years ago, one of my daughters asked me after visiting the orthodontist, “Dad, did you have braces?”  My answer, “Zoe, kids from Alsea don’t get braces.”  In fact, we were lucky to get a couple of off-brand jeans at the beginning of the school year.  Milo’s life is now like that prostitute from Pretty Woman after Richard Gere took her on that shopping spree on Rodeo Drive.  His wardrobe is enormous.  No off-brand attire for Milo.  Only the finest tweed coats and breathable rainwear.

Here is Milo sporting something stylish and catching some Z’s after an exhausting day of being spoiled –

As the old song goes, “Zoe and Will, kissing in the tree.  K-i-s-s-i-n-g.  First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Milo in the doggy carriage.”  Welcome to the family Milo!