Duck, Duck, Goose Poop

I've acquired a new niece and nephew. Namely Bodhi, my wonderful roommate's awesomely sweet but supremely uncreative thinker/Golden Retriever, and Toffy, the old white ghost dog, breed unknown. We're a three dog family, which is occasionally a bit disconcerting since Brutto - who it must be said, is the brains of the operation - has a tendency to bark at the mailman which has a way of getting all of them barking as if the house was about to be bulldozed and not the insertion of daily mail into a slot by a cheerful and whistling mailman named Ulysees.

To walk Bodhi and Brutto more effectively, I purchased a "coupler" from a great little pet store in Ballard. The coupler, the Marilyn-esque clerk assured me, would not allow the dogs to get tangled in each other's leashes. That sounded $15 worth of worth it to me. Unfortunately, the clerk has never met Bodhi. Bodhi, bless his pointy little orange head, could get tangled in two inches of dental floss. Time after time, we set out with my spunky terrior x in the lead, only to stop cold when Bodhi has inexplicably wrapped the leash around his front and left paw. It goes without saying that Bodhi has no idea how to untangle himself. He would march around limping all day before figuring it out. In fact, let's face it: he would never figure it out. While Brutto stands there, giving him the look that my sister once perfected on me when we were children (roughly translated: "It's not that I mind so much having a sibling, but why do I have to have this sibling?") - I patiently unwrap Bodhi's little foreleg. Poor Bodhi. I love the guy, but well, he rides the short bus.

Our midmorning jaunt usually ends on Green Lake, where the runners circle and circle and circle. This is Bodhi's favorite place, not the least of which is because it has little stashes of goose poop everywhere. It is pate for dogs, this poop, and no one has to force feed a duck to get it. Unfortunately it is also disgusting. Yesterday a woman and a jogging stroller raced by (there are so many of these, I'm beginning to think that recent mothers go directly from the birthing room to the jogging path, not wanting to miss a day of body maintenance) and said with a distinct sneer , "your dog is eating poop." Well, it's goose poop, I explained. I'm not sure why that matters but it does seem like a point of pride.

Toffy might have a little more smarts, but she isn't the most proactive dog you'll ever meet. Her parents are in Malasyia for the year, which is why A. and I are taking magnificent care of her, and well, if you leave a 14 year old dog behind for a year, you might reap the expected result if you get my meaning. Still, she's holding steady. Also, bless her heart, she's the fastest pooper in the Northwest. The other day she marched exactly five paces before squatting on the neighbor's lawn. You can't ask for more than that in a dog, can you?

Finally, my friend B. asked me about how the ducks crossing the busy lanes to the park and back don't get hit by cars. Well, I don't mean to imply anything, but Duck L'Orange is on a lot of menus around here. No, I'm joking. They don't seem to get hit ever. They are either very smart ducks, or Seattle has very good drivers. I'll conclude they are very smart ducks.