|Russell and Schroeder, the front yard flamingos.|
To you and me our little courtyard in the front of our house looks like a serene and pretty little refuge. Lovely palms, vines, and other flora give it a peaceful look. That is not what our dog Chandler sees. What he sees is the dog equivalent of an Easter egg hunt, or more accurately, a cat turd hunt. Out there among the philodendron are delectable nuggets left by cats from all over the neighborhood. I don't know why they like to shit in our yard, but they do, and every single time I open the door and let my dogs out, Chandler zeros in like a cruise missile. He's on those cat turds faster than grass through a goose. I'm not sure what I can do about the cats pooping out there. I really would like to discourage them from using it as a giant litter box because it stinks, and I'm sure it's very unsanitary. Meanwhile Chandler continues to look at the back yard cats as his best friends. He's always smelling their butts, and nudging them with his nose as if they are some kind of fur covered Pez dispensers. Oh, and his breath, my god you should smell his breath.