Being a Doggy Mama - Arse grass

Fluffy Bear told me a great story today while we walked Puppy Dog.

I knew something good was coming as soon as he opened his mouth because he started speaking in our U-O-me tone.

After many years of marriage we have certain little foibles which pepper our lives, and one of them is a tone of indignation used to describe carrying out a task we both do - like taking out the trash - which, for some reason, we did alone that specific day and happened to be particularly unpleasant. It's a tone that says "I had to do this and it totally sucked and you fecking owe me."

Fluffy Bear had taken Puppy Dog to the park. As he often does when he's out for a walk, Puppy Dog did a poo. This isn't usually an issue - a quick pickup in the plastic bag and head for the nearest trash can.

But Fluffy Bear and Puppy Dog got stuck in a strange check-mate dance.

You see, Puppy Dog had been eating grass. And now it was time for the grass to come out. And it did, except not all the way.

So there was Puppy Dog with a long, poo-encrusted piece of grass hanging from his little pink poo-chute. He could feel something there, so he kept crouching. Fluffy Bear could see the stubborn piece of excrement hanging there and, hand in poo bag, tried to grab it from Puppy Dog's butt. But Puppy Dog doesn't like you looking at him when he poos, let alone touching him. So this is how it went.

• Poo-grass flaps


• Fluffy Bear reaches for it


• Puppy Dog takes two steps forward to avoid the plastic bag-clad hand and crouches again, trying to get the poo out


• Poo-grass flaps


• Fluffy Bear reaches for it


• Puppy Dog takes two steps forward to avoid the plastic bag-clad hand and crouches, again....

As Fluffy Bear told this story, his U-O-me tone was overtaken by the high voice of indignation. The more I laughed, the higher he squeaked.

In front of us, oblivious, Puppy Dog darted back and forth on his extendable leash, sniffing things.