Bad Dog

Back when I was in the army, I was listening to someone more experienced than me, someone who’s butt I just sniffed, dispense sage wisdom.

“Shit anywhere you like. And when you’re a dog, they let you do it. You can do anything.”

I did not want to argue. He spoke with such confidence. But it couldn’t be true. 

It stuck with me. For the rest of my army service, I could hear him in my head. I never wanted to test what he said. There was a lot of discipline, and I was afraid of what they might do to me if I broke rules, whether those explicitly stated or implicit. 

My time in the army came to an end, and I became a regular civilian, living with my human partner from the army. After a few weeks, I realized that the rules were less strict for civilians. I could roam around more freely. I did not have to stay as still as food was scooped into my bowl. 

I stayed at home most of the day, but at least twice a day I would be taken on walks, and to relieve myself. At first, I would only poop in the same place everyday: on a sandy patch that would make it easy to clean up after me. But then, one day, my partner walked me along a different route. I really had to poop, but there was no sandy or earthy spot to stop on. I could not hold it in anymore. I squatted, hind legs wide in the middle of the sidewalk, and did my business. I braced myself for the punishment, but it never came. My partner simply scooped the poop and threw it in a nearby trashcan.

I tried my luck again on the next walk, this time stopping near a car. Again, no punishment. I felt liberated. No longer did I wait to reach a certain spot. I didn’t have to hold it in on a walk. I could just go, with no consequences. 

This went on for a while, as I relished my new freedom. But then came the day I was left alone in the apartment. My partner was out for the day, and I desperately needed to relieve myself. Maybe it was food poisoning. For over half the day I suffered. But eventually, I broke. It’s fine I told myself. My partner lets me go anywhere I want outside, so why not inside too?

When he came home, he made a disgusted face. He yelled at me, sounding extremely upset. He spent over half an hour cleaning my mess, and told me “Poochie, no! Bad dog!” multiple times. I gathered that I had taken it too far. 

What I had heard it the army wasn’t true. Even dogs have their limits.