Tag Archives: dog poop

Everybody poops

New York City prides itself on letting celebrities live their lives.

While you do see stars of TV and film out and about, you rarely see paparazzi trailing behind.

So I was particularly amused by this Huffington Post slideshow of stars picking up their dogs’ poop — all West Coast shots, mind you.

Everyone from The Office’s John Krasinski to Catherine Zeta-Jones to Paul Bettany are pictured with their pooch and that familiar blue baggie…’cause your dog doesn’t care what you do for a living as long as you take care of their business.

Personally, I haven’t spied any celebs in NYC picking up after their dogs.  I have had a celebrity spy on me and my dog.

(It’s a favorite story — a ‘greatest hit,’ as my friend Dan would say.)

My dog Rory and I had just stepped outside of my apartment, and — good dog that he is — he was relieving himself in the street.  During this process, I heard a small child’s voice from the sidewalk behind me say,

“Daddy, is that dog gonna bite me?”

A very familiar voice responded drily, “It probably won’t.”  That’s when I turned around and saw Jerry Seinfeld watching me and my dog.

But don’t worry — he didn’t take any pictures.

He’s a New Yorker, after all.

Tip your mama dog

A comedian once quipped that if aliens landed on Earth, they would quickly assume dogs were in charge since their humans were following them, picking up their poop in plastic bags.

It’s funny because it’s true.

I’m just glad aliens weren’t around to see me giving Rory a bath today…and not just because I was naked. (It makes cleanup easier, believe me.)

Rory knows the word “bath,” and is very agreeable about getting into the tub. He stands there quietly while I wash him — the whole process is easy peasy.

It’s the blow dry that makes me laugh.

Here again, Rory is game to have his haired dried. I give him a rawhide bone to keep him occupied, and he pretty much ignores me while I dry and fluff and brush. I’m like a stylist at a salon whose client won’t chat with her. The only time Rory even looks back at me is when I start trying to dry his ears or feet, which irritates him.

At that point, he loses interest and walks away…as if to say, “Enough, peasant.”

Yep. I know who’s in charge.