Sorry, bitches (I hope that is an acceptable form of address for my lady dog friends, one has to be so careful these days) but today I am going to tackle a topic which is primarily of concern to those of us of the leg-cocking gender.
Perhaps there are some readers who are unaware of the difficult bladder-related decisions that the male dog faces when out for his daily walk.
To be pee or not to be pee, that is the question.
You probably imagine we just stroll out of the house without a care in the world, no
native hue of resolution...sicklied over with the pale cast of thought, and casually lift our leg against the nearest lamppost or tree, and that's all there is to it.
Oh how wrong you are.
Hamlet himself would have considered it
outrageous fortune that we are confronted with such a
sea of troubles when it comes to the business of urinating.
Their currents turn awry doesn't even begin to describe it.
One one hand, we know that we are supposed, by the end of the walk, to have emptied our bladder. A full bladder being, of course one of
the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to. But on the other hand, who can tell how many times during that same walk, we will feel the compulsion to mark our territory? And we all know there's nothing make's a dog
grunt and sweat under a weary life more than firing pee-mail blanks, as it were.
Ay, there's the rub.
It is, I admit, a bit easier when one has an established routine, and can carefully calibrate one's output.
The problem comes if, like me, you live with a human who enjoys exploring
the undiscover'd country. So you have no idea when you set out, how long the walk will be, nor lie of the land. How then is a dog to determine his volume and frequency of releases?
Now please, girls, stop your sniggering!
I speak here of
enterprises of great pith and moment.
Oh. Apparently I need to apologise to Mr William Shakespeare...
PS Many thanks for your amazing responses to my previous post. Boy have you set me some tough challenges!
