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At approximately 2 p.m. this afternoon, on my way back from lunch procurement at Benvenuto, I noticed a cute little puppy that was either a Cairn or a Norwich terrier, just sitting there calmly, checking out the scenery on 24th Street. Both breeds are fairly popular in the city given their compact size and the equally compact size of the average residence here, but I had never before seen one so young and innocent-looking. (For your reference and terrier edification: Dorothy’s Toto, while oft mistaken for a Scottie, was actually a Cairn terrier.)

I bent down to pet the dog, who was very nice and generously supplied me with puppy kisses. I did feel like I was cheating a little bit on Howie and LuLu, but I also felt like they’d be happy I was getting some doggie love in their absence.

“Is this a Cairn terrier or a Norwich terrier?” I asked the owner, whose gender was indeterminate.  “So cute!”

“I can’t get her to urinate,” He-She blurted out in a gender-neutral and Tourette’s-like manner.

Um … sorry to hear that … I have irritable bowel syndrome.

I didn’t really know how to respond.  Sure, Ollie had been known to withhold pee when he was distracted by a blade of grass, a pigeon, the faint smell of fried chicken, or another dog, but I’m fairly sure that was never the first thing I said to people I met on the streets of Philadelphia.

Moreover, everyone knows that dogs pee. They don’t “urinate.” They do not evacuate their bladders.  I cannot imagine how much like a jackass I would have sounded if I’d used that word when Sloth and I bickered about which of us would be taking Ollie for his bedtime constitutional.

“Husband, it is your turn to ensure that our canine, Ollie, urinates prior to retiring for the evening. He has not urinated in several hours and if he does not urinate outside now, he may urinate within the domicile later. I would prefer that no urination take place within said domicile, as the plush beige carpet already emits a urine-esque odor. Ergo, please take Ollie outside and see that he urinates.”

In the end, I merely chuckled politely in response to the gender-unknown dog owner. I wished I’d had some pee-inducing wisdom for her, but the one piece of relevent advice I had didn’t seem like something He-She would want to hear: that the surest way to get a puppy to take a leak is to bring him inside and put him somewhere you DON’T want him to pee.

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Special Guest Bloggers: Howie & LuLu


 Greetings from Dallas! I am coming to you live from the gorgeous new abode of my dear friends Dave and Rob, who saved my life in Philadelphia. In honor of my visit, I have invited their Wheaten Terriers Howie and LuLu — my god-dogs — to guest blog. These fuzzy guest bloggers appear above (LuLu is on the left, Howie on the right.) Their spelling isn’t quite at grade-level, so I will translate at the end of the entry.

Deer frendz uv Miz T’s blog hellow

Miz T is viziteeng uss frum noo york and wee ar reel iksytid too see hir! shee yooziz deelishis keelz produkts and wee lik to lick hir fayss.  wee skratcht hir armz wen wee huggd hir sow now shee looks lik uh kuttur.  she brawt ar dadz taystee treets frum noo york and shee sez wee kan hav sum evin iff wee ar not uhlowd. wee got to gow too wuttubergir and wee stuk ar hedz owt thu window then wee peed. yoo kan probublee smell miz t’s unyin breth frum wair yoo ar. miz t will tri to tip mor shee iz tird bekooz hir playn was layt.

Bi Lov Howie and LooLoo 


Dear Friends of Miss T’s blog hello

Miss T is visiting us from New York and we are real excited to see her! She uses delicious Kiehl’s products and we like to lick her face. We scratched her arms when we hugged her so now she looks like a cutter. She brought our dads tasty treats from New York and she says we can have some even if we are not allowed. We got to go to Whattaburger and we stuck our heads out the window then we peed. You can probably smell Miss T’s onion breath from where you are. Miss T will try to type more she is tired because her plane was late.

Bye Love Howie and LuLu

Special Guest Bloggers: Howie & LuLu