As we know, Thanksgiving morning, cold outside, snow on the ground, I'm obviously sitting here at the computer, and Caleb enters the room, sits down near my feet, and gives me his "stare." It's his "C'mon dummy, I want something."
From experience I know he wants to go out for a short walk.
I take off my warm slippers, slip in to my boots, look around for a plastic bag, find his fancy leash thing, pull my hood up, and out we go.
Caleb has an unusual sense of smell and sight. He can see and detect odors that are far away. When he detects an odor on the ground, it takes him many seconds to analyze the source. Some he "remarks" with his own liquid, followed by at least two of those back leg kicking things, he really likes to do them, especially if there is something loose around that he can spread.
After much sniffing, and his signature "sniffing pattern" of rapidly going back and forth on the same spot, till it is just "right," he has a bowel movement. That is when I realize, I am 81, old, cold, standing here in my old hunting boots, sweat pants and my white "hoodie," watching this little black dog, have a bowel movement. And then, when he is done, I jump in to action with the Walmart plastic bag, reach down and pick up this steamy, fresh, "stool" that Caleb, who is now happy and ready to go inside.
Marilyn, my wife, is happy, when we go inside and she sees what I am carrying, "Oh, good, he pooped."
If I hit the lottery, well, no, I guess it would be ludicrous to hire someone just for that. Caleb is just doing his job, he makes me get up off the couch, put on the boots, walk around finding everything, gets me outside walking, bending and stooping, and, well he knows I need some "cardio" .... it's just part of his job. I should just be thankful I can still do it. Keep it up Caleb.
