A Dog’s Guide to His Favorite Bathroom Spots

PetMD Editorial
Updated: February 23, 2011
Published: April 01, 2009
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Words by Sparky the Mutt

We dogs may not have the strange habit of using a giant white bowl to dispose of our "accidents," or use clever names the way humans do (the Smell-a-torium, the Tinkle Closet, the Loo, the Relief Station), but we do have our traditions to uphold. I mean, humans don’t even sniff around, check to see if it’s a prime location, or savor the moment when they "go." It’s downright unnatural.

Our pit stops, on the other hand, are our testament. We claim the territory as our own and will be back to defend it if any four-legged animal should be dumb enough to contest that fact. Moreover, where we leave our "mark" is almost as important as why we do it in the first place.

I’ve laid out my perfect day of "relief," so that all you young pups may learn, perhaps as you are doing your business atop these words now.

6:15 a.m. I was awake really early this morning. I don't know what it was (something I ate, my long night howling at the boys in the neighborhood, or just my bad bladder), but I woke up needing to "go" really bad. It was a pain waking my human up. He just tossed and turned awhile, but jumping on top of him did the trick. The light post just seemed to beckon me on this beautiful morning. I wasn’t going to choose it at first, but the thing kept on flickering on and off. Dogs are suckers for shiny lights.

10:30 a.m. My human brought me on his errands today and it was great! Don’t ask me why dogs like those moveable box machines so much; I’m not quite sure. I do know that every time I stick my head out of it, my mouth gets stretched out real wide and my eyelids get pulled back. Where was I? Oh yeah, my pee-pee tank was just about full when my human starts yelling at this metal post next to his moving box machine. I thought he had feed it those shiny little pieces before we left. No matter. Not being able to hold it any longer, I just let the metal post have it. My human laughed and scratched my ears. I didn’t know he enjoyed my pit stops as much as I do.

1:53 p.m. Sorry, nothing too fancy here. I just went to my green patch and drip-dropped. That jerk Rover from the corner keeps on trying to one-up me. We despise one-uppers!

4:45 p.m. Fakeout. We walked around, but nothing. It happens to the best of us every once in awhile. I mean, you try going when someone’s staring at you all the time.

9:22 p.m. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! I’ve been waiting for this all day. I let my human suffer a little bit -- a zig to the garden, a zag to the trash can, a little dash to the red-levered box in which he stuffs paper in everyday -- but I already know where I really wanted to go. The big red fire hydrant. I only know its name because my human told me. He always says, “Boy, you sure do love that fire hydrant.” Wouldn’t you? It’s big and it’s red.

9:34 p.m. I guess it’s time for bed. There’ll be dreams of biscuits, moving box machines, and red fire hydrants for me tonight. Joy.

Let this be a lesson to you mutts. Do your homework, scope out your locations, and by all means, make sure to leave your mark for the next guy.

Are there any spots we missed? Please forward them and your stories to us at [email protected].

Image: Jackie / via Flickr