“Run away, try to find that safe place you can hide.”

The dog. He poos. Everywhere.

I love my dog so much. But no matter how much you love something, it’s never fun to clean up its poo.

He’s so good at letting us know when he needs to go out and pee, but when it’s time for #2, he just runs somewhere in the house and hides. He does it quick, too. At first he was just doing it in our bathroom, but when we started shutting the door, he took it to mean he could poop anywhere. Usually carpeted anywhere.

Thing is, I’m a little worried. Last night he pooped outside. Yay, good dog! Lots of praise and happy voices. But right after he pooped, he cowered, tucked his little tail between his legs and looked up at me like he did something wrong. I don’t think he’s getting the point. I’m sad to say that I think we’re accidentally training him that pooping in general is bad, which is why he runs and hides to do it.

I’m so tired of poop, of him looking at me like I’m mean, of me feeling like a bad guy. I pop him on the butt. Nothing abusive, don’t go all PETA on me — I’m an ASPCA supporter, I do volunteer work at animal shelters (at least I used to when I lived in a smaller city where I could) and I send letters to congressmen, governors and even President Arroyo (Philippines) about the dog meat trade. But when Baxter’s bad, he gets a mini spanking. Then he sulks off somewhere and looks at me with these “Please don’t be mad, I can’t help pooping” eyes.

You know that kids’ book, “Everybody Poops”? I need a version of that for my little furball.

Pooping is okay, Baxter! Just not when it’s in my house.