Foxes Part 2 - The FOX POO Chronicles

FOX POO.

As a dog owner, few things have been quite as big a pain in the arse as this stuff. Seriously. I mean, poo in itself generally isn't fun, but fox poo is something else altogether. Especially when Mollie attaches herself to it.


So, we take Mollie and Bingo to the field at the end of our street for walks. It's brilliant; massive open space, lots of interesting things like trees and bushes, it's not far, there are always other dogs for them to play with. So you see, it's a pretty awesome place. Apart from the dual carriageway on the other side of it, but the dogs don't show interest in that.

So, cool, right?

 No, not cool, because, as you may have read from the Foxes Part One entry, we have foxes in our area. But that in itself isn't the problem; they're not stupid enough to be wandering around during the day in a place where a lot of dogs go. The problem is their poop.

Now see, Bingo is great when it comes to certain things outdoors. He doesn't show the faintest interest in dead rabbits, or fox poo, which is a giant relief, especially to my dad, who has had to wrestle many a dead, rotting rabbit out of Mollie's jaws. When there's a pile of fresh fox poo on the ground, Bingo will just saunter on by as though it's a clown passing out lollipops - no sir, I don't want any of that!

"Now get offa my lawn!"

Mollie, however, feels differently on the matter.

It's a dead certainty when she finds some. She usually runs around like a tongue-lolling maniac at the best of times while walking, but when there's fox poo... it's like free drinks at a student bar. She makes a B-line straight for it, and flops right in the middle of it and writhes about in ecstacy. My dad always has the same reaction.
'Oh god, NO! She's got in it again!'
And then the coaxing begins. We try and call her away from it, but nothing could possibly pull her away from it.

She looks at dead rabbits and fox poo in exactly the same way.

I mean, what? The stuff is like catnip to her! And considering how vicious she gets when she sees a fox, the fact that she absolutely adores rolling in their poo is just mind baffling. I mean, she wears the stuff. She'll come back with brown patches all over her once white fur, and the only thing you can do, once you've gotten over, or at least used to the smell, is shake your head at her happy, contented face. She has just had the fox-poo spa treatment, and is feeling fresh as a daisy.

"I'M FULL OF FOX POO AND WANT TO HUG YOU!"

The usual protocol for this was just to leave her outside for a few hours until she had cleaned herself, which she's usually pretty good with. But lately, it's been overkill. And we've taken a stand. The first time it got so bad that it actually made our eyes water.
'No, I'm not tolerating this anymore,' My dad said.
'What are you going to do?' I said. 'We can't stop her rolling in fox poo.'
'No,' He said with a hint of evil glee in his voice. 'We're going to give her a BATH.'

I swear, there was almost a cackle after he said it.

So, I grab the doggy shampoo, a handful of treats and call Mollie upstairs, which is fine, she comes upstairs on the landing. My mum has the bath running, it's nice and warm, but not too warm. I call Mollie in. She freezes. I try and coax her with a treat. No go. She can read the runes like a pro. Bingo, however, is ready, willing and able, and up for doing whatever it takes to get a treat. But of course, he's not the one who's been rolling in fox poo. Of course. Mollie turns around and scarpers, and it takes 15 minutes of me pretty much laying a breadcrumb trail of treats back up to the bathroom to get her back up to the landing, let alone the bathroom. My mum chimes in, and grabs a few treats herself, and eventually she gingerly creeps in. I shut the door and quicker than she can react, lift her into the tub.

"The nightmares. THEY CAME TRUE!"

Now, as you can see from the picture above, when Mollie realises she's in a bit of a check-mate situation, she gets the 'hung-dog' look. One that says 'Okay, you got me, I accept defeat. FOR NOW.' She'll look very sad and blue, but it's only because she knows that she's lost this round. But she'll stil be plotting...

"Soon."

Anyhoo, we gave her a wonderful bath, with suds and everything. We both scrubbed her with our gloved hands, while she gave us her best puppy-eyes, which, despite her best efforts, didn't work. But bless her for trying. To be honest, she actually seemed to enjoy being rubbed down, but as soon as we were done (or at least to Mollie's standards) drying her off with a grotty old towel, she leapt out of the tub, ran downstairs and rolled over as much as she could on our floormat by the door, giving the rest of us evil looks and thinking about her next move.

But hey, at least she didn't smell anymore!

Another picture, as this represents our only victory against Mollie. Short-lived though.