Another Poop Post

You know those once-in-a-lifetime dogs? The ones you never forget, and you're only lucky enough to have once? Satchel was that dog; sadly we had to put him to sleep just over a year ago. We still talk about him often in the Fromage household, usually in the context of picking on our current dogs, Erika and Buford, requesting that they be more like their predecessor. (For instance, Saturday morning, when I went downstairs to find trash strewn about, “Why can’t you guys just be more like Satchel? He didn’t pull this kind of $H!T!”)


It’s hard to narrow down the best thing about Satchel. Was it his wrinkly face that one could smoosh into utter cuteness? His ability to be so loving and gentle with everyone, puppies, babies and strangers, but ready to tear someone’s face off if they messed with his mamma ? Was it because he could be trusted with the run of the house and not get into trouble? The ever so gentle way he took food from your hand, using his lips so not to accidently nibble a finger? Was it his seeming ability to understand exactly what you were saying to him?

Those things were all wonderful, but the thing we miss most about Satchel? His pooping.


Yes, his pooping.

Satchel loved to poop and we loved how excited he was after he pooped. We think this stemmed from his younger days when we were housetraining. Since I was in an apartment at that time and had no yard, I was right there with Satchel, on the other end of the leash every single time he successfully pooped outside and boy would we celebrate when he did! Treats! Jumping! Exclaiming “Hooray! Satchel! Hooray! Good job, boy!”! I’m sure all of the other residents in the complex thought I was nuts, but it worked. He was housetrained in record time and the sense of pride and accomplishment he felt after pooping stayed with him for years to come. Even as an adult dog, then limited to the use of only 3 legs, he would finish his business and take off into a full sprint! Wagging, running and celebrating! (Although, Erika was trained the same way, but does not derive the same joy from this activity...)

We could watch him in the back yard, running until he met the fence, and on walks LT Fromage would take the leash and as Satchel finished, the boys would together run for blocks as I cleaned up what had warranted such excitement.

Satchel’s favorite place to poop was Home Depot.


About a year after Satchel came along, I bought a house. Home owners spend a lot of time at Home Depot, which happens to be dog friendly (perhaps no longer, after Satchel left his mark…).

Satchel often joined me running errands on weekends.


I always made him potty before we left the house. Really, I tried to prevent it.


As soon as we entered the store, Satchel scouted for the perfect place to poop; a long, empty aisle. The moment I became distracted he would hunch over…

Then he would run! A big, brown, wrinkly, 3-legged dog flailing about on the end of his leash (Or sometimes, if he was lucky, slipping out of his collar to dash up and down the aisles) as I bagged the pile he was so proud of.

Every. Single. Time.

They must have come to know us at that Home Depot. “Here comes that girl and her crazy dog… Get the hose out, boys…”

We miss you, Satch. See you on the other side. I hope they have Home Depot in heaven.