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So my dogs have carbon pawprints?
By dwray in The nature of things
September 21, 2011

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I have these two dogs. Roly, the fluffy orange one, is kind of like Gary Cooper, if Cooper were to be trapped in a little dog's body. A littler conservative, a little mischievous, but generally an OK guy.

Then there's Dolly. Dolly is a black Tibetan Terrier with a personality that is basically Scarlett O'Hara, if she happened to be reincarnated in the form of a slightly plump (we call it "fluffy") curly-tailed creature. She wants what she wants when she wants it, and there isn't much that will stand in her way, least of all her human.

Anyways, I came across some interesting information today. It turns out, my dogs are not only fluffy, fiendish and adorable - they have a carbon paw print.

The good news is, a carbon paw print is totally a reducible thing. - Use eco-friendly bags to pick up dog waste (assuming you actually do that).

  • Use ceramic bowls, Dresden china or whatever cute-as-a-button doggy dish you wish, but don't use disposable bowls for food and water. It's just a bunch of unnecessary trash.

  • Supposedly buying fancy, organic puppy chow is a good thing and reduces waste. Personally, my dogs tend to prefer more common fair, if they can't have steak, but maybe going organic is good.

  • Use environmentally friendly stuff when washing your dog or having them groomed. It's not a terrible idea, besides dousing the little guys in chemicals probably isn't exactly good for them either.

  • Taking in a homeless dog is also a good idea. I'm not sure how it impacts this carbon paw print thing, but it's just the nice thing to do.

I'm not sure how Dolly and Roly will take to these changes. There might even be a rebellion over that organic food thing. Which could spell trouble for me.

These two are basically enemies, but occasionally they partner up to create some real havoc. Once, I happened to be holding their leashes when they caught sight of a squirrel. Dolly sort of lunged forward, while Roly swerved to the right, just behind my ankles. I spun through the air like Charlie Brown right after Lucy has jerked the football away and landed with a splat. I laid there for a second, as truck drivers honked and the dogs barked and swore at the squirrel they almost caught. Then I got up, with dignity, walked home, with dignity, and, with dignity, and bruises already forming, looked down and told them, "I have no dogs."

They looked puzzled and sort of glanced at each other.

"What'd we do? It was a squirrel, after all."