A World of Turds

I never noticed before just how many turds cover the face of the earth, but my dog Willie seeks out every one.  By some mysterious criteria known only to Willie, the turds divide themselves into three categories:  turds to sniff, turds to roll in, or turds to eat.

On our twice-daily walks I have now become nearly as vigilant as Willie in the search for turds, though my mission is to steer him away from them.  My height advantage enables me to spot some turds a few steps before he does and shorten his leash, but his superior olfactory sense and proximity to the ground means I miss way more turds than he does.

In his book, “Cesar’s Way,” Dog Whisperer Cesar Millan discusses the reasons dogs sniff each other’s butts – and yours — explaining the way they interpret and understand the world and the other animals in it, what they’ve eaten and where they’ve been, blah, blah.  So I’ll tolerate a bit of turd sniffing.  But the rolling and the eating?  No.

Rolling on a turd – or a piece of road kill or any other smelly, decomposing, disgusting patch of slime – is an evolutionary holdover.  The dog – or coyote or wolf – does this to conceal his or her own scent, an advantage when hunting.  It’s a natural, inborn behavior that humans don’t have to tolerate and which, in Willie’s case, has twice led to sink baths immediately upon returning home.

But EATING a turd?

It happens so fast.  Dum, de, dum… It’s just after sunrise, we’re walking along the shoulder of the road, and before I know what’s happening, Willie has stopped in his tracks and is chewing.  Or he’s scooped something up in his mouth without breaking stride – and is chewing.

“Willie!  Give!”

It’s still early in our relationship and Willie is still young enough and submissive and compliant enough to allow me to remove from his mouth whatever he’s eating.  I use a swipe of a forefinger through his mouth and across his tongue to remove the objectionable (to me) yet presumably tasty (to him) object: a small, firm turd from a small-ish mammal.  Note to self: carry wet-nap packets on future dog walks.

Since many small mammals surround us here, the turd could have come from a skunk, possum, raccoon, squirrel, muskrat, chipmunk, shrew, mink, or mole.  But canine turd-snacking opportunities aren’t limited to the great outdoors; I once had a Golden/Collie mix named Jolene who thought our cat’s litter box was a like a vending machine filled with free Nutty Buddys, and she nosed around in it for treats every chance she got.

Why on earth do dogs eat turds, and how can we stop them?

Googling that question I learn there are accepted behavioral and evolutionary explanations for dogs eating stools (aka “coprophagia”).  While humans find this horrifying, the fact is that any poop – from horse manure to goose droppings — contains both fat and protein.  And in some cases, turds may actually have a higher nutritional value than some commercial dog foods containing dyes and fillers.  Bottom line?  Dogs find turds tasty; if they didn’t, they wouldn’t eat them.

Jolanta Benal, the dog trainer writing for QuickAndDirtyTips.com says “Almost no behavior makes it clearer that dogs are different from us.  Feces disgusts us.  Not so for dogs.  Eating feces is dangerous to humans, mostly not to dogs.  Prevent access as much as you can, teach your dog a strong “Leave it” cue, and bear in mind that dogs are dogs and sometimes we have to shrug and say “Oh well.”