There are few things that humble me more than when I'm forced to slowly trudge around and around and around in a foot of snow, the temperature hovering near zero, the wind smacking me in the face, as I wait for Bitsy to find just the right spot to poop. Can one small drift really make a difference?

Makes you wonder who is getting walked.

I suppose the only thing more humbling would be having to pick up that poop, but the way I figure, what's the point of taking out a second mortgage and paying taxes if you can't leave your dog's poop on the lawn? Nature’s fertilizer. I'm not really sure Bitsy even needs to circle around as much as she does. Going strictly on observation, I'd bet money she does far less circling in the warm weather months. I think that all this circling around in the snow is just a way to punish me for not devising some sort of indoor plumbing for her.

“Boy, it's cold out here. Sniff. Sniff. Glad I've got all this fur. Suppose I could poop right now and then we can both go inside. Sniff. Sniff. Naaaaahhh. I think he's shivering. Good. I'll circle some more. Sniff. Sniff."

I think she smirks with every sniff. Call it payback.

Not that I blame her.

Options in life are sometimes limited, and I’ll admit there’s been some close calls. Did you ever spend an unexpected two hours on the Grand Central Parkway after a few too many at the ballpark? Fortunately, I’ve never had to squat in the snow. 

I give Bitsy credit for putting up with this system.

We might treat her like she's one of the family, but to the best of my knowledge, she's the only one living under our roof who must go outside to urinate. Even our boys knew where to draw the line when it came to relieving themselves.

I'm sure there are dog trainers who can't believe what they're reading. I can hear them screaming about how I let this get out of hand, how vital it is to have a properly potty-trained dog and how important it is for an animal to go on command from its owner: “Now drop and give me number two!”

I don’t know.

It just can’t be that pleasant, forced to go out in the open, in front of other dogs, not to mention those cats and squirrels. You just know they're getting a kick watching Mr. Tough Bark be told where and when to go.

And that comes after she goes through the indignity of having to wait and whimper by the door for someone to take her out. I can still remember the arguments:

“Guys, Bitsy has to go out!”

“I walked her yesterday, it's Daniel's turn!”

“I walked her this afternoon, it's Dustin's turn!”

“But I fed her yesterday, so Daniel has to walk her!”

“I checked her water; Dustin walks her now!”

At that point Bitsy was sweating up a storm and hopping around as if she was trying to avoid hot coals.

Eventually someone took pity on our Maltese. Wanna guess who?

When Bitsy finally stopped spinning and got down to business, I’d always turn my head.

Give her a little privacy.

The least I could offer her is some scintilla of self-respect. Take away the pressure of the moment.

And when she’s done: “Gooooooooood giiiiiiirrrl.”

She wags her tail. All is forgiven.

Until the next time she scratches at the door.