I did it; I collected Grendel’s urine sample! How, you ask?
First, I suppose I should tell you, Grendel is one of my two dogs, the big guy weighing in at 18 lbs. My other dog is snack size, 7 lbs; let’s call her E.
Grendel’s vet sent me home with a kit for collecting urine. [Haha… she doesn’t know me.] The bag comprised a clear plastic tray with a spout, a labeled cup, rubber gloves, and a plastic cylinder with a spout. I do not know what the last item is for.
I waited weeks for one of my children to be free to help because I can’t walk and chew gum without someone getting hurt. Complicating matters, the help was needed during the vet’s drop-off hours, which are from 9 to 5 and closed on weekends; the sample expires after 12 hours. [Suspense builds.] Nearing my deadline without an assistant, I had no choice but to collect the urine solo.
I don’t like leaving E at home alone when walking Grendel because she never shuts up. Her bark is like the reverberating roar of a freight train that has no end. She is no better behaved on walks, a Tasmanian devil on a leash. She leads the way, spinning and pulling like a storm system strong enough to warrant shuddering your house. What was I thinking?
Fuck it.
1st attempt:
First thing Monday, rather than my routine of setting the dogs free to do their morning business in the fenced yard, we set out in the hood. With Led Zeppelin on my headphones, my dog-walking music turned up to eleven, one hand held both leashes and a poop bag (because I’m not an asshole); I armed the other with the small tray meant to be tucked under the peeing dog. I was ready.
When Grendel started peeing, I leaped into action. (Not all heroes wear capes.) Hands shaking (because this is important), I rushed to line up the collection kit tray with the stream of urine. I couldn’t believe how easy it was. Why did I think I needed help? I had more than enough. Then he finished, kicking the tray out of my hand. The pee rained down on me.
2nd attempt.
Same.
3rd attempt:
My critical thinking skills are the stuff of legends. I knew what was working against me and cut out the middleman—no tray. Cup in hand, cap in pocket, off we went. Grendel started peeing. I crouched as the cup filled. Meanwhile, E pulled and spun until I dropped her leash. I had a choice (Sophie’s choice) between saving the uncapped cup of urine and stopping E from spinning off into the street. I’m a genius; I could do both. As she twirled down the long driveway, I thought I’d stop her by jumping on her leash. Sadly, my foot-eye coordination is as bad as my hand-eye. I did not stick the landing. I landed on the end of her fancy strap that has a clip-on cylindrical canister, containing extra poop sacks. The top of the canister popped off, and the roll of bags did what they are wont to do; it unrolled. That 7 lb dog kept running, with enough momentum to pull my feet out from under me. I ultimately chose to break my fall with my hands rather than my butt. I dropped the cup; urine flew in the air. Somehow, I still fell on my butt. [Crack] The cup broke my fall. As I lay on my back, having exhausted my will to live, E came back to hump my leg, so I grabbed her.
I went back the vet for a new labeled cup.
4th attempt:
Today, armed with a replacement cup, I left E home to bark, walking only Grendel. Despite the music blasting through headphones, E could be heard. Grendel knew something was up and was afraid to pee with me hovering. I was patient. Finally he did his business and I did mind.
My wrist is scratched and my tailbone hurts, but I collected the sample days before the deadline to receive a pre-paid discount.
I’m not sure having pets is worth it…
Just kidding.
Adorable little babies. Those faces say, “We are here to help, Mom.” ❤️
They’re my emotional support. 😊