Free Range Dogs & Bubble-Headed Humans; Or Why It's Not O.K. to Poop-and-Run in Portland, Oregon

My two-legged mom is like most moms. She embarrasses me sometimes. Take this morning, for example. We went for a walk through the neighborhood and turned the corner and nearly tripped over a yellow Lab, limping along the sidewalk looking lost and confused. Poor guy was having a senior moment.

Anyway, he needed a hug so Mom gave him one. She was trying to read the address on his tag when a Volvo lurched to a stop a few blocks away and a lady got out and shouted, "Oh, don't worry about him, he's free range." As she was about to drive off, Mom shouted back: "Yeah, so are you. Free range in the head, that is!"

Talk about embarrassing. But the stuff really hit the fan when we returned home and found a big pile of "free range" dog poop on our front lawn—yet again. While Mom was using every curse word known to man (and sailor dogs), I was running through the list of possible culprits in my mind. Was it the leashless dog that stampeded our front porch a few weeks ago and knocked my two-legged little sister down to the ground as she was leaving for preschool?

Or was it the dog who trails after the guy who jogs down our street in his bare feet? Apparently, this is the latest human craze (even though dogs have been running without shoes since the beginning of time). Anyway, the barefoot jogger wears all the latest high-tech running gear, he just doesn't wear shoes. For that matter, the doofus never has a leash or a plastic bag or a clue as to where his four-legged friend is or what he's doing.

Look, I'm not blaming my fellow canines. I would LOVE to be free range. I'd jump on old ladies (because they are nice and usually carry treats); I'd stalk squirrels; I'd chase all the neighborhood cats; and I'd never worry about carrying plastic bags because I could take an unencumbered bathroom break on somebody else's landscaping (seriously, who lets their dog take a dump on top of a neighbor's blooming azalea bush? And unless you are a Great Dane, how do you even get your butt that high?)

Really, Portland pet people, what's the deal? We are so lucky to live here. It's the dog friendliest city in the U.S. But people who take these privileges too far give responsible dogs (and their responsible humans) a bad reputation. And as lovely as our little neighborhood is, we still live in a city which means lots of people, plenty of fast-moving cars, and a pack of wily urban coyotes. Not to mention one very pissed-off person I'll call 'Mom.'

Why do you let your faithful four-legged friend wander around on his own and think that you are doing him a favor? Take him on a walk, go for a run, visit a dog park or give up your vanilla-caramel-latte habit so that you can pay for a few hours of doggie day care per week. It's called responsible dog ownership. (And don't tell me there isn't one near you. Portland has more dog parks and dog day care places per capita than most cities in America—combined.)

So here's my tip for maintaining happy human harmony: The coyote might go after your dog, but my mom will go after you—with a bull horn and a plastic bag. So please, for the love of dog, save us all a bit of embarrassment and be a role model for how dogs and humans can learn good manners from one another.

Wags and woofs,

Bella the Boxer