To wipe or not to wipe?

Last summer I took a walk around Lovers Retreat in Omagh. It was a Saturday morning and I had decided on the short stroll because I was too early for the shops. Also, there were no lovers around at the time.

A pale mist was rising off the Camowen and as shafts of sunlight streamed through the trees, I took up a perch on the stone wall by weir and watched the water slide past silky-smooth and calm. The purr of early traffic mingled with birdsong and for once, on account of the serene occasion, I refrained from checking the morning headlines on my phone. I simply sat back and sucked in the freshness of a day’s awakening.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed an elderly man approach with a small dog on a lead. I noticed, in comparison to my own T-shirt and shorts, the man wore a heavy coat and even the dog sported one of the little waistcoat garments. It’s not that cold.

After the man had passed by and we had exchanged the obligatory “good mornings,” and “quare day for its,” I watched the little dog and wondered if I should have brought Waffle along to share in the tranquility of the morning. Then I remembered things might not have worked out so tranquil if the hound had been in tow. Then the man did something quite unexpected.

The dog had hunkered suddenly, puckering up for what was undoubtedly his early morning toilet. The man produced a small poo bag (good man yerself) and waited until the dog had taken care of business, then reached down to remove the discard. After setting down the bag, with the dog watching all the while, knowing, I assumed, what was coming – a treat perhaps! – the man produced a tissue from his pocket and proceeded to wipe the dog’s rear end.

Cleanliness is next to godliness!

Job complete, the tissue went into the poo bag and a knot was tied. And then the pair continued on their merry way.

I was taken aback. Is this common practice? Should I start wiping Waffle’s butt?

Whilst I have never been an overly squeamish person, for some reason I felt as if drawing the line at wiping had been an unconscious but correct decision. For some other reason, I’m not sure I even like looking at his butt, never mind wiping it. Yet, sometimes the looking is quite essential when he’s being bathed.

Maybe, I considered, the man in the heavy coat rarely baths his small dog with the waistcoat. Maybe they share a bed. Or maybe the small dog is still recovering from the scourge of a bad dose of the scour. Short of striding over to the man and demanding, “What’s the craic with that wiping, sur?” I would likely never know the pair’s personal circumstances.

I recalled this blissful morning at the Camowen this week after Waffle had his own dose of the scour. This doesn’t happen very often but when it does, as you might imagine, it’s a scourge for both of us. The aftermath of the dose consequently necessitated an inspection of that rear end which is never wiped (or looked at, if I can help it) just to see if a deep clean might be required. It wasn’t and I was thus convinced that Waffle is the proud owner of the Rolls Royce of rear ends. Nevertheless, I decided to ask the world wide web about the whole concept of wiping, just to be on the safe side.

Into Google I began typing, ‘should I ever wipe…’ and the question I sought popped up as the fourth most popular. It appears I am not the only person wondering as to the efficacy of this practice.

The top result, from wagwalking.com concluded, “So the bottom line is this, dogs don’t need to wipe themselves because they have a different anatomy than ours. At times, you may have to help your dog wipe his bottom but this is not an everyday occurrence and should only be done as needed. A dog can live a perfectly healthy life and never have to wipe.”

“What do you know,” I said aloud. “The Rolls Royce of rear ends.”