kinds of drugs and its side effects

The pee strip chronicles: San Diego

Picture this. You are enjoying a relaxing drink, perhaps some appetizers, on the outdoor patio of McCormick & Schmick’s, an upscale seafood restaurant at the Omni San Diego in the trendy  Gaslamp Quarter. You spot a small dog lifting his leg on a strip of grass flanking the sidewalk directly in front of you. Not a big deal. Nature calls, it’s a cute dog, and the performance is oddly acrobatic: you’ve never seen a dog take such an extended, three-legged pee.

But during this golden showers show, the woman accompanying the pup fumbles in her large black tote, takes out a kidney-shaped glass dish, and places it under him. She then proceeds to transfer the urine she’s collected into a jar with a top, giving the original glass dish a cursory wipe with a napkin before bundling everything (except the dog) back into the bag and scuttling away.

At best, you experience amusement; at worst, a loss of appetite.

I am, of course, the fumbler responsible for this humiliating display. Welcome to my first post-diabetes vacation with Frankie.

Here’s the thing. In order for me to administer the correct insulin dose, I use Diastix strips to test Frankie’s urine glucose levels. Usually I do it in the privacy of my backyard, bringing the glass dish (a former ashtray, only kidney-shaped by coincidence) inside and letting the microwave timer count off the requisite 30 seconds for the test.

Lacking a watch with a second hand or anything else to measure off the time in San Diego, I’ve devised this elaborate scheme for bringing the pee back into our hotel room, where, I’ve discovered, my laptop has the requisite clock.

Yes, the stretch of grass Frankie chose was the closest to the hotel entrance and I’m pleased he didn’t take me on a long excursion away from the hotel. That said, I’m convinced he took pleasure in finding a spot that was maximally embarrassing to me; it’s a mischievous terrier trait he’s perfected at home and, I’ve now discovered, can take on the road.

But the story gets even more embarrassing.

Back in the hotel room, when I told my friend, Clare,  about Frankie’s urinary exhibitionism, she asked me why I have to go through the complicated glass jar transfer process. “Why can’t you just put the urine test strip in his pee stream?”

I explained the need for the 30 second computer count.

Clare was still perplexed. She believes I am a smart person — in fact, I often depend on her to assure me of this.”But can’t you just count to 30?” she asked.

Now why didn’t I think of that? I can’t really explain it, except that I have a tendency to ignore horses in favor of zebras when seeking solutions.  So instead of streamlining the pee strip process, as it were, for my trip, I complicated it by adding steps.

I’m sure this story has a moral, perhaps one involving the need for fresh perspectives — and vacations. Then again, I’ve started visualizing Frankie deviating from his usual balletic routine and making a sudden turn, while I squat, test strip in hand. He too will adjust his behavior and take his perverse terrier pleasure by peeing on me.

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  1. Clare
    Posted July 2, 2009 at 6:30 pm | Permalink

    Well, I have to admit that when I tried the streamlined strip-in-the-stream technique I ended up with a palm full of pee. And a successfully peed-upon strip!

    • admin
      Posted July 2, 2009 at 8:39 pm | Permalink

      That makes sense. Archie is more of a male pattern pee-er, so direction is harder to gauge, whereas Frankie, when he’s not in mischief mode, has a focused stream.

  2. Susanne
    Posted July 2, 2009 at 10:52 pm | Permalink

    Can totally relate – the only time Jasmine will reliably pee is on her walk. She will happily lead me round the backyard for half an hour and not give anything up, but a walk halfway down the street yields pee everytime! Am sure the neighbours think I am obsessive compulsive collecting not only poo, but pee as well. I imagine them saying “Such a lovely dog, not too sure about her pee toting owner though…”

    • admin
      Posted July 3, 2009 at 6:55 am | Permalink

      And of course our dogs think we are mighty peculiar, too. “She only used to collect the hard stuff,” they’re thinking. “Now all of a sudden, she wants the liquid too.”

  3. Posted July 4, 2009 at 2:49 pm | Permalink

    You might try having a little fun with it. First you need to create and wear a turban. Then pick up the kidney shaped bowl of pee and set it on the table. Light a candle and peer knowingly into the pee. Sing or hum a little tune and then begin incantations. Don’t be afraid to wave your arms around.

    Don’t worry. The audience will forget the pee.

    • admin
      Posted July 4, 2009 at 2:56 pm | Permalink

      I like it, though I’m not sure if I can add turban wrapping to my skills… Maybe a fez? Arm waving is good — I can do that, no problem, being an ex-New Yorker and thus used to talking with my hands!

2 Trackbacks

  1. […] is not a stellar traveler. I’ve detailed his dislike of car rides in several June posts. Getting pee strip readings of his blood glucose on the road can be difficult […]

  2. By Will My Dog Hate Me? » Blog Archive » Dog Butts R Us on December 23, 2009 at 12:22 pm

    […] Dog diseases aren’t funny — except when they are. I worry a great deal about Frankie’s diabetes but I also know that collecting pee samples in public can make for some pretty amusing situations; see The Pee Strip Chronicles, San Diego. […]

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