Not having been in the military, my knowledge of “KP Duty” (kitchen patrol) comes from cartoons and sitcoms, where KP duty is always the punishment for bad behavior.
For me, KP Duty means something else. As all dog owners know, when you mention your dog’s name, even if you’re not addressing him, he springs to attention. So, in my house, when we want to talk about Kemba without getting him all hyped up, we refer to him as “K.” Similarly, Robby and Brianne’s dog, Pickle, is known as “P.” Thus, when I’m left in charge of both of them, I have K-P Duty. Which in a lot of ways is just as tough as kitchen patrol.
Leash walking: This is not either dog’s strong suit. (I know, I know, the owner’s fault for not training better.) And neither of them is a small dog. Kemba weighs 52 pounds; Pickle weighs 64 pounds. Both dogs are very, very strong. Both also have very strong wills. And their wills seldom coincide. For example, Kemba’s will might say: Let’s cross the street. And Pickle’s will might say: I’m good with the side we’re on. Then picture me, with a leash in each hand, looking and feeling like a wishbone, trying my best not to get torn apart.
Feeding: Like most dogs, both Kemba and Pickle enjoy their food. A lot! They’re also
extremely protective of their food. If Pickle so much as glances at Kemba’s bowl, he’s gonna hear about it. And vice versa. But after many a skirmish as they got used to each other, they’ve accepted a routine. Kemba, with seniority (he’s 10; Pickle is 3), is served first, in the mud room. He pounces on his food and devours it, while Pickle waits cautiously in the living room. When Kemba’s finished, I tell him, “Go!” and tell Pickle, “Come!” Kemba’s reluctant to leave the food area, even though his bowl is empty; Pickle is leery about approaching Kemba in the danger zone. But eventually they gingerly pass each other, and Pickle takes his turn. I don’t feed Pickle in the mud room, though; I take him into the laundry room, behind a closed door. Because, to be quite honest, I don’t trust Kemba to be as patient and honorable as Pickle. (Kemba really likes food.)
Play time: Kemba is a retriever (as in Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever). He can fetch all
day. He’ll leave whatever toy we’re playing with right at my feet, look at
me imploringly, and wait for the next toss. Pickle, too, is a retriever (as in Labrador Retriever). Trouble is, he’s also a ball hog. He will not leave the toy at my feet; he’ll show it to me, then run away with it. Or he’ll taunt Kemba: drop it between his two front paws and dare Kemba to come and get it. Which Kemba won’t, because he’s a wimp. Instead, he’ll start in with his piercing, ear-splitting yelp, which means, “Daddy, help!” You might think I could employ two toys simultaneously, to keep both dogs happy, but if you really believe this will work, then you’ve never been around two dogs going at it. There is only ever one toy in play; any others simply don’t exist.
Car rides: I can’t complain about this one. Both dogs are very content in the car. Kemba, being one of the least affectionate dogs on the planet when it comes to human contact, always chooses a spot on the back seat, by himself. Which works out great, since Pickle helps himself to the shotgun seat, leaning as close to me as possible.
When I’ve managed to tire both dogs out, their resting dynamic is similar to their car dynamic. Pickle, though he’s the guest, not to mention the junior dog (and supposedly submissive), just assumes he gets the couch. This is Kemba’s favored spot, where he can stand watch at the living room window and bark at every passing truck or car or person. But, again, being a wimp, he makes himself happy on the carpet.
And finally, peace reigns.
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Are you, Beagle Man, expecting sympathy? If this is the only thing you need to worry about in a day, you’re doing very well.