n  "LOO"  of  something  better

In view of a recent change of heart by our local Council – they have actually adopted ‘clean-up’ laws – I thought that this time I would muse on one of the biggest and most controversial problems caused by ‘man’s best friend’. Yes, I do mean what you think I mean.

We have a very large dog, or should I say bitch? Those of you with this same problem will appreciate the speed at which your lawn deteriorates and finally disappears in a cloud of brown mush. The last house we had was O.K., it had been landscaped to do away with all grass areas completely, and Tessa had chosen her own spot at the far side of the house. We dug it out, filled it with gravel, and she had her very own dog loo [toilet], easy to clear and easy to hose down. Yes, we have had the commercially made green plastic ones, but they’re not very successful with such a large beastie.

As faithful readers will know, we moved a short while ago, and the drawback to the above-type arrangement is that you can’t take it with you. So, it was back to ruining the lawn and searching the flower beds at clear-up time, a situation which drove us to do something about it as soon as was reasonably possible.

Having removed half a dozen twenty-year-old laurel bushes, about 20/25 feet high and 15 or so feet across, we were left with large bare patches in the borders. One in particular, in a corner of the garden cried out for a summer-house – you know, the kind with a veranda on the front? This, once in place, left a nice secluded area at the rear, screened off by bushes, and ideal to accommodate our canine plumbing. Duly dug out, surrounded by a low brick wall and filled with gravel, a tree growing in the middle (well, we might get a dog one day, and then he would be happy too) our ‘rest room’ was complete. The question was then, would our girl appreciate all we had done for her, or had we wasted our time and money?

We need not have worried, as soon as we had finished the last rake-out, she wandered round, examined, sniffed - and crouched. The lawn is now beginning to recover, and the borders are no longer minefields to be avoided at all costs. Clear-up time is a doddle!

Dog waste has not always been such a problem.

In Victorian times ‘pure’, as it was called, was in great demand for its ‘cleansing and purifying properties’.   I quote from a book by a lovely, but somewhat naïve, Victorian gentleman named Henry Mayhew who, in 1851, wrote a very comprehensive survey and social comment called ‘London Labour and the London Poor’. Dickens delved deeply into it, and used much of its material as background for his novels. It catalogues how the poor lived and worked, how they scraped a living from the streets, both legally and otherwise, and is well worth a read if you can get hold of a copy.

However, I digress.

Pure-finders met with a ready market for all they could collect, selling it by the bucketful at the numerous tan-yards in London, where it was used for dressing leather. They could get from 8d. to 10d per bucket (about 3p now), or sometimes, if the quality was high, they could ask 1 shilling (5p). Mayhew describes in great detail the various types and properties of pure collected – don’t worry, I don’t intend to do the same. Suffice it to say that the white, chalky stuff brought a higher price, as it did not stain and could be used to dress the white kid leather used for ladies’ gloves. He also estimated that at any one time there could be from two to three hundred people engaged solely in the business of pure gathering.

Some gatherers got concessions to clean out kennels, and could make from 10s to 15s a week (50p/75p). Whilst not a profession I, personally, would care to indulge in, one must admit that with average weekly earnings estimated at about 7s 6p (approx. 37p) this was not a bad living wage at the time.

Sometimes, as I take Tessa for her daily walk, plastic bag in pocket for those little unplanned moments, I reflect on the pure finders of Victorian England, combing the streets of London, their trademark black leather gloves on their right hands – although some dispensed with these as they maintained it was easier to wash their hands than to keep the glove fit for use – and thank whatever powers there be for clean-up laws, dog litter bins, and chemical tanning solutions.

September 2000

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