Urine Luck.

Chewy doesn't pee very much. And I spend an inordinate amount of time telling her -- beckoning her -- begging her to do so.

It's not so much when we're here, around our home base hotel. But we do a lot of training in The Mall (it is that generic -- a bland, overly air conditioned place housing a Sears and JC Penney and a subway in the food court -- which is Our Hangout -- our being, our clique of Adults In Class -- Jenn with Jai and her mom, Shannon with Gwen, and Neal with Odie and his wife Kim (Neal's wife, not Odie's -- sorry, anti-same-sex marriage folks -- this isn't grist for your mill of intolerance).

It's a pretty cool thing, too, to hang out with three new people my age, all Type I, with stories to share and more camaraderie than I would have expected -- and the kind of knowing looks and nods during tales told and suggestions from someone who knows that I didn't know I missed -- but I do, now, need. There's no going back. Jenn and Shannon and Neal will be -- are -- my friends... and in a truly unique manner. It's pretty freaking cool.

(It's been an epoch and a half since I hung with a Type I my age.)

So, we go to The Mall or, Wal-Mart or, Barnes & Noble... or somewhere else to train... or Chili's last night for "dinner"... -- I was at all of those spots yesterday, all of tyem, all of them. It felt like two suburban weeks... and prior to walking into the 62 degrees of each spot, from the 91 outside, I am jackassedly parading outside on some little strip of yellowbrown grass between the parking lot spaces, vast and oil dropletted and burning feverishly, angry at humans, this grass is. I am walking Barack Chewbama back and forth, imploring her to do it for her, for me, for America: "Yes we can... urinate! Yes we can... take a ZING! of a whiz! Chewbama, yes we can.. avoid the heartbreak some of the other handlers here have felt, as their dogs, seemingly fine, just walkin, talkin, lookin about all cool like, suddenly squat and lay (lie?) a load -- in The Mall, in Wal-Mart, in other places where Poop Isn't Welcome. But you and I Chewie... you and I have our sleeves rolled up and we're going to take on special interests, we're going to dial back the high oil prices (which affect shipping costs for poop bags), we're going to make sure health coverage for folks who get sick by picking up poop, covers all Americans, we're going to create good jobs (dogwalking, dog grooming, pooper scooper manufacturing), and we're going to start... we're going to begin... we're going to set a new course, on a (dog friendly) bridge to the 21st century's second decade... by taking a friggin' Pee. Right. Now.

Yes we can!

Truth is: no she can't. She never peed yesterday until we got home. She watched Gwen pee a few times -- Gwen would walk on the grass, squat with focus, like a golfer on the 18th with TV cameras rolling, pee, and walk back towards a blissful Shannon, who's stand giggling for a minute or two, and then bored savagely, wghile Chewie itched, looked at me wondering what we were supposed to be doing, scratched, sniffed a leaf, looked at some kid walking by, walking and sniffed and fake squatted, lay down and roll in the yellowbrown grass, sniffed, sat still. Gwen's like, wtf is she doing? Looking at me, Chew, Shannon -- Gwen was bored.

And Gwen's (remember?) a dog.

So... Chewy is not peeing. She's a standup comic, but the whiz canal -- is bashful, in front of me, other dogs, rocks and sticks, stuffed and satisfied Chili's patrons, Wal-Mart's union breakers -- everyone. So: urinate?

No, we can't.

Today's exceedingly appropros Song of the Post (SOTP): "Dried Up" by the Ass Pony's, (off the album Lohio).

It is a sad song about young love. Like mine with Punky Chewster, and my worry over her (yeah--) dried up doggybladder.

And here's some vid outside Barnes & Noble, after Chewie had refused to pee four times, and before she'd refuse to pee four more times (let me tell you this: if you're going to have a bite with your pals at Applebee's, say -- our choices are rather limited, so give me a break -- and your dog hasn't peed since John Edwards was a presidential candidate -- you'd be nervous too. She's going INTO applebees. I mean, Chilis. Wherever it was. They have margaritas and wacked-out drinks for non-children the color of pee. Do YOU want to be the guy blamed for something raw and nasty? Nope.) where Shan and I shot training scenes of Gwen and Chewy.