Buzzers at the ready

The Last Straw: There was me thinking that dog diapers represented the high-water mark of canine toilet hygiene. But I was wrong. On foot of last week's column, Quincey Fennelly has written from San Francisco, a city that continues to push back the boundaries of the whole dog-care area.

Quincey spent a few years in Dublin, where he admits that dog doo on the pavement was a bit of a "bug-bear". No such problems in California, he reports, where dog walkers invariably carry plastic bags and when the dog "does his business", they ensure it doesn't become anybody else's business, by scooping it up with the bag and binning it.

But everything in San Francisco is over the top, he adds. Walking down Chestnut Street - a fashionable shopping location - recently, he saw a prime example. First, the conscientious dog owner goes through the usual routine: scoops, ties the bag, and drops it in the nearest bin. As Quincey writes: "Good man!" But that's not all the owner does: "To my amazement he goes back into his pocket, pulls out a big lump of jacks-roll and proceeds to finish things up at the back door, if you know what I mean." Apparently nobody on Chestnut Street batted an eyelid. Not even the dog. And you know what? It'll probably happen here, eventually.

OTHER US SOLUTIONS to dog problems are already with us. Chatting to independent TD Finian McGrath in Leinster House the other day, I was intrigued by an electronic device - not much bigger than a mobile phone - attached to his belt. It turned out to be a Dog Dazer: the latest piece of self-defence technology from the US.

It's a precarious life being an Independent TD. But it's bad enough having the big parties targeting your seat without every two-bit mongrel targeting it as well. The fact that Finian's seat is relatively marginal does not deter the dogs of Dublin North-Central, some of Ireland's most vicious. He's been attacked twice during leaflet drops. And a team-member once needed hospital treatment after being bitten on the hand by a small cur that was located - wait for it - in the letter box.

Step forward the Dog Dazer. Popular with US postmen and other door-to-door callers, the device emits a high-pitched tone - audible only to canine ears - that turns the most aggressive brute into a cowering wimp. It's a bit like a TV remote. One moment you're watching The Dogs of War. But with the touch of a button, hey presto, it's Lassie Go Home. Finian paid €79.90 for it, and thinks it's a sound investment (literally!) for politicians, postmen, joggers, and anyone else who's ever suffered the unwanted attentions of somebody else's best friend.

The product has its limitations. Apparently, it doesn't stop dogs crapping on the footpath (quite the contrary, I imagine). And it's not guaranteed to work in all situations. If a 70-pound rottweiler continues hurtling towards you after you've pressed the button, you might want to consider the possibility that the dog is tone-deaf, and make other arrangements.

The good news is that it's quite humane. But if you're worried about animal welfare, according to one Internet supplier there's an alternative version called Pet Agree. The website candidly admits that this is the same product, effectively: just with a more sensitive name. If the dog attacking you is really intelligent, it'll appreciate that.

SPEAKING OF LASSIE, I'm sure nobody will need to use the Dog Dazer on the famous collie, now filming in Ireland. And speaking of politicians, I was pleased to learn that the Minister for the Arts has established a rapport with the latest starlet to emerge from the Colliewood factory. Perhaps Lassie just appreciates the effort the Minister made to attract the movie to Ireland. But on TV during the week, a beaming John O'Donoghue claimed the dog recognised him from their previous meeting and ran to greet him when he arrived on the film-set.

Next thing we know, they'll be communicating with each other. You can imagine the scene.

(Enter Lassie, stage left, barking urgently).

Lassie: "Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof!" Minister: "What's that, Lassie? Little Timmy's fallen down the mineshaft?"

Lassie (shaking head from side to side, and using italics to make herself clearer): "Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof!"

Minister: "The railroad's been blocked by a landslide, and there's a train coming?"

Lassie (getting impatient now and making a curious, scratching motion with her back legs): "Woof, woof, woof, woof!"

Minister (as penny finally drops): "No way, Lassie! I know we're pulling out all the stops for you. But you can wipe your own bottom!"