It appears, judging by my “Sponging Across America” tour, that the world is going to the dogs. Everyone I know has a dog – and insists that I have one, too.

Before I even left, Chief Al was bending my ear about getting a dog. He has adopted the mammoth shepherd Taser (I said he was a cop) for his daily “geezer” walks around a Rockport golf course in a losing effort to combat approaching old age and creeping osteoporosis. Perhaps if I got a dog, I would trudge every day through the damned winter like he does.

Not likely.

In the Portland farewell with the screaming grandchildren, daughter Bridget first offered her dog, Roscoe, to be the new mascot at Cobb Manor. It seems this (New Orleans rescue dog) all-American was a bit much for the kids, since he yanked them off their feet when they tried to walk him. She was willing to pack him up, until Meara (the granddaughter) wrapped her charming arms around Roscoe’s neck and said, “My dog!”

End of argument.

Dogless, I drove on to Charleston and the home-kennel operated by John Purcell, former South Thomaston resident who once decided to run for Congress against the L.L. Bean fortune. (He lost). Purcell has the good luck with dogs which eludes him with women. My very favorite dog of all time was his late Rottweiler, Eva (Braun), who, thankfully, let me live when I visited.

Now he has adopted American bulldogs as his dog du jour and his wonder dog, Jeter, now owns the house and the surrounding neighborhood. Jeter, named after an obscure Yankee ballplayer, can jump over my head leaping for a Frisbee and is a better outfielder than most Red Sox minor-leaguers. Imagine what he could do to a still-frozen Mainer, if he decided to.

Jeter is always accompanied by Max, the Boston terrier, who thinks he is Joe Pesci.

Purcell insisted that we attend the annual outdoor expo where every breed of dog known to man (except maybe Newfoundlands) participated in a leaping-into-a-pool competition. Jeter will win next year, Purcell promised, as he offered to find me an American bulldog pup to take home.

I left Charleston, dizzy with the idea that I had fallen in love with something called Jeter. The horror!

On to Leesburg and the home of former Cobb Road resident John Hammer. I don’t usually associate in public with former editors (ptui) but no one knows me in Leesburg and he does have a pool.

Hammer’s companion is a Jack Russell terrier named Charlie, who should have his own show, like Frasier’s dog Eddie. Charlie can launch his own “boat” in the swimming pool and finished up the leftover meals (and wine) to earn his keep. Only Hammer would have a wine-guzzling dog in the house.

After days of Russian philosophical discussions by the pool, it was time for the trip to Spring Hill, where Cobb Manor graduate Mark Preston resides with long-suffering wife, Angel Jane, and a small collie named Laddie. When Mark is home (rarely), he lives to torture Laddie with empty promises of bacon. Laddie is a wonderful companion, who follows his humans from room to room to make sure they are all right. Mark, who once left me his dog to put to sleep, pretends not to care about Laddie and offers him each trip.

I protest to each and every offer, saying I simply do not want a dog. Love to see them, visit them, even play Frisbee with them. Don’t want one.

By my calculations, they leave their “business” once or twice a day. That would be, oh, 700 turds a year on the Cobb Manor lawn. Who is going to clean that up?

Hammer replies that there are numerous companies that actually offer this service. After his research (he loves capitals) he wrote: “Some of the other catchy little company names I saw, in a BRIEF search, include: K-9 Scoopers, Big Business Scoopers, Nature Calls, Scoopy Doo Ltd., Poop Patrol, Backyard Butler … etc. Get this … in the ‘Minesweepers’ ad, I noticed that they proudly state that they are members of PAWS (Professional Animal Waste Specialists) association.

“There’s an ASSOCIATION to belong to, and be professionally accredited by, for PEOPLE WHO PICK UP DOG [business]! Noticed cost factor in one of the ads ‘$10/week + $4 for each additional dog,'” Hammer reported.

So that would be more than $500 a year for Backyard Butlers, plus food, plus vet bills, all for the pleasure of walking my new dog on a golf course.

And what do I do with him or her on my “Sponging Across America” tour each spring? Four weeks in a motel?

I believe I will pass. I have plenty of dogs to visit – then leave. Like my screaming grandchildren.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.