Can You Dig It?

Several years ago, Tim Stone decided a career in welding just didn’t leave him enough leisure time. Inspiration came from an unlikely source, the mother of an ex-girlfriend, whose idea was equally as unlikely: a doggie-waste cleanup service. In 1988, Scoop Masters Dog Poop Pick-Up Service was born. Today, Stone, 38, has about 200 clients, mostly scattered throughout the Santa Clarita and San Fernando valleys. He visits some homes once a week, others five times a week (two dogs one day a week is $35 a month, two dogs three times a week is $90 a month). As for the smell, “that’s really a big myth.” We joined Stone on his Friday route.

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8:45 a.m.: Stone, wearing a company sweatshirt inscribed with his motto: “If Your Dog Can Poop It, We Can Scoop It,” arrives at his first stop, a modest home in North Hollywood. Dog biscuits for everyone.

8:48 a.m.: Stone heads for a tree in the yard, dogs trailing. “After a while,” he says, scooping poop into a lined pail, “they tend to keep it in one area, which is kind of nice.”

8:57 a.m.: Traveler, a Labrador retriever at the next stop, doesn’t get a dog biscuit because “he’s on a special diet.” Stone tosses a plastic bag with waste into a black trash barrel.

9:40 a.m.: “Good morning,” Stone shouts to a client, one of the stars of “Whose Line Is It Anyway?” He gives a biscuit to a quiet husky and proceeds to the far end of the yard, a steep pine-needle-covered hill, which he traverses and cleans up. The average visit takes about 31/2 minutes.

10:32 a.m.: As Stone finishes working at yet another home, he grumbles: “Delightful. When the dogs are having bowel problems, it’s kind of ugh.”

11:05 a.m.: At a four-way intersection, the driver of a white Camaro slows down to direct his passenger’s attention to Stone’s company truck, which says “Scoop Masters” and “1 800 PUP-POOP” on the side. They look puzzled--and amused.

11:12 a.m.: Max, an “old and cantankerous pit bull,” stands in a window, barking ferociously and leaping as Stone does his yard search. “Barking’s OK,” Stone says. “Yapping gets on your nerves.”

12:20 p.m.: Kublai Khan, a growling bull mastiff, stands guard in Stone’s accountant’s yard. Stone is fearless as he works.

12:40 p.m.: At the day’s only commercial site, Stone scoops, then hoses around two enormous satellite dishes in a parking lot.

1:50 p.m.: Stone gets the go-ahead from a guard to drive into Chatsworth’s Monteria Estates.

1:52 p.m.: Upon seeing Stone, a sheep dog retreats into a doghouse and growls. Stone ignores him and goes to a canopied hillside overlooking a tennis court.

2:05 p.m.: “How’s business?” asks a roofer working at the same house. “Picking up?” Stone, perhaps tired of the joke, does not respond. Instead he asks about the new copper roofing. “It’ll cost them $30,000 in materials alone,” the roofer says.

2:30 p.m.: The owner of three dogs comes out to greet Stone in Northridge. “I’m sick,” she says. “I’m on all this cold medicine. It makes me goofy.” Stone continues to work around her. “Rufus hurt his back last week,” she says. “Three hundred and seventy-five dollars later, he’s on prednisone. Makes him really grumpy.”

2:45 p.m.: Stone, who has visited one business and 33 residences, heads home, where Gypsy, a black Lab, and Duke, an Australian shepherd, await him.