Chapter One: WHAT'S THAT SMELL?

Chapter 1 What’s that smell?

One damp Sunday morning shortly after we moved in to our new house, while Rob and I were sitting in the kitchen, something unwelcome entered my olfactory senses.

“What’s that smell?” I asked, crinkling my nose.

“I don’t smell anything,” Rob replied.

I leaned toward the dog. “Blecch, it’s him. He’s stinky.”

Rob looked hurt, as if I’d said that he was stinky. “He smells alright to me.”

“He definitely smells weird. Can’t you give him a bath?”

“It’s too soon,” Rob replied, looking at the newspaper.

“What do you mean?”

He let out a deep sigh. It was the sigh of someone burdened with the task of educating a cat person on the health and hygiene of a canine. “You can only bathe dogs once a month. It’s bad for their skin, and you have to use a special dog shampoo.”

“When was his last bath?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“Ugh! Is there anything else we can do?”

“I have a re-hydrating spray for his coat. That smells pretty good.”

“Somehow I don’t think getting the dog wet is the answer, but ok.”

Obligingly, Rob fetched the spray and started applying it. Droplets glistened all over the dog’s fur, and the floor, the furniture and the lamp. The thick scent didn’t agree with me and incited my gag reflex.

A few days later, I discovered another unusual smell. Early one morning, as our pooch lay curled in his bed, I stopped mid-stride on my way to the kitchen.

“What smells like rotten peanuts?”

Rob came out of the bedroom. He got down on the floor and tussled with the dog. “Ohhh, that’s the doggie sweep smell…” he gushed. “I wuv that smell.”

“The what?”

“Sleep smell. Dogs emit an odor when they sleep.”

“Isn’t their daytime smell enough?!”

“I love it. It smells like peanut butter.” Rob’s eyes were glazed over with dog-love. I was grossed out.

Then he blindsided me, “What about your cat?”

I stiffened. “What about her?”

“When’s the last time she had a bath?”

“She’s a cat. She’s self-cleaning!”

“Sure she is. And she usually decides to clean herself on top of our clean folded laundry!”

I was mildly offended.

“Face it,” he said. “Both ends of your cat smell badly! The front smells like fish and the back …”

He didn’t have to finish.

A week later, I was home alone and Shnoop followed me downstairs to the laundry room. A cloud of invisible doggie-smell traveled with him. I was holding a Bounce dryer sheet in my hand. I had an idea.

“C’mere, Shnoop! C’mere, boy.”

He trotted over and I petted him all over with the dryer sheet. He reveled in the attention. I felt a pang of guilt for deodorizing him under the guise of affection. The dryer sheet seemed to wipe away all traces of doggie-smell, at least for the night. I asked Shnoop to keep it our little secret.

As the weeks progressed, and the weather warmed up, the pets spent more time outside. Still, on occasion, the dog smell would hit me like a tennis racket in the face. So I resorted to the dryer sheet trick a few more times. When I confided in my best friend, she scolded me harshly, “You could give him a rash!”

“But we dry our clothes with it! How harmful could it be?”

I felt bad for the pooch. He was such a trusting soul. And I’m sure it was a jab at his masculinity to smell like ‘fresh spring garden.’ What would the neighborhood dogs think? The very last time I did it, I decided to tuck three dryer sheets under his collar so that his fur would not be affected. It seemed the ideal solution! Everywhere Shnoop went, he brought a waft of morning freshness. The dryer sheets blossomed like a splendid white bow behind his head. Imagine, I could look forward to the dog entering a room, instead of exiting!

My fatal mistake was that I forgot to remove the sheets from Shnoop’s collar before Rob got home. The dog excitedly ran out to greet his owner, the crisp dryer sheets still attached and bobbing in rhythm with his gait.

“What did you put on my dog?” Robert shouted. He was less than amused, and I was in the proverbial doghouse.

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