olfactory joys of dog ownership
Leah called me this morning on the way home from walking the dogs to ask me to be ready to help them get right into the bath when she got home. They had rolled in something, and they smelled terrible. I agreed of course, but thought at the same that it probably wasn't that bad... she's complained of them being bad-smelling before and I had hardly noticed anything. But when I first got a whiff, on the front porch, I had to acknowledge that she hadn't been exaggerating. The smell was strong enough that it infected the downstairs even in the brief time each dog passed through on the way upstairs to the bathroom, where Leah washed them with puppy shampoo and doused them in baby powder. It helped some. Leah describes their aroma now as "decaying baby"—a striking metaphor for a striking odor. She was wondering if she should bathe them again before we went to sleep. Don't bother, I said, we're already getting used to it.