Sometimes things just creep up on you, don’t they?
It was a lovely sunny morning and I was driving along with the Hound of Satan quietly snarling in the back, pondering to myself.
What a beautiful day. What a clear blue sky. What should I do for the afternoon? What the fuck is that smell?
But of course, I already know the answer. This is not a doggie smell. This is the smell of things that dogs roll around in when you’re not there to kick them up the arse.
If you have a dog, you’ll know what I’m talking about. You’re out for a walk with your little four-legged best friend when suddenly he finds some vile filthy putrid piece of shit and rolls around on it, covering himself in a puke-inducing pong and laughing up at you. Hey, look at me, human!
Dogs don’t have a gag reflex, and with good reason.
Get up off that pile of rotten crap, you bastard!
I once read that packs of wild dogs do this to disguise their scent so that they can creep up on their prey undetected, and of course, our domestic dogs aren’t that far removed from their feral cousins, so I suppose it makes sense. Sort of.
Here’s a herd of gazelles, out there on the savanna, munching away at their grass and leaves. Suddenly they all go stiff with fear.
– What’s that smell? What? What smell? What’s that? Where? What?
– Wait. It’s like a strange mixture of rotten fish and cowshit.
– But there are no fish or cows out here on the savanna.
– True, but at least it’s not a pack of wild dogs creeping up on us to tear us limb from limb.
– Good point. Have another branch of this delicious and easily-digestible vegetation.
All well and good, I suppose. Dogs can’t change their essential nature any more than I can, but my car is now stinking of whatever rotten, decomposed squashed rat-entrails my fucking pet has been rolling in. And so am I.
On the positive side, if I should get a sudden urge to attack a herd of gazelles, my children will eat well tonight.