People Stink

When I meet other dog adoptive parents for the first time, they often remark, "Oh, you must smell Gizmo on me," or "Do you smell Fufu? Do you?"

I got to wondering why they so often ask me this question. Maybe they feel insecure when I sniff their pant leg or bury my nose in their crotch. Yes, I can smell Gizmo, and he needs a bath. Yes, I smell Fufu, and is she available later tonight? But that's not the reason why I so intensely inspect their bottom halves.

First of all, I'm a short dog. It's much more convenient to smell your pants than it is to smell your ears. As I've said before, I'm not much of a leaper. It would be very humiliating for me if I tried to jump to smell your ears and ended up falling on my back. That's bad P.R.

Most importantly, however, is that you people stink. I don't mean that as an insult. I'm a dog, after all. Coming from me, that's a sort of compliment.

Your stink tells a story. When I plunge my nose into the noisome fabric of your capris, I enter a different world, a world of perfume and cologne, of leftover food and spilled drinks, of strange chemicals and sweat and other bodily fluids.

For example, this afternoon I met a young lady. Yes, I could smell her dog. He has a runny nose and likes to lick wallpaper glue. I could also tell that this lady was a smoker but not a coffee drinker. She prefered tea - peppermint, I believe. She also had toast for breakfast and spilled a dab Smucker's grape jelly on her pants. I tried to help her by licking away the stain, but she thought I was doing something else.

Anyway, if you ever meet me in Anoka one day after one of my many political speeches, and I bury my muzzle deep into your pantleg, don't worry. I'm only getting to know you better.