For all those other DH’s out there, just so you know, I have been granted permission to tell this story. For all those readers who don’t appreciate even the slightest scatological humor (and I am with you most of the time), Skip This.
As you may know, the subject of this blog’s title is Becca, a wirehaired pointing griffon. She was born in Kansas, sent to Seattle and then came to live with us in Alaska, until we moved down here. DH constantly fawns over her and comments about what a beautiful dog she is (others think she is a mutt of some kind). She is an unemployed hunting dog with lots of time on her paws. We lose lots of food to her. Her diet has become more and more varied as she has matured. Scary things that are supposed to kill dogs, chocolate, raisins, corn cobs, rat poison (ok, not really) have left her thriving. The only side effect thus far has been her tendency toward….well, let’s just put this out there, flatulence.
Sometimes, they are small and cute sound effects with little in the way of aroma, like when she stretches her hind legs while getting off the couch and the smallest little toot is heard, a little toot like something you’d hear from child’s kazoo if the player blew a quick breath. Other times, they are 3-D. When we were on a road trip with Becca in the very back of the car behind the pet barrier (“you mean, jail” as DH says), we actually pulled off the highway (shouting all the while, “oh, Becca, how could you??” “oh, man!” and “oh no!”) expecting to kick out some gigantic turds back there and were shocked to find nothing.
Most recently, DH took her to strut around Sportsmens Warehouse in Silverdale. I mean, he had Christmas shopping to do. He puts on her safety orange collar and lease (this is as close to hunting as she gets) and waits for people to approach, what kind of dog is that? she is cool….you get the idea. This particular time DH was in an aisle being helped by some kid, Josh, when yes, DH noonsied one out and I am told, it was as close to 3-D as any of Becca’s. When Josh returned, his face indicated detection. DH concurred with the recognition of the smell, and Josh seemed to look at the two ladies in the nearby row. Almost ready to let the ladies take the fall, DH added casually that it might have been the dog. Then he relayed the story of pulling off the highway. These two guys had a nice chuckle about it while glancing at the ladies. Dog or ladies, either way it was not a man’s fault.
I think this story shows pretty clearly that men believe men and men like stink. Just as I suspected.