Olfactory Chaos

I wrote yesterday about my wife’s unfortunate decision to feed Buddy the Winder Pooch a fat laden helping of barbecue from Sunday’s party. She did this despite my caution that this was a very bad idea. I (and my sister/brother in law) have some extensive experience at just what rich food does to the Wonder Pooch’s gastrointestinal processes. While my wife talks a very tough line about Buddy she’s a softie at heart which Buddy is more than capable of exploiting. I paid the price for this kindness.

I came downstairs yesterday morning, already saddled with having to face yet another Monday in that endless progression. I was following my routine until I opened the basement door and ran face first into a smell that can only be described as diabolical. It got worse as I continued my descent into this olfactory miasma. Due to possible thunderstorms Buddy had spent the night in his kennel which was bad news for him but did make the cleanup easier, if not any more pleasant.

I found the one or two unsoiled spots on the kennel and dragged it outside with Buddy still inside. Once outside I opened the cage and a very chagrined dog stepped out. I immediately felt bad for him because it was obvious he had spent the entire night (well at least after his “event”) on his feet, refusing to lie down in the filth. I hosed him off and then turned my attention to the cage which I renamed “Gag City”. I truly think as white hair continues to encroach on Buddy that he is transforming into a skunk, his various smells are certainly keeping pace with the advancing hair.

Buddy's Next Incarnation?

After several rinses and a thorough going over with Clorox wipes both dog and cage were fit to return into the house. By opening the basement door I had allowed the smell to waft throughout the house which allowed my, the author of the disaster, to share in the experience. Justice was achieved when my wife inquired why the house smelled bad enough to, in the immortal words of the late great George Carlin, “knock a buzzard off a shitwagon”.

Buddy the Semi-Winder Pooch

Candles were soon lit as various sprays and deodorizers were employed to combat the pall. The plumber showed up to install the new dishwasher and didn’t remark at all. Of course plumbers have to have a pretty strong constitution when it comes to odors. Buddy seemed none the worse for wear and complained loudly about his exclusion while still drying out.

Buddy and I achieved our final revenge on my wife last night as we settled down to watch a movie. Buddy spent a lot of the day catching up on his missed sleep and took up station right below my wife with the business end pointed directly at her. The next stage in his gastrointestinal reaction to the rich food she’d given him was almost continual flatulence. She didn’t appreciate, at all, my pointing this out to her from behind the t-shirt covering my nose. Buddy ended up at my end of the couch.

Mondays, really do suck, yesterday’s a tad more than is reasonable.