Ooo, That Smell
I had been begging and pleading with my husband to green light the idea of our first family dog for some time. He came from a family where pets were looked upon as more of a resource drain than a part of the family, so let’s just say that I had to break him down. Finally I succeeded! We loaded up our kids and headed to our local no-kill shelter where we met many dogs before finally settling on a medium sized, black and tan mutt who we would rename Franklin.
In all honesty, I had worried about how Chris would treat our newest family member. I was more than pleasantly surprised when he began coming home from work only to immediately take Franklin out in the backyard for some male bonding over ball and rope fetching. I would watch them out the window -- Franklin jumping up Chris, wagging his tail -- all the while the hubs looking like the young kid in the Dog Chow commercials, lovin’ life with his best friend.
One evening after dinner was done and the kids were down, Chris and I sat down to watch some TV.
Chris looked at me and said, “Do you smell that?” I sniffed. Nothing. “Seriously? You don’t smell that?" he asked a second time. I sniffed again. I did smell something slightly rank. We sniffed our t-shirts, our pits, the throw pillows and finally, the very cushions that our rumps were resting on. Eureka! Chris found the foulest of stenches permeating from directly under his butt. The dog! I took the cushion sprayed it down with cleaner and life went on much as usual until. . . .
“You gotta bring me some pants. . .now!” Chris had called me from work in a bit of a tizzy. I asked what was going on; what reason could he possibly have for needing a clean change of pants in the middle of his work day? Chris went on to explain that as he sat at his desk plugging away, it seemed as if “that” smell was wafting up from below. He checked the bottom of his shoes. No poo. He smelled inside his shoes. Nothing. He tried to ignore it thinking that maybe it had been just that bad the night before that his nose was having horrible flashbacks. The smell kept wafting, though, and finally he headed to the bathroom for some privacy and to hopefully get to the bottom of the lingering stench.
Once tucked safely away in the bathroom stall, Chris took his pants off. He held them out, looking at the front for any spots that may be causing the stink. Not a thang jumped out at him. He turned them and scoured the backside, where he found the faintest of spots on one of his pockets -- a paw-shaped spot. Hesitantly, he brought the jeans up to his nose and sniffed. GAWD! The stench had originated from the very pants that he had been wearing the day before. Now Chris found himself in a bit of a predicament: This spot needed to be cleaned, but how? Well, the only obvious way of course! Chris took off his right shoe and then, his right sock. He gingerly dipped the sock into the toilet bowl, tinting it a light toilet bowl blue. He then proceeded to rub furiously at that damned spot. Once he felt as if he had beat that stink into submission, he put his sock back on, slipped back into his jeans, and, finally, put on his shoe before. . .wait a tick; Chris spied a can of air freshener sitting down by the toilet.
He picked up the can, gave it a good shake and took aim at his derriere. He stepped out of the stall, walked up to the sink, and shamefully scrubbed at his hands.
The kids and I delivered the new, clean jeans to him as requested. I had the best laugh that I had experienced in years and headed home with the infamous jeans. To this day we haven’t figured out what brand of nasty Franklin dug his foot into before branding Chris’s backside.