Thirty-something speaks
Oo-oo that smell
Mike Maddock

I've been a big fan of dogs since I got my first puppy on my sixth birthday, but there's always been one thing that puzzled me about them. I'm not talking about the way they say hello to fellow dogs by circling each other until one gets a good whiff of the other one's back end. While that does seem like an odd introduction, I get it. Apparently, they garner a lot of information that way, but I digress.

I am confused by something that does involve sniffing, just not the sniffing of other dogs' nether regions. I'm talking about the sniffing involved as part of the selection process when it comes to relieving themselves. Admittedly, humans have got it pretty easy. We have bathrooms or, as is the case with some inebriated football fans of the male variety, the first available tree. Dogs are pretty much relegated to the backyard.

Now, if I were my dog, I'd run to the first spot I saw because, more than likely, I'd been locked up inside for several hours, and my digestive tract would feel like Mount St. Helens. Then I'd run back inside before the heat and humidity got me panting. That's not how dogs work though, or is it just my dog?

It doesn't matter if he's been locked up for most of the day; he's going to pick a spot to relieve himself like most brides pick out China patterns. While I'm tapping my foot waiting on him like he's my wife trying on dresses at a local department store, he's sniffing around acting like this may just be the most single important decision of his life.

"Sniff, sniff, sniff...No, not there...How about here? No, that's no good...Sniff, sniff, sniff."

While I'm screaming in my head, "What difference does it make?!?" he's surveying the area like he's looking for the perfect spot to dig a diamond mine or drill an oil well. I hate to break it to him, but this is not a difficult decision. Life will go on whether he uses the side yard or the azalea bed. But who am I to judge?

My dog is a Basset hound, so maybe sniffing is his thing. Labs fetch stuff out of lakes. St. Bernards rescue people in the snow. Poodles...well, I'm not sure what they do other than bark, but every dog seems to have an area of interest. My dog has no other talent; so maybe sniffing is it for him.

When he's not searching for the dream place to potty, he's furiously sniffing from one blade of grass to another. I've got no idea what he's locked on to, and I'm pretty positive he doesn't have a clue either, but that doesn't seem to curb his enthusiasm. I guess if I had his sniffer I could say to myself, "Hey, a squirrel has been through here" or "that darn cat from next door has been here again." But what could he possibly be thinking?

"That blade smells different...I don't know what it is, but it's definitely different."

OK. That's not really a conclusion worth giving up a Saturday for, but there's no stopping him once that sniffer of his hits the ground. I guess I should just be happy he has interests that don't involve any financial contribution on my part and, as long as his dream spot isn't my living room floor, then I'll just have to be patient and live with the sniffing.