I would pay money to have my sense of smell eradicated.  I don’t care anymore about the beauteous aromas of warm chocolate chip cookies, lilacs, a freshly bathed baby, or my all time favourite: a lumber yard.   I am tired of malodorous scents wafting through my house and then becoming permanently embedded up my nostrils so that I become immune.  And blind and deaf.  But not so deaf I didn`t overhear two ladies talking, 4 aisles away at Loblaws.

Lady #1:  The woman across the street got arrested for having too many cats.  Some of them were dead!  Her house reeked!  And she had chin hairs!

Lady #2: She must have been an animal hoarder!  That’s so sad. 

Lady #1: I could see that happening to Kristin.  That dog of hers pisses on the carpets and she doesn’t notice all the fecal nuggets imbedded in that shag rug in-lay.  Although she herself is impeccably groomed. I’ve heard she’s had Botox, a Juvederm injection, and a series of photo facials.  She looks fabulous!

Lady #2:  And laser hair removal on those chin hairs!   Imagine never having to pluck them out!  But I can’t stand that dog!  Is it Betty?  It ate an entire chevre log from the coffee table.  Thank GAWD she’s not in our book club anymore!  Although she did make a mean Negroni cocktail!

Okay, I’m making this up.  But it could be true.  Betty has lived and peed and barfed and pooped on the carpet in my living room for 6 years and I have developed selective smelling.  Some areas are more pungent and damp than others.  I move around them, hopping over furniture, avoiding the living room altogether.  I know what you’re thinking:  GET YOUR DOG TRAINED but we’ve been over this a few posts ago:  We are a family of bad doggie behaviour enablers and rather than get us trained, I’ve made a decision to get rid of all the carpets and slap on some hardwood, literally and figuratively, as a part of Project Mojo Rising.  This time-flying business is ridiculous and blows you downhill pretty darn quick.  So if you don’t grab on something and forget to put lipstick on one day, you will be on The Humane Society Public Enemy List.  So yeah, home improvements this month, stay tuned for more details. 

In the meantime, I am taking care of my nephew’s dog, Riley (that white long piece of business whose butt Betty is sniffing in the photo above) for the “weekend.”  In nephew lingo, weekends start on Wednesday and end some time on Monday (‘not sure when I get up” he said).   Riley, unlike Betty, controls his bladder and sphincter in the house.  He doesn’t chew things or bark or rearrange the furniture.  He doesn’t jump on you or eat off your plate when you’re not looking.  He is mild-mannered and mellow.  If I were to have a man in my life, he would be much like Riley.  In fact, Riley has taken over the bed much to Betty’s outrage, and she has been sleeping by the door.  When Riley went to sleep last night, he had me pinned in one spot with his long snozzly snout propped on my inner thigh.  I couldn’t move without him freaking out so I just lay there, praying he change spots so I could do my usual “thrash 3 times and settle” manoevre.  But no, he stayed still.  He snored, he farted, he whimpered in his dreams.  Only when the claps of thunder hit at dawn, he tried to bury himself under my head.  Betty stoically stayed away the entire night, not a peep or a poop out of her.  And I did miss her in the bed, her tiny little paws smell like corn chips.  Sweetness.